C
Closer
Guest
Original poster
In the countryside, past the great valley, lies a town. Desolate, an eerie silence lingered on a now permanent basis, a ghost town. Overgrown shrubbery, being one of the only give-away's that the town is no longer inhabited. The legend reads of a once prosperous town, a busy market, port, and plenty of land to harvest.
100 years prior, a curse fell upon the village through the medium of a witch, drought for ten years being the consequence if a child was not sacrificed at the first full moon, each and every year. A mothers love became the bane of the village as she refused to give up her child instead relinquishing a fake in his place. infuriated upon finding out, the witch lay down another curse. All who dwell within this village shall forever wander the plains as a ghost.
The young boy, protected by the strong will of his mother, survived the curse unscathed.
Armin was a boy coming of age, being young at only 18 he had already embarked on his first adventure, his quest was to make a deal with an elf, be it whatever he could offer that the elf wanted, in exchange for helping him defeat the witch, lifting the curses from the village.
A long road, muddy fields, hostile towns, Valleys to venture through. I've heard stories of the elves, a magical race superior to witches. Never seen one as I live too far south. Northbound in search of my villages salvation, begging for food, stealing, doing whatever I can to survive on my travels. Working with those who would allow it in exchange for a place to sleep and a meal. Many people have told me along the way, that nothing but death awaits me at the sacred forest, that isn't something I can accept, there is too much at stake.
*He wipes his brows and in the same motion shields his eyes from the setting sun. Looking down from the top of the valley.*
Still no sign of a forest, even in the depth of the horizon. Hills. At the foot of the valley a small farm, 2 small fields accompanying a cottage. Thatched roof and smoke emanating from the chimney.
*Armin stretches out, arching his back.*
Lets go see what we have down here.
*He walks up to the door and gives a stern knock, before getting down onto one knee and bowing his head.*
A well practiced routine, thinking up his speech as he waited. The knock was load enough to be heard behind the cottage let alone inside. Moments passed...
*knocking once more, then assuming his position.*
Nobody home? Its getting late, such a homely feeling as the smell of food hits my nose. My hunger gets the better of me as the second knock receives no answer.
*Pushing the door gently with both hands, he creeps into the cottage.*
"Hello, anyone here?"
A tone neither loud nor quiet, not to scare anyone if they were in, but also not to alert anyone if he was unnoticed.
*Examining the room, no one was home, He quickly grabbed some bread of the table and shoved it into his pocket, drinking water from a jug on the table.*
The idea of stealing wasn't favourable, and in normal circumstances he himself would frown upon it, but frowning does not stop your stomach hurting, and it doesn't drive you over the next valley.
100 years prior, a curse fell upon the village through the medium of a witch, drought for ten years being the consequence if a child was not sacrificed at the first full moon, each and every year. A mothers love became the bane of the village as she refused to give up her child instead relinquishing a fake in his place. infuriated upon finding out, the witch lay down another curse. All who dwell within this village shall forever wander the plains as a ghost.
The young boy, protected by the strong will of his mother, survived the curse unscathed.
Armin was a boy coming of age, being young at only 18 he had already embarked on his first adventure, his quest was to make a deal with an elf, be it whatever he could offer that the elf wanted, in exchange for helping him defeat the witch, lifting the curses from the village.
A long road, muddy fields, hostile towns, Valleys to venture through. I've heard stories of the elves, a magical race superior to witches. Never seen one as I live too far south. Northbound in search of my villages salvation, begging for food, stealing, doing whatever I can to survive on my travels. Working with those who would allow it in exchange for a place to sleep and a meal. Many people have told me along the way, that nothing but death awaits me at the sacred forest, that isn't something I can accept, there is too much at stake.
*He wipes his brows and in the same motion shields his eyes from the setting sun. Looking down from the top of the valley.*
Still no sign of a forest, even in the depth of the horizon. Hills. At the foot of the valley a small farm, 2 small fields accompanying a cottage. Thatched roof and smoke emanating from the chimney.
*Armin stretches out, arching his back.*
Lets go see what we have down here.
*He walks up to the door and gives a stern knock, before getting down onto one knee and bowing his head.*
A well practiced routine, thinking up his speech as he waited. The knock was load enough to be heard behind the cottage let alone inside. Moments passed...
*knocking once more, then assuming his position.*
Nobody home? Its getting late, such a homely feeling as the smell of food hits my nose. My hunger gets the better of me as the second knock receives no answer.
*Pushing the door gently with both hands, he creeps into the cottage.*
"Hello, anyone here?"
A tone neither loud nor quiet, not to scare anyone if they were in, but also not to alert anyone if he was unnoticed.
*Examining the room, no one was home, He quickly grabbed some bread of the table and shoved it into his pocket, drinking water from a jug on the table.*
The idea of stealing wasn't favourable, and in normal circumstances he himself would frown upon it, but frowning does not stop your stomach hurting, and it doesn't drive you over the next valley.
