Cricket
Candy Shop Guild
(From my journal, in the roleplaying game Ultima Online, a game possessed of lands where wizards, dragons, and mighty warriors dwell.)
I remember the first time I ventured out from our home by myself.
So often before I would go only in the company of my father or sisters, for with them did I find comfort and safety. The many chores we had living on our farm so far from town kept us quite busy. Often were the days we spent gathering wood in the haunted forest, mining minerals in nearby cliffs, or gathering valuable herbs and regents for sale to wandering healers. There was much we had to do to survive in the Land of the Bloodnames. Though so beautiful was this land by the inlet sea of Loch Lake, life was perilous and short for many.
Today, however, I felt the spring breeze blowing in from Loch Lake, the scents pulling me off the steps of our home and into the yard. I opened the gate without as much concern as I had always been taught, and I found myself wandering to the shore. I draped about me my sisters red cloak, protected from the rise of an early morning chill. Though breakfast was in the air, I felt safe going not too far. Along the shore, I stood for a moment to stare longingly toward the fortress city of Cove far across the bay. Smoke from distant hearths clouded the sky, and the last light of the sentry tower was gleaming its last. I turned away, strolling north, curious to see, to smell, to touch this or that and everything else that caught my attention.
Upon reaching the Sorcerer's Stone along the bank, I suddenly realized I was somewhat at a distance from our home. I could still see it, being only a fine long bow shot away, but never alone had I ventured so far by myself. I smiled, then shrugged, delighted in my bravery. With pursed lips I blew a stray lock of my black hair back up over my brow, then wheeled on my heels to jump upon the stone.
Again, I peered across the lake, though from this new vantage point so much more was revealed. The mountain buttressing the west side of Cove seemed so impregnable from here. Many times had I sailed there with my grandfather when younger, mining along the bank upon our ship, the Scant Bounty. How funny, that when younger I had always held the youthful belief that this was all our land and sea. We had worked it all my life, and my father and grandfather before me. Suddenly, from somewhere deep inside me, as I gazed across the peaceful inlet sea to those far cliffs, I realized that this was not so. It was not ours.
I can still smell that moment. Britain swamp was over my shoulder to the north and east as the crow does fly. I smiled, remembering my grandfather would always say this. I can only ask myself now, "How does the crow fly?" I scrunched my nose as the foul gas of the musky rot of downed trees and decaying vermin wavered on the early morning mist, meandering outward toward the loch.
Sitting upon my knees, leaning forward as I did so, I saw myself for the first real time in the waters of the lake. I had seen myself before mind you, yet, now it was different. I had sometimes seen my face glimmer faintly in the forged metal swords which my grandfather crafted with his own hands in the late afternoon sun, but only so slightly did I gather this image. That was me, I told myself. My hair was black. This I could see. Then there was the time my sister told us the most frightening story, nestled as we were within our home, the fire of the hearth warm and reassuring. As I drew near to her, there, in the brightness of her eyes, I could see myself. That was my face. That was me. Or, what of the day when the raiders burned the farms nearby, leaving only the bravest to battle in defense, and the remainder of us to hide in the fields. I remember that nearby, a war horse galloped within the stand of crops where I lay, hoping not to be discovered. Yet, so close was the enemy rider, that upon the shiny metal plate of one leg I could see my reflection. Only then did I become aware of how small I was.
Now, looking upon my reflection in the lake, I could see that I was no longer so small. Evenmore, as I crept even closer to gaze at my reflection in the calm waters of Loch Lake, I saw for the first time that my eyes were gray. I had heard my mother tell me my eyes were gray. I knew what the color gray was. Even my sisters had told me the same. Yet, without the luxury of a mirror, that finery reserved for others living so distant, how could I truly know the color of gray in my eyes? If I had no sight, as if the blind woman, would I know of gray if they told me still?
Lost in such reverie, I forgot myself and my whereabouts for much too long. This was Loch Lake, in the Land of the Bloodnames, by the swamp of Britain. It was no place to lose myself, even for so short a time. Always, you must be on guard. Always.
I quietly raised myself with my hands to my knees, still sitting upon the calves of my legs. I had not remembered the lesson. My eyes peered across the lake, fixed upon the high mountain above Cove. It was not that they were so beautiful that snared my attentions. In the corner of my eye, no more than a spear in length away, stood a large white wolf. Even had I wished to flee, perhaps even scream, I could not. My breath was braced by fear and my heart began to race. I could not move. I could not even turn my head to look at him. I simply continued staring out across the lake, fixated upon the distant ramparts of Cove, a shimmering blue water element lurking about the docks, along with the rising hump of a hump of a sea serpent on the far shore.
