Marzan
New Member
Bedtime Stories
The river was swaddled in a veil of poltergeist-white mist. It was a calm evening only interrupted by the footfalls and laughter from nearby people.
The deathly vapour did not lick the cold cobblestone as the wind was known to do. Its tongue lesser form would not allow it to. Instead, it warped nature by using its spineless tentacles to trail around every rock, buildings on the docks and the galleons. It drifted and ghosted, glided, and dangled. Once it was sure it had conjured up enough of its milky white substance, it clung to and enrobed everything it could. Nothing was spared. It snagged and snared every crag and house without mercy.
The beams of moonlight breaching through the mist, touching upon the galleons and the dock. As the guards gazed out at the slothful sea. Ebbing ever so gently, it looked at peace in its sapphire-blue gown. It felt as if they were looking on a carpet of soft blue fur, such was its softness. The golden flames of the lanterns penetrating the mist. The guards knew the warmth of the lights, yet they would not sway from their post, for their duty came before pleasure.
The lanternlight licking the silvery metal upon the guards, their helmets emblazoned with the winged lion, stood guard, their sturdy blank faces staring into the ghastly mist. The silence of the night only broken by the sound of nearby drunkards, lovers and families finding their way home or to the nearby watering holes. Their laughter filling the night, bottles clinking against one another.
The guards’ eyes scanned the passing figures—drunkards stumbling along, lovers lost in each other's gaze, and families finding their way home after a day's journey. The laughter of merry souls and the clinking of bottles resonated through the night, a testament to the lively spirit of the city.
The cold moves in to meet the warmth of the guards’ blood, washing over their skin, only to be met by the beat of their heart. Their lungs fill with the freezing wet air. Their breath is illuminated by the lanterns, as they fill the night air in front of them.
The guards ever watchful of the family, making their way through the twisting streets of the Pokhwa Wharf. A place named for its local delicacy, the Pokhwa fish, also known as the Dragon Fish. They were the Lord and Lady Äkeirës. Their fondness and affection to one another, as well as their devotion to the city of Hawotnu, is renowned.
The family of Äkeirës walking through the dark streets of Hawotnu, only a few lanterns illuminating the road ahead. A mother and father embracing one another, the mother draped in her husband's wool frock coat. Her elegant cerulean-blue linen dress hidden beneath, with its high collar, long sleeves, and embroidered with golden leaf patterns around the cuffs and neckline, and high heel boots.
Her husband’s gracefulness equals hers, with his brown boots, white linen pants, accompanied by his midnight blue shirt, and a golden brooch decorated with white gemstones to resemble the stars.
Their son, trudging ahead of them, his little feet carrying him as fast as they can through the streets, staying within the periphery of his parents.
Despite the peaceful surroundings, the Lord and Lady was embroiled in a heated discussion regarding the upcoming Midsummer Festival.
“My love, I cannot fathom the notion of cancelling the Midsummer Festival. It is a time for joy and celebration, a time for our people to come together.”
Lord Oupok peered at his wife, “I understand your desire to uphold tradition, but the reality of the situation cannot be ignored. The scarcity of food within our city is dire, and it is our responsibility to ensure the wellbeing of our people.”
“The festival must go on as planned. The people need to celebrate and be reminded of the joys that still exist in this land.”
“How can you speak of joys, when the food stores are empty, and many go hungry?” Oupok’s voice rising in frustration. “I say the festival must be cancelled and all efforts put towards finding food for the people.”
“I will not cancel the festival,” Äkei countered. “Instead, I propose we turn to hunting. The forests beyond the city hold many creatures that can provide sustenance for our people.”
Lord Oupok shook his head. “The forests are too dangerous, and the game has already been hunted nearly to extinction. We cannot rely on hunting to feed the city.”
“What other solutions do you propose then?” Asked Lady Äkei, her eyebrows furrowed.
“We must seek aid from neighboring cities, trade for food and supplies. That is the only way”.
“And let us show weakness to our neighbors? No, I will not hear of it,” Lady Äkei’s voice growing louder. “We must take control of our own fate, and hunting will provide the sustenance we need.”
