Aureyon
08-18-2014, 12:25 AM
As the title suggests, I am undecided on a name for this. But, this is an opening for a book I am going to be writing. The plot has been in my head for a while now, and I've been able to finally formulate it into words.
I hope you enjoy it.
Feel free to comment at your own discretion. Just don't attack my terrible writing.
UPDATES:
8/17 - as of yet the intro has been posted, it is a work in progress.
The day started much like any other day had, the heat of the sun bearing down on his naked back warming him to his core. He welcomed the warmth of the sun as it made its ascent into the heavens, for he had bore the chill that was the morning air as he had awoken hours earlier to begin his work on his father’s land; the aroma of wild herbs and colorful flowers that danced in the wind, assaulting his senses in a serene siege of calm. You see, his father was a frail man, age having taken a liking to him like a long lost friend– his skin became as leather and his hair as thin and coarse as string. It was a scary thing to see one’s parent withering away before your very eyes, the realization of death and life washing over one like tonight’s bathwater at the end of a hard day’s work.
He had never really been a religious man, at least not since losing his mother to the plague that had swept across the land at an alarming rate. That was the last time that he had ever prayed to any form of god or goddess for assistance. They had chosen to reject his plea for aid, so he would reject their need for worship and let them wither away from his mind, as a leaf withers before the coming winter. But, it was at his father’s deathbed that he had prayed only once that his father would grow strong and youthful again; he had heard of the miracles of the gods, of old folks who had been given their vitality. However, even as he had done so, he felt that he would not be answered.
The gods were cruel. They had their own way of going about things, and in their own time. This was the way of the world, and it had been this way for as long as he could remember. He still tended the land, and worked hard and steadily to get the day’s work done so that he could return to the home of his family, and begin the nightly routine of cleaning his father, changing his sheets, and feeding him. It was something of a daily thing for him now, and he was content with what his life would be, well perhaps not content, but he had come to accept it.
As the sun beat down on his back, he stood stiffly, his back aching from being hunched over for a better part of the morning.
“Almost noon”, he thought to himself as he looked up at the brilliance of the blue sky above. It was something to be marveled, for nothing could match the beauty of a clear sky with the graceful dance of the clouds moving across as the wind blew. It was truly a day to be celebrated, not only for the beauty of the day, but for the festival that would come later tonight; the festival of Kings.
It was the only night of the year when the people of the village gathered in song and dance, merriment and drink, and it would continue on until the village succumbed to revelry. It was truly going to be a night to remember, as most nights were rather dull in the village, aside from the occasional drunken brawl in the small tavern in the center of town.
This was the life of a peasant in this realm. It was a relatively peaceful one, and one that he couldn’t be more thankful for; here there is no worry for war. It was just a regular village nestled in the valley between two large mountains, it was well protected by the harshness of the outside world; not many knew of this village and even less knew of outside it.
I hope you enjoy it.
Feel free to comment at your own discretion. Just don't attack my terrible writing.
UPDATES:
8/17 - as of yet the intro has been posted, it is a work in progress.
The day started much like any other day had, the heat of the sun bearing down on his naked back warming him to his core. He welcomed the warmth of the sun as it made its ascent into the heavens, for he had bore the chill that was the morning air as he had awoken hours earlier to begin his work on his father’s land; the aroma of wild herbs and colorful flowers that danced in the wind, assaulting his senses in a serene siege of calm. You see, his father was a frail man, age having taken a liking to him like a long lost friend– his skin became as leather and his hair as thin and coarse as string. It was a scary thing to see one’s parent withering away before your very eyes, the realization of death and life washing over one like tonight’s bathwater at the end of a hard day’s work.
He had never really been a religious man, at least not since losing his mother to the plague that had swept across the land at an alarming rate. That was the last time that he had ever prayed to any form of god or goddess for assistance. They had chosen to reject his plea for aid, so he would reject their need for worship and let them wither away from his mind, as a leaf withers before the coming winter. But, it was at his father’s deathbed that he had prayed only once that his father would grow strong and youthful again; he had heard of the miracles of the gods, of old folks who had been given their vitality. However, even as he had done so, he felt that he would not be answered.
The gods were cruel. They had their own way of going about things, and in their own time. This was the way of the world, and it had been this way for as long as he could remember. He still tended the land, and worked hard and steadily to get the day’s work done so that he could return to the home of his family, and begin the nightly routine of cleaning his father, changing his sheets, and feeding him. It was something of a daily thing for him now, and he was content with what his life would be, well perhaps not content, but he had come to accept it.
As the sun beat down on his back, he stood stiffly, his back aching from being hunched over for a better part of the morning.
“Almost noon”, he thought to himself as he looked up at the brilliance of the blue sky above. It was something to be marveled, for nothing could match the beauty of a clear sky with the graceful dance of the clouds moving across as the wind blew. It was truly a day to be celebrated, not only for the beauty of the day, but for the festival that would come later tonight; the festival of Kings.
It was the only night of the year when the people of the village gathered in song and dance, merriment and drink, and it would continue on until the village succumbed to revelry. It was truly going to be a night to remember, as most nights were rather dull in the village, aside from the occasional drunken brawl in the small tavern in the center of town.
This was the life of a peasant in this realm. It was a relatively peaceful one, and one that he couldn’t be more thankful for; here there is no worry for war. It was just a regular village nestled in the valley between two large mountains, it was well protected by the harshness of the outside world; not many knew of this village and even less knew of outside it.