Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2014 0:55:45 GMT 1
Time and date: Mid-January, Noon
Weather: Calm and cloudy
Previous Thread: None
Nestled in the foothills of the snowy Berkian mountains, where the air was thinner but the earth was richer and more untouched, was a humble farm and within, a family of humble farmers. The expansive tracks of terraced land had been in their family for generations and what had once been wild, rough land unfit for any kind of growing had over the years been sculpted into a secluded sanctuary for those who weren't scared of a little dirt under their nails. And weren't deterred by the promise of a life of solitary boredom.
Of course not everyone got to make that choice, mused Tryggr as the blade of her ax split another log of firewood. Not like anyone had asked the little baby Horndottir her thoughts on the matter.
As she finished with the firewood, a pair of young terrible terrors skittered over the remaining stump in hot pursuit of a fat gray rat. Nowadays it seemed more of the farm staff was made up of these little troublemakers than people. What had started as two in a matter of months began to multiply. Tryggr couldn't complain though; they chased off the birds and vermin so she didn't have to. They weren't exactly tame however, and the younger ones sometimes burned more crops than they saved.
Her own dragon, dear to heart though he was, wasn't much better. Even as she hefted up the stack of firewood and carried it to the shed, Moonseed trailed behind and nudged her provocatively with the blunt end of his horn, silently urging her to drop her load and come play with him.
And oh how she wished she could. But her parents would throw a fit if they came back from their trip into the village to find her daily chores still undone.
"We'll get away later," Tryggr promised. "Go on, go play. But don't go bringin' back anything weird this time."
Moonseed was the sweetest dragon a girl could ask for, but he had a bad habit of wandering off when he got bored. He never went too far but he almost always came back with some strange trophy from his latest misadventure: a thick treebranch with an abandoned birds nest still in its clutches, a frightened hen stolen from a neighboring farm, even something shiny he decided to lift from some poor traveler that hadn't had the courage to face the deadly nadder's fire.
The large nadder made a clucking noise with his tongue and scurried off obediently. His human allowed herself a break to mop the rapidly cooling sweat from her brow and brush the snow from her work clothes.
She stretched and heard the soft pop of a seam on her trousers. These old rags were on their last legs, but she'd spent the money her parents gave her for new clothes on a replacement for her rusted left shoulder guard. The older Horndottirs still didn't know about her slowly increasing armor collection, and hopefully they never would.
There was the clumsy sound of feet shuffling through snow. Moonseed couldn't be back already, could he?
Weather: Calm and cloudy
Previous Thread: None
Nestled in the foothills of the snowy Berkian mountains, where the air was thinner but the earth was richer and more untouched, was a humble farm and within, a family of humble farmers. The expansive tracks of terraced land had been in their family for generations and what had once been wild, rough land unfit for any kind of growing had over the years been sculpted into a secluded sanctuary for those who weren't scared of a little dirt under their nails. And weren't deterred by the promise of a life of solitary boredom.
Of course not everyone got to make that choice, mused Tryggr as the blade of her ax split another log of firewood. Not like anyone had asked the little baby Horndottir her thoughts on the matter.
As she finished with the firewood, a pair of young terrible terrors skittered over the remaining stump in hot pursuit of a fat gray rat. Nowadays it seemed more of the farm staff was made up of these little troublemakers than people. What had started as two in a matter of months began to multiply. Tryggr couldn't complain though; they chased off the birds and vermin so she didn't have to. They weren't exactly tame however, and the younger ones sometimes burned more crops than they saved.
Her own dragon, dear to heart though he was, wasn't much better. Even as she hefted up the stack of firewood and carried it to the shed, Moonseed trailed behind and nudged her provocatively with the blunt end of his horn, silently urging her to drop her load and come play with him.
And oh how she wished she could. But her parents would throw a fit if they came back from their trip into the village to find her daily chores still undone.
"We'll get away later," Tryggr promised. "Go on, go play. But don't go bringin' back anything weird this time."
Moonseed was the sweetest dragon a girl could ask for, but he had a bad habit of wandering off when he got bored. He never went too far but he almost always came back with some strange trophy from his latest misadventure: a thick treebranch with an abandoned birds nest still in its clutches, a frightened hen stolen from a neighboring farm, even something shiny he decided to lift from some poor traveler that hadn't had the courage to face the deadly nadder's fire.
The large nadder made a clucking noise with his tongue and scurried off obediently. His human allowed herself a break to mop the rapidly cooling sweat from her brow and brush the snow from her work clothes.
She stretched and heard the soft pop of a seam on her trousers. These old rags were on their last legs, but she'd spent the money her parents gave her for new clothes on a replacement for her rusted left shoulder guard. The older Horndottirs still didn't know about her slowly increasing armor collection, and hopefully they never would.
There was the clumsy sound of feet shuffling through snow. Moonseed couldn't be back already, could he?