“But what of the resources required for such a venture? The hunters, the horses, the equipment. It would strain our already depleted resources.”
“The cost is a small price to pay for the preservation of our traditions and the wellbeing of our people.”
Lord Oupok’s concerns grew clearer upon his face. “But what if the hunters return empty-handed? What if the food they bring back is not enough? Our people will still go hungry, and the festival will still be marred by hardship.”
The couple fell silent as they considered each other’s words, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the still night air. Little Beirës looked back at them, confusion etched upon his young face.
Finally, Lord Oupok spoke. “My dear, I understand your desire to preserve tradition, but I cannot in good conscience ignore the realities of our situation. I believe it would be best to cancel the festival this year, and focus on ensuring the survival of our people.”
Lady Äkei sighed, her eyes softening as she looked at her husband. “Let us continue our discussion at the inn, and there we can delve deeper into these matters.”
As they continued walking down the dimly lit street, Lady Äkei reached out and gently took her husband's hand in hers, entwining their fingers together. Her touch was warm and reassuring, a subtle gesture of affection and support.
She leaned in closer to him, her voice softening with tenderness. "I admire your determination to uphold our traditions, my dear. It is one of the many reasons I fell in love with you." Her eyes sparkled with affection as she gazed into his.
The three of them continued down the dim, mist-covered street, their footsteps echoing softly in the still night. The thick veil obscured the stars and wrapped the surroundings in a mystical aura. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the sounds of the nocturnal creatures of the city. Rodents scurrying across the street, the occasional sound of bats and owls fluttering through the night.
Ahead of them, the warm lights of a tavern shone like a beacon, beckoning them closer. The Lord and Lady quickening their pace, eager to reach the comfort and companionship of their destination, where they would find solace from the dreariness of the night. The inn, inviting them in with the smell of well-aged whisky and ale, and aroma of baked bread and pie. They came to a large local inn with a white façade, green windows and a small wooden board above the door reading, The Stowaway Inn.
From the outside the Stowaway Inn looks well maintained, welcoming and enchanting. Stacked white stones and intricate stone carvings make up most of the buildings outer structure. Its green windows with its warm lights and vases with local flowers, giving off an alluring view.
As they enter through the thick, wooden door, they are welcomed by joyful music and excitement. The bartender is buried in orders, but still manages to welcome the lord and lady with a short wave.
It is as enchanting inside as it is on the outside. Squared, wooden beams support the upper floor and the large candles attached to them. The walls are full of tapestries, all in a different style, depicting the tales of the land.
The inn itself is packed. Families and elderly seem to be the primary clientele here, which often means great company and an even greater atmosphere. Several long tables are occupied by what looks like couples, lone travellers, and anybody else who enjoy great company. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who seem to be enjoying themselves a lot, perhaps too much at times. Even most of the stools at the bar are occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company.
The warm hearth occupied by the local bard, playing an enchanting tune on his lute, while the elderly is embraced by blankets around him.
The children running between their parents’ legs, playing tag, while people watch the local barmaid try to manoeuvre around the tables, avoiding falling over the playful children.
Near the far end of the inn, close to the hearth, a black fur blanket was gently wrapped around the body of a sleeping man. His breath ever so calm. A single candle lighting up the table, and an empty cup laid on the table. A story told from ages ago. A dull iron chainmail resting upon the man’s body covered by a dark leather surcoat, vambraces with the engravings of eagle wings, and his scimitar resting against the nearby chair. The silhouettes were drawing nearer with every breath, the man ostensibly unaware of their presence.
There were whispers of children drawing ever nearer, the murmuring of voices trembling with eagerness to hear the tales of Rëslo and his voyages across the Shackled Sea.
The man awakened by the piercing voice of the local barmaid, as she began to clean up the wreckage that was his table.
“Right-o, Rëslo. That’s enough of you for one night. You´ll be bothering the other customers, go home.”
Rëslo sluggishly raised himself from the table, managing to sit up straight, still holding the empty mug.
