Post by Korski on Jun 21, 2009 0:04:38 GMT -5
*This is an older fantasy epic I barely started and have yet to come back to. I have some basic concept drawings, a world map and the framework of a plot. Maybe I'll actually continue this some day, lol.*
A storm the likes of which Solsmarch hadn’t seen in years was ravaging its western shores. Fortunately, the residents of the port towns that dot the shoreline were a stubborn people and had weathered many storms like it. They sat now, warm, within their homes, having made the necessary preparations beforehand. Supplies and personal belongings that couldn’t be taken in with them were tied down and secured. Their rafts and boats of various shapes and sizes, being essential to their livelihood, had been pulled onto shore and tethered to any nearby, stable surroundings such as boulders or particularly stubborn trees. Even so, damages would be unavoidable, but at least no lives would be lost.
Unbeknownst to them, luck had been on their side. The worst of the storm had settled itself in the northern reaches of Solsmarch, just off the coast of the Heartwood Forest.
Menacing black clouds marred the night sky, obscuring its usual occupant and the soft, pale light that would have made the Heartwood glow. The storm churned the sea far below into what seemed a furious, frothy boil and massive waves unendingly crashed into the towering cliff side. Relentless sheets of icy rain roared across the surface of the water and slicked the rocky incline to such a degree that even the most surefooted individual would have had great difficulty traversing its narrow ledges. Not a single crevice or cavern etched into the stone face of the cliff was spared what little warmth it may have contained as it was mercilessly stolen by the bone-chilling winds.
The cave that twelve year old Joru Whitehaven currently found himself prisoner of was no exception. Shivering violently and nursing a badly broken ankle, he sat in a shock-induced silence near the entrance and gazed vacantly at the storm.
An overwhelming feeling of disgust snapped Joru back into coherency. He hated this storm. Hated it so much that he actually shook. He had been so close to showing everyone he was worth something, but now everything had gone so wrong. Even the Gods were against him, it seemed.
As if to confirm his bitter conclusion, a bolt of lightning tore across the sky and briefly illuminated the cavern.
Joru hung his head low and wept. Moments later the weeping had turned into heaving sobs. He felt sick to his stomach. There was no way to escape this place. He was going to die here. Even if someone did find him, they’d only find a weeping, sniveling, broken boy. They wouldn’t find someone worthy of being their village’s future chieftain. They wouldn’t find a Whitehaven.
A strong gust of wind, carrying a payload of ice-cold rain, forced its way into the cave.
Joru gasped and recoiled as the stinging droplets collided with his face and he drew his arms up to shield himself. It was almost like a strike of reprimandation for his sullen behavior. He wiped away the water, as well as the tears and nose runnings, from his face and started to laugh. It wasn’t so much laughter born of joy as much as exasperation, but it still felt good. Regardless, the rain was right. He wasn’t going to dishonor his family name by just giving up and sitting here forever, waiting to die. There had to be some way out of here and he was going to find it.
He glanced to his right and saw the darkness of the deeper recesses of the cavern and the unknown perils it surely held. Glancing to his left, he saw the ocean and the terrible storm he had become so familiar with.
“Left it is.” He wasn’t afraid of much, but the dark was something he liked to avoid whenever possible. And he wasn’t about to get lost in it in a place like this. Slowly, and being careful not to cause further injury to his ankle, Joru pulled himself, arm over arm, along the floor towards the mouth of the cave and the sliver of a ledge that protruded from it.
Upon reaching the ledge, he could barely withstand the barrage of rain that had begun to assault the exposed upper half of his body. The once navigable paths that extended to his left and right had become engulfed in a watery spray, still far too dangerous to tread even for someone who had use of both their legs. Visibility was poor at best, giving the outside world a sense of being nonexistent past the short distance Joru could see. The rain continued to fall. Continued to beat him into the ground. In mere moments, what little strength Joru had left was sapped by the cold and he collapsed.
Eyes shut tight, he gasped for breath and briefly considered lying here a bit longer. He could let the cold continue to seep in, lulling him into a long and permanent sleep. But Joru was getting sick of his morbid train of thought. Grimacing, he mustered his last ounce of strength, pushed his body into a roll and tumbled back into the cave. Sprawled out on his back, he stared at the ceiling for long time. “Damn,” he cursed with exhaustion, “I guess I should have picked right.” He never expected to escape out in the storm, but he still felt he needed to try if only out of spite. If only to avoid the darkness for a while longer.
Joru forced himself up into a sitting position and began to scan the surrounding area with a more practiced eye.
His heart sank a little more after he had finished. He had hoped to find something he could make a torch with to make braving the depths of the cave a bit more tolerable, but only a few loose rocks and mossy growths adorned the walls and floor. The moss might have provided a short span of light if it hadn’t been dampened. Joru thought he could have at least found some sort of stick to use a crutch, but it was becoming more and more apparent that luck was definitely not on his side.
Bracing himself up against the wall, Joru shakily brought himself to his feet. He kept his injured ankle raised off the floor and started to alternate between shuffling his good foot forward and inching his shoulder along in a similar fashion against the cavern wall. Leaving the dim light behind, he continued the arduous process that led him deeper into the darkness.
