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rainbowfic2015-07-30 11:35 am
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-30 11:35 am
Asphalt #5, Navy #5, White Cross #1
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Asphalt #5 (boat), Navy #5 (backstroke), White Cross #1 (Velvet Underworld)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Duck Gallery)
Word Count: 1,260
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Edward sets off on his journey down the river.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
There was an oppressive lull in the air, a humidity so heavy that it was almost too hard to breathe. Like livin’ underwater, Selo had once told him, as they were passing through Ceenta Vowei for Edward’s very first time. Growing up on the coast, Edward had never experienced anything like it.
Now, an entire ocean away, he felt just like that miserable kid again. Because Ceenta Vowei got bad in the summer months, but this was even worse.
“Hurry up,” Finduns snapped at him, throwing him a bag. “Raft’s leaving whether you’re on it or not.” Sallow and blonde as most of his fellow countrymen, Finduns had the sour mood to match it, but he was also the only one willing to take a foreigner down the river.
“Pay no attention to him,” said Chelle, sliding up next to Edward and giving his bum a discreet squeeze. “He’s always been a right misery. But you won’t find a better raftsman in all of Maston. He’ll get you down the river safely.” She giggled. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Well, you know the river. Actually, you don’t.” The last tossed off over her shoulder with another giggle as she went to retrieve her own pack. “Go on, get aboard.”
Edward tipped his head toward her and got on the raft. It was her he should be thanking for his passage, a friend of Finduns’s he’d serendipitously met in a tavern. Finduns would have never given him space on his raft, even with Edward’s years of practice in persuasion. But Chelle had taken a liking to Edward, and she knew Finduns well enough to worm past the suspicious exterior.
He was, in all honesty, quite in a hurry to leave. He was pretty sure he’d be good until morning, but then his absence in Dean Schalst’s guest house would be noticed. This was meant to be his grand escape from the city.
“You, there!” yelled Finduns, pointing to Edward. “I assume you know how to shove a raft away from shore?”
“Yes,” said Edward, a little offended.
“Then get to helping with that lot!”
A group of three men were maneuvering poles into place, ready to push the raft away from the bank. When Edward had first heard he was being taken down the Harakard River in a raft, he’d pictured the sorts of rafts the boatpeople had used for their foraging trips: simple affairs, wide and flat, lined with baskets along both ends, with more baskets affixed to the sides, all for holding whatever a boatperson could gather that day. Tiny, only able to hold two grown men at most, or perhaps three people if two of them were small. No shelter at all, everything open to the elements. He’d been skeptical about a ride of several days past what everyone said was uninhabitable wilderness on a structure that didn’t even provide him cover from the rain.
But Finduns’s raft was enormous, and not a raft at all, at least not what Edward would call a raft. It was the length of about ten men from end to end, and all but the jutting ends of the stern and bow, and a small corridor along each side, was covered with a canvas shelter. Edward would have called it a proper boat, but in this he suspected another obstacle of differing languages. The word Chelle told him translated to “raft” in his own language, their word for “boat” reserved exclusively for their oceanfaring vessels. Perhaps the translation wasn’t very accurate. He would have to get Chelle to explain more later.
After the raft was pushed away from shore, Edward ducked under the canvas cover, which held their luggage and a sleeping area. There was a crew of seven on the raft, including Edward, and Chelle had said that was what had really gotten Finduns to agree to let a foreigner come.
“He lost an oarsman ‘while back,” she had explained after the raft captain begrudgingly nodded that Edward was welcome. “Six in a crew’s unlucky. Seven’s better.”
Thank the gods for the superstitions of boaters, a commonality in all the lands Edward had ever visited.
Chelle entered the shelter then, and pointed to his sleeping pallet--all the way in the back, closest to the stern. “That’s so if anything crawls up the back of the raft at night, you’re the first on it’ll eat.”
“I’m flattered,” said Edward. “Is that something likely to happen?”
Chelle shrugged. “The boat’s designed to make it hard for ‘em, but if something’s determined for a meal, we’ll have to fight it off. How d’you think we lost an oarsman?”
Edward was never sure if Chelle was telling the truth or teasing the foreigner, but it didn’t hurt to play along. “I’ll do my very best not to get eaten.”
Chelle grinned at him and went outside.
