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rainbowfic2012-05-07 11:07 am
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-05-07 11:07 am
Brown #4, Burnt Umber #10, Tyrian Purple #12
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Brown #4 (do something up brown), Burnt Umber #10 (Japanese Alps), Tyrian Purple #12 (golden fleece)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Charcoal, Seed Beads, Pastels toorigfic_bingo card prompt "redemption"
Word Count: 1,207
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Prettor finds what he's been looking for.
Notes: I'm taking a little break from UF, mostly due to the overload from Daffodil and because I'm concentrating on writing the novel. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. My last Brown!
He laughed as the first stone came into view.
It could have been any stone, a boulder tumbled into the valley so long ago that it had turned green with moss while a tiny tree struggled to widen a crack that had formed in the rock's surface.
But Prettor had lived in the foothills his whole life, and he knew what he saw was made of no kind of rock that could be found anywhere in the valley or the surrounding mountains. This rock had come from very far away, and its edges, though smoothed and dulled by time, had clearly been cut with tools. And there was no one living in the valley.
Prettor approached the stone with a reverence he had never before graced anything, not even the Goddess. Laying one hand on the stone, feeling the spongy moss and beneath it the cool, unyielding rock, he grinned. "I found it," he whispered.
Darmon had said he couldn't. Darmon had said that even if they were right and they had found the original site of Border Glory, there would be nothing left. A palace, a city destroyed over a thousand years ago would present no trace so many years later. They certainly wouldn't be the first ones to find it, he had argued. Anyone--salkiy, ekalap, human--could have found the place in years past, made off with anything lasting or valuable.
The curse, Prettor had muttered. Nothing grows in the valley. But Darmon didn't quite believe in the curse, especially a curse that lasted for a thousand years. Maybe Farras Araithus had been powerful enough to leave behind a curse that left the whole valley dead, he said. Maybe so. But it was impossible for such a curse to have survived very long after his death.
In that, Darmon seemed right, because the valley around the ruins--and he could see more beyond that first rock, much more--was very much alive. Trees towered above him, their tops swaying in the slight breeze. The ground was covered in ferns, select sunny spots brimming with wildflowers. He could hear birdsong, and the rustling of small animals in the underbrush. But just because the curse had worn off didn't mean that it had never existed, nor did it mean there was nothing of value to be found among the ruins of Border Glory.
"Value," was the key word, so Prettor, after taking a moment longer to appreciate his find, moved deeper into the valley. A stone was still just a stone, no matter how much history it represented. All around him stood more stones, some taller, some so worn down they were nearly unrecognizable as having once been part of a city. Prettor frowned, unsure what he was going to find. Anything made of wood or cloth would have rotted away long ago. Any evidence of roads would have been swallowed by the forest, though Prettor noted the ground he was walking on was exceptionally flat. Flatter than one would expect in nature? He wasn't sure, and he had to be careful not to get carried away. Darmon would never listen to him if he started making suppositions that couldn't be supported by the evidence.
On he walked. More stones appeared, but he passed them by, his initial awe forgotten. Just ahead he thought he could see a clearing, and he quickened his pace, wiping sweat from his forehead. He shoved his way through the overgrown tree line, stopping short as his feet hit empty dirt and his mouth fell open.
As far as he could determine he was in the center of the valley now, where the heart of Border Glory once laid. And Darmon had been wrong again. Forest surrounded the center of the valley on all sides, but the center itself was completely barren. The stones continued, monoliths sticking up from the ground or laying on their sides where they had tumbled over, but there were no trees, no ferns, no flowers. There wasn't even any moss; the stones stood as clean and bare as they had on the day Border Glory fell, though they had also been worn down with time.
The stories about the curse must have been wrong. Maybe Farras Araithus had only cursed the center of the valley instead of the whole thing. Or maybe the curse was fading, its edges shrinking over time and letting the forest take over. But it was still obviously strong where it had been cast.