Mustering my strength with a deep breath, I slowly bowed my head. Within my red cape I rose ever so measuredly. Standing tall, I began to raise my arms above my head to make myself appear even taller, as if attempting to reach the very bright spring sky above with my fingertips. Then, when I could reach no further, I cautiously turned to face the creature. Only then did I realize I had not taken another breath. My cheeks were puffed out, and my lungs were aching horribly, crying out for air. "White wolf kill me now," I must have screamed within myself, "so I may breath one last time!"
He did not kill me. The white wolf but turned and walked away. Evenso, I stood there holding my breath, arms high above my head. Now, I feared that in gasping for air I would make so loud a sound that even a more terrible creature from the swamp might hear, or even worse, a bandit.
The white wolf then suddenly stopped at the edge of the swamp. He did not turn around, but his head came about, to cast a look over his shoulder in my direction. What a sorry sight I must have presented. Standing in a red cloak much too big for me, cheeks puffed out in a desperate attempt to hold my breath, my hair a morning mess, my eyes bulging, and my arms high above my head. Within his golden eyes I could discern, even from here, that I was the most pitiful sight.
Then he was gone. I gasped at last, immediately covering my mouth, frightened. In both directions did I turn my head to see if I was heard. Only in the distance did I hear the cackle of a gargoyle, but nothing more.
Without thinking, my legs propelled me off the Socerer's Stone and onto the shore. I ran to the edge of the swamp, wanting to see the white wolf just one more time. He was gone. Only a slithering snake presented itself, along with an alligator slipping into the water.
I walked home the way I came, head down, as I traced my path along the shore. On my first day out of our home, along this loch where I had always lived in comfort and security, I had learn several things. I learned for myself that my eyes are gray. I learned that I am brave, though perhaps somewhat a fool. I also learned that, although I could not yet understand how or why, I possessed a very strong appeal over the beasts of this earth. I was not born to be just a herder. I would one day be much more.
My name is Cricket de Montfort. On this day, one year ago, I remember.
_________________
I remember the first time I ventured out from our home by myself.
So often before I would go only in the company of my father or sisters, for with them did I find comfort and safety. The many chores we had living on our farm so far from town kept us quite busy. Often were the days we spent gathering wood in the haunted forest, mining minerals in nearby cliffs, or gathering valuable herbs and regents for sale to wandering healers. There was much we had to do to survive in the Land of the Bloodnames. Though so beautiful was this land by the inlet sea of Loch Lake, life was perilous and short for many.
Today, however, I felt the spring breeze blowing in from Loch Lake, the scents pulling me off the steps of our home and into the yard. I opened the gate without as much concern as I had always been taught, and I found myself wandering to the shore. I draped about me my sisters red cloak, protected from the rise of an early morning chill. Though breakfast was in the air, I felt safe going not too far. Along the shore, I stood for a moment to stare longingly toward the fortress city of Cove far across the bay. Smoke from distant hearths clouded the sky, and the last light of the sentry tower was gleaming its last. I turned away, strolling north, curious to see, to smell, to touch this or that and everything else that caught my attention.
Upon reaching the Sorcerer's Stone along the bank, I suddenly realized I was somewhat at a distance from our home. I could still see it, being only a fine long bow shot away, but never alone had I ventured so far by myself. I smiled, then shrugged, delighted in my bravery. With pursed lips I blew a stray lock of my black hair back up over my brow, then wheeled on my heels to jump upon the stone.
Again, I peered across the lake, though from this new vantage point so much more was revealed. The mountain buttressing the west side of Cove seemed so impregnable from here. Many times had I sailed there with my grandfather when younger, mining along the bank upon our ship, the Scant Bounty. How funny, that when younger I had always held the youthful belief that this was all our land and sea. We had worked it all my life, and my father and grandfather before me. Suddenly, from somewhere deep inside me, as I gazed across the peaceful inlet sea to those far cliffs, I realized that this was not so. It was not ours.
I can still smell that moment. Britain swamp was over my shoulder to the north and east as the crow does fly. I smiled, remembering my grandfather would always say this. I can only ask myself now, "How does the crow fly?" I scrunched my nose as the foul gas of the musky rot of downed trees and decaying vermin wavered on the early morning mist, meandering outward toward the loch.