Edward arranged his things next to his sleeping pallet, then went out on the open deck. He found Chelle standing at the prow with Finduns. Three oarsmen sat behind them, throwing stones in some kind of game Edward didn’t recognize but which seemed to involve lots of angry muttering. The oars on the side of the raft were pulled up, letting the raft follow the slow drift of the river.The last crew member wasn’t in sight.
The raft had moved far enough away from its dock that they were out of sight of Maston and in the wilderness, lush greenery pressing in on all sides, plants that Edward wouldn’t have called trees hanging over the water so far that their feathery leaves nearly touched the sides of the raft. Edward reached out and touched one of the leaves, gingerly, half expecting it to sting, or for someone to shout at him to stay away. But the leaf was soft and slightly fuzzy, and Chelle glanced at him and said nothing.
The air was even more humid here, it seemed, but the wilderness was beautiful. The bank was flat and inviting, its sides lined with bunches of bright flowers. The soil seemed thick, and the river was placid. Above them, the sky was a perfect blue.
Edward sidled up to Chelle. “Why does no one live out here? It looks like it could be good farmland, if you cleared away those trees.”
“It’s not good farmland,” said Chelle, shaking her head. “You’re not the first to have that idea. There’s a lot of plants, but the soil’s quite poor. You won’t get anything to grow out here but those plants that’s already there. Besides,” she pointed, “you’d have to deal with the animals, too.”
Edward followed her finger and looked into the brush, his eyes roaming but finding nothing of interest. Until, suddenly: a flash of light glinting off a pair of eyes that stood much farther from the ground than Edward was comfortable with. He could make out a vague shape, huge and hulking, silently watching them.
Then the raft rounded a bend in the river and it was gone.
“Do those things swim?” he asked, thinking of his earlier conversation with Chelle.
“They do,” she said. “But they aren’t meat eaters, so we’re safe. Sometimes they bump up the side of the raft, but we’re steady enough not to tip over. Still, that’s the size some of the things get. This is dangerous territory, Edward, and those are just the terrors we know. There’s a reason we won’t be making landfall again until we get to Port Loreny.”
For once, she seemed completely serious, and Edward fell silent.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Asphalt #5 (boat), Navy #5 (backstroke), White Cross #1 (Velvet Underworld)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Duck Gallery)
Word Count: 1,260
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Edward sets off on his journey down the river.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
There was an oppressive lull in the air, a humidity so heavy that it was almost too hard to breathe. Like livin’ underwater, Selo had once told him, as they were passing through Ceenta Vowei for Edward’s very first time. Growing up on the coast, Edward had never experienced anything like it.
Now, an entire ocean away, he felt just like that miserable kid again. Because Ceenta Vowei got bad in the summer months, but this was even worse.
“Hurry up,” Finduns snapped at him, throwing him a bag. “Raft’s leaving whether you’re on it or not.” Sallow and blonde as most of his fellow countrymen, Finduns had the sour mood to match it, but he was also the only one willing to take a foreigner down the river.
“Pay no attention to him,” said Chelle, sliding up next to Edward and giving his bum a discreet squeeze. “He’s always been a right misery. But you won’t find a better raftsman in all of Maston. He’ll get you down the river safely.” She giggled. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Well, you know the river. Actually, you don’t.” The last tossed off over her shoulder with another giggle as she went to retrieve her own pack. “Go on, get aboard.”
Edward tipped his head toward her and got on the raft. It was her he should be thanking for his passage, a friend of Finduns’s he’d serendipitously met in a tavern. Finduns would have never given him space on his raft, even with Edward’s years of practice in persuasion. But Chelle had taken a liking to Edward, and she knew Finduns well enough to worm past the suspicious exterior.
He was, in all honesty, quite in a hurry to leave. He was pretty sure he’d be good until morning, but then his absence in Dean Schalst’s guest house would be noticed. This was meant to be his grand escape from the city.
“You, there!” yelled Finduns, pointing to Edward. “I assume you know how to shove a raft away from shore?”
“Yes,” said Edward, a little offended.
“Then get to helping with that lot!”
