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Nightworld (1)
Jun. 24th, 2011 11:23 pmOkay, this game is a little different. I think I know where the story is going, and I'm very familiar with this world (more on that later); it's the characters I need to get to know. Let's set the daily quota at… 1500 words. Write until done.
The Meister was dead. They had found his remains on Trova Glacier, what there was of them. Most of him had been eaten.
His son, Janosh, had shed no tears at the funeral. The elders of the village of Stuvitze were already standing in clumps, muttering with their heads together; the machinations were already underway to choose a new Meister, with the ashes of the old one not even sent down the river yet. They would certainly not be choosing one as young as Janosh. But Janosh was determined to show no signs of youthful emotion. He stood still as a statue as the Celebrant read the ancient Words of Passing.
The Meister's ashes were put into the ritual coracle and pushed out into the River Saubel. Janosh watched the current take the boat and whisk it downstream, just as he had watched the river claim his mother almost ten years before. The ashes would travel under the bridges of the city of Haublatz, then past the quays of the port of Stenlau, and finally would be swallowed by the Grey Sea. What happened to them then was not known to Janosh, or anybody else in the village for that matter. They were simply gone.
Visibility on this day was good. The suncalves were hungry today, and had come down from the airless rim above the Great Valley to graze upon the gas-pods that grew from the balloon trees and hung ripely in the sky. Balloon trees had been lovingly cultivated in the Valley since time immemorial, because suncalves liked to feed on them, and the great bleating gas-bag creatures shed light in abundance. Each one was like a small sun, difficult to look at directly, bringing enough radiance for crops to grow if they could be encouraged to stay long enough. And that was important, because the world had no sun.
( Read more... )
The Meister was dead. They had found his remains on Trova Glacier, what there was of them. Most of him had been eaten.
His son, Janosh, had shed no tears at the funeral. The elders of the village of Stuvitze were already standing in clumps, muttering with their heads together; the machinations were already underway to choose a new Meister, with the ashes of the old one not even sent down the river yet. They would certainly not be choosing one as young as Janosh. But Janosh was determined to show no signs of youthful emotion. He stood still as a statue as the Celebrant read the ancient Words of Passing.
The Meister's ashes were put into the ritual coracle and pushed out into the River Saubel. Janosh watched the current take the boat and whisk it downstream, just as he had watched the river claim his mother almost ten years before. The ashes would travel under the bridges of the city of Haublatz, then past the quays of the port of Stenlau, and finally would be swallowed by the Grey Sea. What happened to them then was not known to Janosh, or anybody else in the village for that matter. They were simply gone.
Visibility on this day was good. The suncalves were hungry today, and had come down from the airless rim above the Great Valley to graze upon the gas-pods that grew from the balloon trees and hung ripely in the sky. Balloon trees had been lovingly cultivated in the Valley since time immemorial, because suncalves liked to feed on them, and the great bleating gas-bag creatures shed light in abundance. Each one was like a small sun, difficult to look at directly, bringing enough radiance for crops to grow if they could be encouraged to stay long enough. And that was important, because the world had no sun.
( Read more... )