“Alright, alright, fine…” As he glared across the table, his eyes met the expecting and curious eyes of the newly arrived youngsters. “How’s about one for the road, though? Somethin´ for to get me movin´ like.”
“Nu-uh, not until you settle up.” The barmaid nagged at Rëslo. “I’ll not serve you tomorrow, either. You’re cut off, you owe me.”
Rëslo’s attention shifted to the expectant city children who had gathered around his table or found nearby spots, their eager faces reflecting a mixture of curiosity and weariness. Their clothes, worn and patched, bore the marks of outdoor adventures and playful escapades, as if they had already experienced a lifetime's worth of exploring. Their hands, calloused and dirt-streaked, spoke of hard work and resourcefulness beyond their years. Yet, despite their rugged appearance, their eyes sparkled with youthful enthusiasm, their spirits unyielding in the face of adversity.
Rëslo leaned over the table, expelling the barmaid from his mind, gazing out over the children around him, with a grin across his face. “Perhaps there is time for one last tale, before I take my leave, eh?”.
The barmaid rolled her eyes, as she muttered something to herself, walking away towards the bar. The children surrounding him were eerily silent, expecting him to break out in a tale of wonder and amazement at any moment.
“I’ve seen a few shipwrecks. Been in one me self, as it goes, back when I was young like you. Her name was the Watchman, that ship pulled down beneath the Shackled Sea. I was the only survivor.” He began, as the lion’s share of the listeners eyes flared up with excitement. “Perhaps I shall tell ye about it.”
With deliberate slowness, Rëslo extended his hand towards a young girl sitting closest to him. She watched, her wide-eyed wonder growing as he curled his fingers near her ear. In a swift motion, he withdrew his hand, and just as the child's eyes widened in amazement, a golden coin seemed to materialize out of thin air, nestled within the palm of Rëslo's hand. A coin that bore a symbol of a serpent with numerous tails.
“Do ye know what this be, kids?”. Rëslo inquired of the children and people around him.
That is when an unexpected voice rung out. It was a young lad, he bore an exquisite bright sky-blue cotton shirt, with an embroidered symbol of a star. “That’s the Rizpas”.
“Indeed, me boy,” Rëslo peered at the child, before his gaze turned to the folks behind him, a fine young lady wearing a cerulean-blue dress, flanked by her husband. “Ye parents much be proud to have such a bright child”. His parents nodded, as Lord Äkeirës placed a hand upon his son’s shoulder.
“Then you must have heard the tale o’ Rizpas, The Behemoth of the Depths.” All the youngsters shifted closer, so that they may hear every word of the tale that was about to be told.
With a voice tinged by the weight of years, Rëslo beckoned the children closer, his weathered features marked by the passage of time. Deep lines etched his face, mapping a lifetime of toil and adventure. Gray strands of hair clung stubbornly to his head, a testament to the fading vigour of youth. As he spoke of past exploits, his eyes, clouded with the haze of age, sparked with a lingering vitality, drawing in both children and adults alike. In the dim light of the tavern, the glint in his weary gaze hinted at the countless tales he had shared, weaving a web of wonder and fascination with every word.
“Twas almost thirty years back, now, returning from a hunt. I was a harpooner, finest shot in the Compass Fleet. We’d caught ourselves a Pokhwa, a Dragon Fish, one o’ them big, mean boggers and we was haulin’ the beast back to port”. His weathered hands took on a life of their own, gesturing and expanding with each word. With wide, sweeping motions, he demonstrated the enormity of the creature, stretching his arms as far as they could reach, mimicking the mighty girth of the Pokhwa. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the remnants of the strength he once possessed. Every child leaned in; their imagination stirred by Rëslo’s animated display.
“It were just before dawn. Hawotnu’s city lights flickered in the distance. Beckonin’ us in. There were sharks following close by, ‘cos the Pokhwa was oozing into the water, see…” Rëslo halted his tale, revelling in the anticipation and curiosity brimming from everyone around him.