A group of three men were maneuvering poles into place, ready to push the raft away from the bank. When Edward had first heard he was being taken down the Harakard River in a raft, he’d pictured the sorts of rafts the boatpeople had used for their foraging trips: simple affairs, wide and flat, lined with baskets along both ends, with more baskets affixed to the sides, all for holding whatever a boatperson could gather that day. Tiny, only able to hold two grown men at most, or perhaps three people if two of them were small. No shelter at all, everything open to the elements. He’d been skeptical about a ride of several days past what everyone said was uninhabitable wilderness on a structure that didn’t even provide him cover from the rain.
But Finduns’s raft was enormous, and not a raft at all, at least not what Edward would call a raft. It was the length of about ten men from end to end, and all but the jutting ends of the stern and bow, and a small corridor along each side, was covered with a canvas shelter. Edward would have called it a proper boat, but in this he suspected another obstacle of differing languages. The word Chelle told him translated to “raft” in his own language, their word for “boat” reserved exclusively for their oceanfaring vessels. Perhaps the translation wasn’t very accurate. He would have to get Chelle to explain more later.
After the raft was pushed away from shore, Edward ducked under the canvas cover, which held their luggage and a sleeping area. There was a crew of seven on the raft, including Edward, and Chelle had said that was what had really gotten Finduns to agree to let a foreigner come.
“He lost an oarsman ‘while back,” she had explained after the raft captain begrudgingly nodded that Edward was welcome. “Six in a crew’s unlucky. Seven’s better.”
Thank the gods for the superstitions of boaters, a commonality in all the lands Edward had ever visited.
Chelle entered the shelter then, and pointed to his sleeping pallet--all the way in the back, closest to the stern. “That’s so if anything crawls up the back of the raft at night, you’re the first on it’ll eat.”
“I’m flattered,” said Edward. “Is that something likely to happen?”
Chelle shrugged. “The boat’s designed to make it hard for ‘em, but if something’s determined for a meal, we’ll have to fight it off. How d’you think we lost an oarsman?”
Edward was never sure if Chelle was telling the truth or teasing the foreigner, but it didn’t hurt to play along. “I’ll do my very best not to get eaten.”
Chelle grinned at him and went outside.
Edward arranged his things next to his sleeping pallet, then went out on the open deck. He found Chelle standing at the prow with Finduns. Three oarsmen sat behind them, throwing stones in some kind of game Edward didn’t recognize but which seemed to involve lots of angry muttering. The oars on the side of the raft were pulled up, letting the raft follow the slow drift of the river.The last crew member wasn’t in sight.
The raft had moved far enough away from its dock that they were out of sight of Maston and in the wilderness, lush greenery pressing in on all sides, plants that Edward wouldn’t have called trees hanging over the water so far that their feathery leaves nearly touched the sides of the raft. Edward reached out and touched one of the leaves, gingerly, half expecting it to sting, or for someone to shout at him to stay away. But the leaf was soft and slightly fuzzy, and Chelle glanced at him and said nothing.
The air was even more humid here, it seemed, but the wilderness was beautiful. The bank was flat and inviting, its sides lined with bunches of bright flowers. The soil seemed thick, and the river was placid. Above them, the sky was a perfect blue.
Edward sidled up to Chelle. “Why does no one live out here? It looks like it could be good farmland, if you cleared away those trees.”
“It’s not good farmland,” said Chelle, shaking her head. “You’re not the first to have that idea. There’s a lot of plants, but the soil’s quite poor. You won’t get anything to grow out here but those plants that’s already there. Besides,” she pointed, “you’d have to deal with the animals, too.”
Edward followed her finger and looked into the brush, his eyes roaming but finding nothing of interest. Until, suddenly: a flash of light glinting off a pair of eyes that stood much farther from the ground than Edward was comfortable with. He could make out a vague shape, huge and hulking, silently watching them.
Then the raft rounded a bend in the river and it was gone.
“Do those things swim?” he asked, thinking of his earlier conversation with Chelle.
“They do,” she said. “But they aren’t meat eaters, so we’re safe. Sometimes they bump up the side of the raft, but we’re steady enough not to tip over. Still, that’s the size some of the things get. This is dangerous territory, Edward, and those are just the terrors we know. There’s a reason we won’t be making landfall again until we get to Port Loreny.”
For once, she seemed completely serious, and Edward fell silent.
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It's okay Edward, I doubt you'll get eaten.
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Thanks for reading!
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