A storm the likes of which Solsmarch hadn’t seen in years was ravaging its western shores. Fortunately, the residents of the port towns that dot the shoreline were a stubborn people and had weathered many storms like it. They sat now, warm, within their homes, having made the necessary preparations beforehand. Supplies and personal belongings that couldn’t be taken in with them were tied down and secured. Their rafts and boats of various shapes and sizes, being essential to their livelihood, had been pulled onto shore and tethered to any nearby, stable surroundings such as boulders or particularly stubborn trees. Even so, damages would be unavoidable, but at least no lives would be lost.
Unbeknownst to them, luck had been on their side. The worst of the storm had settled itself in the northern reaches of Solsmarch, just off the coast of the Heartwood Forest.
Menacing black clouds marred the night sky, obscuring its usual occupant and the soft, pale light that would have made the Heartwood glow. The storm churned the sea far below into what seemed a furious, frothy boil and massive waves unendingly crashed into the towering cliff side. Relentless sheets of icy rain roared across the surface of the water and slicked the rocky incline to such a degree that even the most surefooted individual would have had great difficulty traversing its narrow ledges. Not a single crevice or cavern etched into the stone face of the cliff was spared what little warmth it may have contained as it was mercilessly stolen by the bone-chilling winds.
The cave that twelve year old Joru Whitehaven currently found himself prisoner of was no exception. Shivering violently and nursing a badly broken ankle, he sat in a shock-induced silence near the entrance and gazed vacantly at the storm.
An overwhelming feeling of disgust snapped Joru back into coherency. He hated this storm. Hated it so much that he actually shook. He had been so close to showing everyone he was worth something, but now everything had gone so wrong. Even the Gods were against him, it seemed.
As if to confirm his bitter conclusion, a bolt of lightning tore across the sky and briefly illuminated the cavern.
Joru hung his head low and wept. Moments later the weeping had turned into heaving sobs. He felt sick to his stomach. There was no way to escape this place. He was going to die here. Even if someone did find him, they’d only find a weeping, sniveling, broken boy. They wouldn’t find someone worthy of being their village’s future chieftain. They wouldn’t find a Whitehaven.
A strong gust of wind, carrying a payload of ice-cold rain, forced its way into the cave.
Joru gasped and recoiled as the stinging droplets collided with his face and he drew his arms up to shield himself. It was almost like a strike of reprimandation for his sullen behavior. He wiped away the water, as well as the tears and nose runnings, from his face and started to laugh. It wasn’t so much laughter born of joy as much as exasperation, but it still felt good. Regardless, the rain was right. He wasn’t going to dishonor his family name by just giving up and sitting here forever, waiting to die. There had to be some way out of here and he was going to find it.
He glanced to his right and saw the darkness of the deeper recesses of the cavern and the unknown perils it surely held. Glancing to his left, he saw the ocean and the terrible storm he had become so familiar with.
“Left it is.” He wasn’t afraid of much, but the dark was something he liked to avoid whenever possible. And he wasn’t about to get lost in it in a place like this. Slowly, and being careful not to cause further injury to his ankle, Joru pulled himself, arm over arm, along the floor towards the mouth of the cave and the sliver of a ledge that protruded from it.
Upon reaching the ledge, he could barely withstand the barrage of rain that had begun to assault the exposed upper half of his body. The once navigable paths that extended to his left and right had become engulfed in a watery spray, still far too dangerous to tread even for someone who had use of both their legs. Visibility was poor at best, giving the outside world a sense of being nonexistent past the short distance Joru could see. The rain continued to fall. Continued to beat him into the ground. In mere moments, what little strength Joru had left was sapped by the cold and he collapsed.
Eyes shut tight, he gasped for breath and briefly considered lying here a bit longer. He could let the cold continue to seep in, lulling him into a long and permanent sleep. But Joru was getting sick of his morbid train of thought. Grimacing, he mustered his last ounce of strength, pushed his body into a roll and tumbled back into the cave. Sprawled out on his back, he stared at the ceiling for long time. “Damn,” he cursed with exhaustion, “I guess I should have picked right.” He never expected to escape out in the storm, but he still felt he needed to try if only out of spite. If only to avoid the darkness for a while longer.
Joru forced himself up into a sitting position and began to scan the surrounding area with a more practiced eye.
His heart sank a little more after he had finished. He had hoped to find something he could make a torch with to make braving the depths of the cave a bit more tolerable, but only a few loose rocks and mossy growths adorned the walls and floor. The moss might have provided a short span of light if it hadn’t been dampened. Joru thought he could have at least found some sort of stick to use a crutch, but it was becoming more and more apparent that luck was definitely not on his side.
Bracing himself up against the wall, Joru shakily brought himself to his feet. He kept his injured ankle raised off the floor and started to alternate between shuffling his good foot forward and inching his shoulder along in a similar fashion against the cavern wall. Leaving the dim light behind, he continued the arduous process that led him deeper into the darkness.