“Our captain… none of us much cared for him. Untrustworthy sort. He swears blind he paid the tithe of the sea ‘afore we left… a single gold Rizpas, he said, for ‘tis all he had to give.” Rëslo snatched the gold coin from the table, dropping it into his empty cup. “But none of us seen him throw it over the side, now did we.” He proclaimed to his audience.
“That is when the behemoth hit us. Without warning, these bloody tails come at us from below. Smashed clean through the keel, up through the main deck. Caught us tight and started pullin’ us down… oh it was chaos friends, sailors thrown overboard. The waters churnin’, sharks feedin’.” Rëslo stood from his chair, hoisting the cup into the air above him. “I grab the captain, screamin’ at him, ‘you’re a liar! This is the seas punishment for those as don’t pay!’”. The children sat in rapt attention, their wide eyes reflecting the mingling emotions of awe and trepidation. Their small bodies trembled, caught between the realms of fascination and unease, while their imaginations conjured vivid images of the cataclysmic clash.
“The ship was going down fast. But then the planking gave way, didn’ it, and the tails slid back into the depths. If it had ended then, more of us might’ve got away… but it wasn’t over.” Rëslo exclaimed as he jumped onto the table, almost falling over in his half drunken state.
“The Rizpas weren’t done wi’ us yet. The ship tipped to starboard, right sudden. It was the weight of the behemoth himself, hauling up onto the deck.” Rëslo swirled around on the table.
“I have our captain by the throat. ‘This is your doing!’, I roared, as I chokes the bastard, his eyes wide. He can see Rizpas is comin’ for us…” Rëslo clenched around his cup, mimicking the act of strangling the captain. The intensity in his eyes conveyed raw anger, as his fingers tightened around the cup as if throttling the life out of the invisible figure before him. “So, I shove the captain away, down the slanted deck, and this thing catches him in one tail, it was so big, the tail closed completely around ‘is body. And the captain weren’t a small man by any stretch. ‘There’s your tithe!’ I yelled and jumped overboard.”
The crowd was silent, as Rëslo descended the table, all eyes fixed on him, not just the children but their parents and the elderly as well. Even the bard had halted his music, enchanted by the tale spun by him.
“I dunno how long I was in the water. Must’ve only been seconds, but it felt like an age. But the sharks didn’t get me, Häkoubo be praised. Pulled myself up onto one of them stone pinnacles, out there in the sea, an’ I watched the Watchman sink. Rizpas still held the captain, squirmin’ and wrigglin’ like a stuck worm. But there were no escapin’ that grasp… Rizpas was just standing there, motionless as a statue. I watched them go down, down into the darkness… why spare me? Don’t rightly know. Perhaps I was the only one to make an offering. Or maybe Rizpas wanted someone left alive, to tell the tale. But on the darkest nights, when the fogs roll in, ye might hear ‘im wading out from the shallows, slow and steady like draggin’ those accursed tails in his wake…” Rëslo sat down at the table once more, placing his cup upon it and resting his hands for a moment.
“Want my advice, children? Keep a coin in your pocket, and always pay the tithe… and don’t trust no captain who says he’s done it, ‘less you seen it for yourself. Afterall, ye might not be so lucky as me.” Rëslo smiled at the children as he was about to pocket the coin, only to be interrupted by the barmaid, his smile faded as the barmaid swiftly snatched the coin from his grasp, surprising him mid-pocketing.
“Right-o, Rëslo. That’s enough of you for one night. You best be going before it’s too late.” She said, as the children around her began to yelp out, pleading for another story.
“Now, now children, ‘s fair enough… I’ll return on the morrow.” Rëslo smiled at the young lord, as he stumbled his way to the large wooden door. “A good night to ye, barkeep. I’ll see you anon.”
-----
The night deepened, and with the passing of the tale spinner Rëslo, the lord and lady of the house of Äkeirës were left to their own thoughts in the common room of the Stowaway Inn. Their son, Beirës, was now laid softly to rest upon a bed of pillows and blankets by the warm hearth, and they were free to discuss the matter that lay heavy upon their hearts. Finding refuge in a secluded corner of the Stowaway Inn, only lit by half-finished candles, their flames flickering and dancing in muted hues.