The barren plain only held Prettor's attention for a few moments. Something even more important than that loomed, impossibly, in his vision. At the very center of the ruins, right on the imaginary line that had separated the domains of Saldonia and Lynt so many ages ago, stood the palace of Border Glory.
It was, unlike the now-unidentifiable structures the other ruins must have once been, amazingly preserved. Ruined beyond repair, of course: weather-worn, water-damaged, and all but one of the turrets had collapsed. But still a structure, with walls and roofs, taller than anything Prettor had ever seen before. It seemed amazing that salkiys had built it, that salkiys had once even lived in such places. It was even more amazing that it still existed after all this time, exposed to the elements in the middle of a barren valley. But perhaps that was what had saved it. No plants or animals--or even salkiys, it seemed--had tried to take up residence or reuse pieces for themselves. It was possible, Prettor thought, nearly vibrating with excitement, that he was the first being to lay eyes on the structure since the fall of the salkiys.
Or maybe the curse had frozen it in time as well as it could. It would be most potent around the palace, Prettor thought, taking a few steps toward it. Farras Araithus had died on the stoop of the palace's main entrance, his blood leaking across the stones as he damned their enemies with his prophecy. Prettor, looking at that very front stoop, imagined he could see it, faint images playing out in his vision, the sounds of battle all around him as the leader of the attacking humans ran a sword through the last Araithus of the salkiys and left him there, gasping for breath, coughing blood and praying to the Goddess not for his salvation but for the salvation of those who would be left behind. The Araithus setting the curse, sacrificing his last few moments of life to ensure such a travesty would never happen again.
Prettor closed his eyes as the mind images became overwhelming. He wanted nothing more than to go to the palace, enter it, see what was left. But he knew he needed Darmon with him, if only so they could lend each other the strength to search through such a painful piece of their past.
And he wanted Darmon with him, so he could show him just how wrong he had been.
It took great effort to turn away from the amazing sight and reenter the forest, but Prettor knew he would be back. And never again would Darmon dismiss him.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Brown #4 (do something up brown), Burnt Umber #10 (Japanese Alps), Tyrian Purple #12 (golden fleece)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Charcoal, Seed Beads, Pastels to
origfic_bingo card prompt "redemption"Word Count: 1,207
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Prettor finds what he's been looking for.
Notes: I'm taking a little break from UF, mostly due to the overload from Daffodil and because I'm concentrating on writing the novel. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. My last Brown!
He laughed as the first stone came into view.
It could have been any stone, a boulder tumbled into the valley so long ago that it had turned green with moss while a tiny tree struggled to widen a crack that had formed in the rock's surface.
But Prettor had lived in the foothills his whole life, and he knew what he saw was made of no kind of rock that could be found anywhere in the valley or the surrounding mountains. This rock had come from very far away, and its edges, though smoothed and dulled by time, had clearly been cut with tools. And there was no one living in the valley.
Prettor approached the stone with a reverence he had never before graced anything, not even the Goddess. Laying one hand on the stone, feeling the spongy moss and beneath it the cool, unyielding rock, he grinned. "I found it," he whispered.
Darmon had said he couldn't. Darmon had said that even if they were right and they had found the original site of Border Glory, there would be nothing left. A palace, a city destroyed over a thousand years ago would present no trace so many years later. They certainly wouldn't be the first ones to find it, he had argued. Anyone--salkiy, ekalap, human--could have found the place in years past, made off with anything lasting or valuable.
The curse, Prettor had muttered. Nothing grows in the valley. But Darmon didn't quite believe in the curse, especially a curse that lasted for a thousand years. Maybe Farras Araithus had been powerful enough to leave behind a curse that left the whole valley dead, he said. Maybe so. But it was impossible for such a curse to have survived very long after his death.
