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rainbowfic2015-07-07 10:49 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-07 10:49 pm
Dragon Scale Green #7, White Opal #3
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Dragon Scale Green #7 ("Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own." ― Eugene Shvarts), White Opal #3 (Reverie/Daydream)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Pastels (origfic_bingo prompt "lost in translation")
Word Count: 651
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: One good thing has come from Merrus's arrival.
Notes: Wow am I rusty at this story. I will probably rewrite this at some point.
The rumors ran through the streets of the city, whispers turning to theories turning to elaborate stories. He fought it into submission and enslaved it. He saved its life so now it is duty-bound to serve. He discovered some great magic to entrap it and bind it to him. Ridiculous, but in every story Martyn came out looking like an awe-inspiring hero, and that was fine with him.
The truth was much more mundane. The salkiy had come to him and was just a young, naive thing who didn’t even seem to understand what humans were like. But all he wanted was to find work, and that was very human-like, especially in this city of immigrants and transient merchants. And he’d come at exactly the right time--so right, in fact, that Martyn did wonder if some kind of magic had been involved. Lainiym, for instance, had been able to see the future, and that was why she had shown up when she did. But this salkiy denied having any ability in that direction, and that he had only come because a merchant passing through his village had mentioned the Councilor of Jaharta was looking for a salkiy.
It couldn’t get more mundane than that.
But the Jahartan commoners were superstitious, and none more so than the boatpeople, who took it upon themselves to spread rumors far and wide, up and down their rivers, at the markets they attended, along to their numerous kin. Salkiys were unknown in Ceenta Vowei, creatures of half myth who lived in the mysterious eastern forests, and more commonly known as demons.
That there was one at the Court, the second one to take residence there, even, had been widely known before the salkiy laid his head down on the pillow his first night there.
Initially Martyn had been incensed that the news had gotten out so quickly, and had in mind to find out which of his staff had started the whispers and dismiss them. But then the content of the rumors got back to him, and it seemed, suddenly, that the salkiy’s arrival had serendipitously solved a problem that had plagued Martyn for a long time.
Nine years he’d been Lord Councilor, after his own father passed. His father had been a great man, had ushered in a peace and prosperity the likes of which had never before been seen in Jaharta. And then there was Martyn: staid, dull, uncreative, a poor copy of his father who clung to his greatness but did nothing to earn it for himself. Martyn thought there was nothing wrong with keeping his father’s laws. There was no reason to change what was working. But it made him smaller in the eyes of his people, that he was no great warrior, nor scholar, nor judge.
But now--now he had tamed a demon and pressed it into his service, through some combination of wit, skill, and military prowess. It didn’t matter that none of it was true. It only mattered that the people thought it was true.
Which was why the salkiy--Merrus, he called himself--was going to stay, even though he was young, even though he claimed no great skill at magic, even though he couldn’t see into the future, and even though he was already annoying Martyn with his wide-eyed questions about the most obvious things.
“What is this?” Merrus jarred Martyn out of his musings as he picked up an inkwell, and in doing so, tipped it over. The ink spilled onto the desk, a puddle of it spreading across a fresh piece of parchment, ruining it. Merrus stared at it as if he couldn’t comprehend such a thing.
Martyn sighed and snatched the inkwell away, telling himself once again that it was worth it.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Dragon Scale Green #7 ("Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own." ― Eugene Shvarts), White Opal #3 (Reverie/Daydream)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Pastels (
origfic_bingo prompt "lost in translation")Word Count: 651
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: One good thing has come from Merrus's arrival.
Notes: Wow am I rusty at this story. I will probably rewrite this at some point.
The rumors ran through the streets of the city, whispers turning to theories turning to elaborate stories. He fought it into submission and enslaved it. He saved its life so now it is duty-bound to serve. He discovered some great magic to entrap it and bind it to him. Ridiculous, but in every story Martyn came out looking like an awe-inspiring hero, and that was fine with him.
The truth was much more mundane. The salkiy had come to him and was just a young, naive thing who didn’t even seem to understand what humans were like. But all he wanted was to find work, and that was very human-like, especially in this city of immigrants and transient merchants. And he’d come at exactly the right time--so right, in fact, that Martyn did wonder if some kind of magic had been involved. Lainiym, for instance, had been able to see the future, and that was why she had shown up when she did. But this salkiy denied having any ability in that direction, and that he had only come because a merchant passing through his village had mentioned the Councilor of Jaharta was looking for a salkiy.
It couldn’t get more mundane than that.
But the Jahartan commoners were superstitious, and none more so than the boatpeople, who took it upon themselves to spread rumors far and wide, up and down their rivers, at the markets they attended, along to their numerous kin. Salkiys were unknown in Ceenta Vowei, creatures of half myth who lived in the mysterious eastern forests, and more commonly known as demons.
That there was one at the Court, the second one to take residence there, even, had been widely known before the salkiy laid his head down on the pillow his first night there.
Initially Martyn had been incensed that the news had gotten out so quickly, and had in mind to find out which of his staff had started the whispers and dismiss them. But then the content of the rumors got back to him, and it seemed, suddenly, that the salkiy’s arrival had serendipitously solved a problem that had plagued Martyn for a long time.
Nine years he’d been Lord Councilor, after his own father passed. His father had been a great man, had ushered in a peace and prosperity the likes of which had never before been seen in Jaharta. And then there was Martyn: staid, dull, uncreative, a poor copy of his father who clung to his greatness but did nothing to earn it for himself. Martyn thought there was nothing wrong with keeping his father’s laws. There was no reason to change what was working. But it made him smaller in the eyes of his people, that he was no great warrior, nor scholar, nor judge.
But now--now he had tamed a demon and pressed it into his service, through some combination of wit, skill, and military prowess. It didn’t matter that none of it was true. It only mattered that the people thought it was true.
Which was why the salkiy--Merrus, he called himself--was going to stay, even though he was young, even though he claimed no great skill at magic, even though he couldn’t see into the future, and even though he was already annoying Martyn with his wide-eyed questions about the most obvious things.
“What is this?” Merrus jarred Martyn out of his musings as he picked up an inkwell, and in doing so, tipped it over. The ink spilled onto the desk, a puddle of it spreading across a fresh piece of parchment, ruining it. Merrus stared at it as if he couldn’t comprehend such a thing.
Martyn sighed and snatched the inkwell away, telling himself once again that it was worth it.
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