Fantasy From The Ashes

[CherryTart]

Julia Tarnash

Droplets of water splashed out of the wooden basin onto the dirt as boney fingers ran over a crudely crafted and partially torn brown tunic, it sat in a wooden basin filled three-quarters of the way with muddy water; it may not have been the cleanest, but it was what Julia had to clean with. She lifted the old tunic from the basin, taking a moment to look up at the well-trodden dirt bath ahead of her packed with others. The road was narrow, it was surrounded by many shacks of wood the denizens called their homes, some were dilapidated ready to collapse at a moments notice yet a small few stood tall ready to carry on for another century. Everyone traversing the street was the same, some staring down at the dirt their heads cast downward as well as the wings that sprouted from their thoracic spine. Most had thin insect-like wings made of cuticle, though a good few also had bird-like wings and even less had scaled wings much like a dragons, though those were extremely rare among those residing on the back itself.

She sighed, raising her arm up into the air, then she brought it down slapping the tunic with a wooden washing bat, a stick, she continued to repeat this action over and over battering the sopping wet article of clothing before dipping it back into the basin. She scrubbed the tunic again, beat it again and repeated the process for the better-part of an half-an-hour, once she was completed washing the tunic she lifted it up and rose to her feet. Now, time to dry it, she looked around her gaining a deep frown as she looked at all the poorly-made shacks for houses and disheveled outfits everyone wore, but those were manageable what truly brought on her frown was the near-complete lack of direct sunlight.

Everything in view was covered by shadow, it was almost as if they were all stuck in a dimly lit cave receiving small bits of sunlight from narrow holes in the walls, unfortunately the situation was much more than that; hovering above her head was a massive island where the nobility, and royalty, resided. To make matters worse, around the island floated smaller ones with light pink beams coming out of the lowest point in them shooting off either east or west depending on which direction the islands were to the main one. Her imagination flourished with what could be inside those lavish buildings she so rarely saw, were the interior halls gilded gold like the outside? Unlike her dilapidated wood boards that barely kept rain out. What fancy material were the floors? Her floors fancy material was dirt. What was it like to have specialized rooms? For her and her younger brother they had one cramped room taken up by a fireplace, a table, her loom and the basic wool she could find.

A shake of her head dispelled her melancholic thoughts of the shadow cast down on her home, instead she went back to the task at hand: laundry. She adopted a little hum as her thin brown wings began to slowly flap, they weren't particularly long only having a wingspan a foot and a half longer than her shoulder width. Her hum continued on evolving from a casual one into a rendition of the only music she knew, a classical tune that brought serenity to her heart. Once she finally got the tunic out in front of her pinching it at the shoulders so it hung down completely unfolded, she increased the speed at which her wings flapped to the point the small things were merely a blur on her back rapidly moving from extending out from her back to beside her shoulders and surely enough she began to rise off the ground with the piece of clothing in hand. While she rose she spun herself around in a circle flapping her wings in a way that jerked her around in place, the movement of her wings quickly turned her perfectly straight jet-black hair all-around from side-to-side disheveling it rather quickly. However, while it did throw her hair around it also did the same with the tunic making air whip against it as she spun, which dried it and also sent water droplets splattering down onto anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by when she was drying the laundry. Her neighbors knew by now not to stick around when she was doing her laundry, passersby were typically oblivious to this and ended up getting hit with bits of water.

Julia remained airborne even after she finished her hover-dry, as she referred to it, and looked up at the reversed mountains that were the underside of the floating islands above if only she could remain up there. It was easy enough to fly on up, but unless she was on official business that would end rather poorly when noble guards dealt with her. Another sigh let itself out of her mouth as she descended planting her feet down on the dirt, she held the tunic with one hand and lifted the washing bat giving the clothing a hard hit with it. She turned from those walking in front of her, and the few with enough energy to consistently fly overhead, and leaned her shoulder against the heavy wooden door to her little shack home struggling to shove it open. Eventually, she did manage to push it open and toss the bat down on the floor, leave the tunic dangling from atop the fireplace and return outside to retrieve her washing basin. Before lifting it, she tipped it over dumping the water out onto the dirt where it formed into a muddy puddle. She heaved the basin up, grunting as her boney arms trembled under the weight of the thick oak basin. With a few pants, she hauled it into her shack and gave a hard kick to send the door slamming shut.

After placing it back into one of the corners of her house, she grabbed a metal candle-holder from atop the fireplace that still had a bit of wax left in it. The fire was waning and with it being only afternoon wasting fuel on light rather than warmth was a poor decision, she held the candle next to the fireplace lighting it before setting it down on her loom right by the door. She knew it was unsafe, but she was only going to leave it there for a moment so she could prepare a bit of bread for her brother when he returned home. Now, where did she put that bread...