In that, Darmon seemed right, because the valley around the ruins--and he could see more beyond that first rock, much more--was very much alive. Trees towered above him, their tops swaying in the slight breeze. The ground was covered in ferns, select sunny spots brimming with wildflowers. He could hear birdsong, and the rustling of small animals in the underbrush. But just because the curse had worn off didn't mean that it had never existed, nor did it mean there was nothing of value to be found among the ruins of Border Glory.
"Value," was the key word, so Prettor, after taking a moment longer to appreciate his find, moved deeper into the valley. A stone was still just a stone, no matter how much history it represented. All around him stood more stones, some taller, some so worn down they were nearly unrecognizable as having once been part of a city. Prettor frowned, unsure what he was going to find. Anything made of wood or cloth would have rotted away long ago. Any evidence of roads would have been swallowed by the forest, though Prettor noted the ground he was walking on was exceptionally flat. Flatter than one would expect in nature? He wasn't sure, and he had to be careful not to get carried away. Darmon would never listen to him if he started making suppositions that couldn't be supported by the evidence.
On he walked. More stones appeared, but he passed them by, his initial awe forgotten. Just ahead he thought he could see a clearing, and he quickened his pace, wiping sweat from his forehead. He shoved his way through the overgrown tree line, stopping short as his feet hit empty dirt and his mouth fell open.
As far as he could determine he was in the center of the valley now, where the heart of Border Glory once laid. And Darmon had been wrong again. Forest surrounded the center of the valley on all sides, but the center itself was completely barren. The stones continued, monoliths sticking up from the ground or laying on their sides where they had tumbled over, but there were no trees, no ferns, no flowers. There wasn't even any moss; the stones stood as clean and bare as they had on the day Border Glory fell, though they had also been worn down with time.
The stories about the curse must have been wrong. Maybe Farras Araithus had only cursed the center of the valley instead of the whole thing. Or maybe the curse was fading, its edges shrinking over time and letting the forest take over. But it was still obviously strong where it had been cast.
The barren plain only held Prettor's attention for a few moments. Something even more important than that loomed, impossibly, in his vision. At the very center of the ruins, right on the imaginary line that had separated the domains of Saldonia and Lynt so many ages ago, stood the palace of Border Glory.
It was, unlike the now-unidentifiable structures the other ruins must have once been, amazingly preserved. Ruined beyond repair, of course: weather-worn, water-damaged, and all but one of the turrets had collapsed. But still a structure, with walls and roofs, taller than anything Prettor had ever seen before. It seemed amazing that salkiys had built it, that salkiys had once even lived in such places. It was even more amazing that it still existed after all this time, exposed to the elements in the middle of a barren valley. But perhaps that was what had saved it. No plants or animals--or even salkiys, it seemed--had tried to take up residence or reuse pieces for themselves. It was possible, Prettor thought, nearly vibrating with excitement, that he was the first being to lay eyes on the structure since the fall of the salkiys.
Or maybe the curse had frozen it in time as well as it could. It would be most potent around the palace, Prettor thought, taking a few steps toward it. Farras Araithus had died on the stoop of the palace's main entrance, his blood leaking across the stones as he damned their enemies with his prophecy. Prettor, looking at that very front stoop, imagined he could see it, faint images playing out in his vision, the sounds of battle all around him as the leader of the attacking humans ran a sword through the last Araithus of the salkiys and left him there, gasping for breath, coughing blood and praying to the Goddess not for his salvation but for the salvation of those who would be left behind. The Araithus setting the curse, sacrificing his last few moments of life to ensure such a travesty would never happen again.
Prettor closed his eyes as the mind images became overwhelming. He wanted nothing more than to go to the palace, enter it, see what was left. But he knew he needed Darmon with him, if only so they could lend each other the strength to search through such a painful piece of their past.
And he wanted Darmon with him, so he could show him just how wrong he had been.
It took great effort to turn away from the amazing sight and reenter the forest, but Prettor knew he would be back. And never again would Darmon dismiss him.
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