Sitting upon my knees, leaning forward as I did so, I saw myself for the first real time in the waters of the lake. I had seen myself before mind you, yet, now it was different. I had sometimes seen my face glimmer faintly in the forged metal swords which my grandfather crafted with his own hands in the late afternoon sun, but only so slightly did I gather this image. That was me, I told myself. My hair was black. This I could see. Then there was the time my sister told us the most frightening story, nestled as we were within our home, the fire of the hearth warm and reassuring. As I drew near to her, there, in the brightness of her eyes, I could see myself. That was my face. That was me. Or, what of the day when the raiders burned the farms nearby, leaving only the bravest to battle in defense, and the remainder of us to hide in the fields. I remember that nearby, a war horse galloped within the stand of crops where I lay, hoping not to be discovered. Yet, so close was the enemy rider, that upon the shiny metal plate of one leg I could see my reflection. Only then did I become aware of how small I was.
Now, looking upon my reflection in the lake, I could see that I was no longer so small. Evenmore, as I crept even closer to gaze at my reflection in the calm waters of Loch Lake, I saw for the first time that my eyes were gray. I had heard my mother tell me my eyes were gray. I knew what the color gray was. Even my sisters had told me the same. Yet, without the luxury of a mirror, that finery reserved for others living so distant, how could I truly know the color of gray in my eyes? If I had no sight, as if the blind woman, would I know of gray if they told me still?
Lost in such reverie, I forgot myself and my whereabouts for much too long. This was Loch Lake, in the Land of the Bloodnames, by the swamp of Britain. It was no place to lose myself, even for so short a time. Always, you must be on guard. Always.
I quietly raised myself with my hands to my knees, still sitting upon the calves of my legs. I had not remembered the lesson. My eyes peered across the lake, fixed upon the high mountain above Cove. It was not that they were so beautiful that snared my attentions. In the corner of my eye, no more than a spear in length away, stood a large white wolf. Even had I wished to flee, perhaps even scream, I could not. My breath was braced by fear and my heart began to race. I could not move. I could not even turn my head to look at him. I simply continued staring out across the lake, fixated upon the distant ramparts of Cove, a shimmering blue water element lurking about the docks, along with the rising hump of a hump of a sea serpent on the far shore.
Mustering my strength with a deep breath, I slowly bowed my head. Within my red cape I rose ever so measuredly. Standing tall, I began to raise my arms above my head to make myself appear even taller, as if attempting to reach the very bright spring sky above with my fingertips. Then, when I could reach no further, I cautiously turned to face the creature. Only then did I realize I had not taken another breath. My cheeks were puffed out, and my lungs were aching horribly, crying out for air. "White wolf kill me now," I must have screamed within myself, "so I may breath one last time!"
He did not kill me. The white wolf but turned and walked away. Evenso, I stood there holding my breath, arms high above my head. Now, I feared that in gasping for air I would make so loud a sound that even a more terrible creature from the swamp might hear, or even worse, a bandit.
The white wolf then suddenly stopped at the edge of the swamp. He did not turn around, but his head came about, to cast a look over his shoulder in my direction. What a sorry sight I must have presented. Standing in a red cloak much too big for me, cheeks puffed out in a desperate attempt to hold my breath, my hair a morning mess, my eyes bulging, and my arms high above my head. Within his golden eyes I could discern, even from here, that I was the most pitiful sight.
Then he was gone. I gasped at last, immediately covering my mouth, frightened. In both directions did I turn my head to see if I was heard. Only in the distance did I hear the cackle of a gargoyle, but nothing more.
Without thinking, my legs propelled me off the Socerer's Stone and onto the shore. I ran to the edge of the swamp, wanting to see the white wolf just one more time. He was gone. Only a slithering snake presented itself, along with an alligator slipping into the water.
I walked home the way I came, head down, as I traced my path along the shore. On my first day out of our home, along this loch where I had always lived in comfort and security, I had learn several things. I learned for myself that my eyes are gray. I learned that I am brave, though perhaps somewhat a fool. I also learned that, although I could not yet understand how or why, I possessed a very strong appeal over the beasts of this earth. I was not born to be just a herder. I would one day be much more.
My name is Cricket de Montfort. On this day, one year ago, I remember.
_________________
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