BittyBobcat

 

[BittyBobcat]

Peter Tarnash

Wind! It tugged at his feathers and tousled his hair with a lively energy that filled him with sheer excitement. He swooped into a cloud, angling his wings to hit the updraft that sent him soaring ever higher. A broad, crooked smile spread across his face as he shot out of the damp air and back into that endless blue. Fresh air in his lungs, freedom under his fearhers... Peter lived for this sensation.

But he couldn't stay here for long. There were messages to be delivered and pay to collect. Peter paused for a moment, slowing his flight to take in one last glance of the tiers of the hulking city he called home. The lower levels looked almost like beehives from far away, their wood-and-stone walls pockmarked with holes and the occasional outcropping meant for growing food. Higher up, where nobles, royals, and other "important" people resided, looked more like one of the displays for sweets that Peter had seen through the windows of a bakery on one of his few visits to their world. They didn't form the foundation of the city, and -with less weight to be supported- they could afford to make their outer walls of glass. Pete could scarcely imagine what it would be like to walk the streets and still have the warmth of the sun on his wings. If he was being honest, he was a bit jealous.

Still, even their gilded halls and bejeweled domes were shadowed by the king. At this distance, his palace shone like the sun. Windows were artfully crafted, their glass stained to be vibrant oranges, honey yellows, and cherry reds. Gold shone in every direction, and where there was no gold to be found, other precious metals took it's place (though, there were rumors that it wasn't real gold, and in fact copper that had been treated in some way to make it appear golden, but such ideas were not spoken plainly for fear of losing one's head). Real gold or not, the effect given when it caught the light of the sun was that it was made of flame.

The palace, however, was not Peter's destination. It never was, in fact. The only time he had ever been tasked to deliver a note to that tier (to one of the many servants who kept it sparkling clean), he was forced to take it to a secondary messenger on one of the noble's levels (where he was scarcely tolerated upon, and only was let in under the implication that he was a handservant to "Myra's kid", whoever that was). No, today's journey would be bringing him to one of the outer islands. Held in place by a magical tether that looked positively flimsy compared to the chunk of land it supported.

Peter tucked his wings in and holding his messenger bag close, he entered a dive. As he arrowed downward the scattered platforms of farmland grew larger, and eventually he was engulfed within the vertical maze. Banking to the left, he zipped across what seemed to be some rows of carrots (it was hard to tell with all of the colors blurring together as they went by), before shooting out onto a separate level. Moments before hitting the edge of the terrace, he spread his wings to their full length. Peter skidded to a stop and narrowly avoided barreling head over heels with a hasty flap or two.

Scarcely taking a moment to catch his breath, Peter sprinted toward a small, wooden shack located toward the more shadowed edge of the platform. He waved at some farmhands, receiving a few smiles in return -though, most of them were too busy harvesting crops to wave back.

"Tyto! Mr, Tyto!" He called, just about to knock on his door when it slid open, revealing a tall, thin man who stood hunched slightly over with his large tan speckled wings tucked around him in such a way that made him appear to be wearing a cloak of feathers. "Delivery!" Peter chirped, already digging a small, linen package out of his bag. "From Mrs. Barston, it's the clay and nettle you ordered."

The physician smiled wanly, his tired eyes trailing with concern over the thin boy's figure. "Good, good." He accepted the bundle with a nod and turned to rustle through his shelves for payment. "Unfortunately, I'm a bit low on coin at the moment. However, I do have some surplus crop. Would that work?"

"Yessir!" Pete replied hastily, his face practically lighting up. Before another word could be said, a bundle of carrots was placed in his eager hands.

"Now, you and your sister take care. I'd hate to be getting my packages late, you hear?" He hummed, a teasing glint in his eye.

Peter, already stuffing the carrots in his bag and about to take off called, "Yes, sir! Thank you, Mr. Tyto!" Within moments he was soaring away holding a grin wide enough to display the chip in his tooth.

He burst into their shack with a bang, the heavy wooden door slamming into the wall behind it and sending a slight tremor through the entire building. "Jules-Jules-Jules, guess what!" Peter blurted, not waiting for an answer to yank the carrots out and shout "I got more food!" For once, he was he one to bring home dinner! In his excitement, he spread his wings a bit wider than he had intended (far too large for a room of that size). His leftmost wing smacked something solid, and he drew it back in quickly, giving a slight hiss of pain.

The candle, still lit, fell silently into the pile of wool beside it. This fateful event went unnoticed by Peter, who has assumed his wing had hit the wall.

( CherryTart )