"Honey," Lady Äkei said, her voice tinged with concern, "we need to face the harsh reality that our people are struggling with food scarcity. The situation grows direr with each passing day."
Lord Oupok nodded solemnly; his brow furrowed with worry. "You're right, my love. The Midsummer Festival is fast approaching, and it has always been a time of joy and abundance. But how can we celebrate when there's so little to go around?"
Leaning forward, Lady Äkei's voice carried a note of determination. "We have to think outside the box, my dear. We must turn to the forest and seek sustenance through hunting. The wild game can provide the nourishment we need not only for the festival but also for the days to come."
Lord Oupok's frown deepened. "The forest is a dangerous place, filled with unknown perils. We don't have many skilled hunters among us. How can we expect them to take on such a risky task?"
Lady Äkei took a breath, her gaze unwavering. "I've been speaking with our hunters, my dear. They may not be the most experienced, but they are willing to rise to the challenge. They understand the weight of our predicament and are eager to provide for their families and friends. I've heard that the Birchfire Woods have an abundance of deer and wild boar. The hunters assure me that they can bring back enough game to sustain us for the foreseeable future."
Lord Oupok pondered her words, his expression grave. After a moment of contemplation, he finally nodded. "Alright, my dear. Let us put our faith in the hunters and the resilience of our people. May luck be on their side, and may they return safely."
The two of them sat in the common room of the inn, the atmosphere heavy with uncertainty. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the worn wooden floor, serving as a stark reminder of the challenges they faced.
Their worries lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the common room. Lady Äkei reached out to hold Lord Oupok's hand, seeking solace in their shared concerns. "My love, our worries extend beyond the scarcity of food. Our son, Beirës, is looking forward to the Midsummer Festival with such anticipation. It breaks my heart to think that he might be disappointed, that the festivities we've always enjoyed as a family might be overshadowed by this hardship."
Lord Oupok's eyes softened, reflecting both love and concern for their son. "I share your worries, my dear. Beirës has always cherished the Midsummer Festival, his eyes shining with excitement as he participates in the traditional dances and indulges in the festive treats. I cannot bear the thought of his disappointment or seeing his innocent spirit burdened by the scarcity that surrounds us."
Lady Äkei's grip tightened, conveying her determination. "We cannot let our worries consume us, but we must find a way to ensure that Beirës and the other children can still find joy in the festival. They deserve moments of happiness, even amidst the challenges we face. Let us find a way to make it special for them, to create memories that will sustain them in difficult times."
Lord Oupok nodded, his expression filled with a mix of concern and determination. "You're right, my love. We cannot let the scarcity cast a shadow over our son's spirit. We must gather our resources and come up with creative solutions. Perhaps we can involve the children in preparing simple yet meaningful decorations, encouraging them to express their creativity and fostering a sense of pride in their contributions. We can also organize games and storytelling sessions that ignite their imagination and keep the spirit of the festival alive."
As they exchanged ideas, a renewed sense of purpose filled the room. The flickering flames cast a warm, comforting glow upon Lady Äkei and Lord Oupok, reminding them of the strength and love that resided within their family.
And so, Lord Oupok and Lady Äkei made ready to depart the Stowaway Inn, their son Beirës nestled peacefully in Lady Äkei's arms. As they prepared to leave, they approached the barmaid with genuine gratitude.
"Thank you for your kindness and for looking out for our son," Lady Äkei expressed with a warm smile.
The barmaid returned the smile, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "It was my pleasure. Your little one is a joy to have around. Take care on your journey home."
With heartfelt thanks exchanged, Lady Äkei cradled Beirës a little closer, ensuring his comfort. Lord Oupok held the door open for them, and together they stepped out into the dark streets of Hawotnu. The night air was cool and fresh, and they breathed deep of it, as they made their way along the path that led to their home.
A heavy fog enveloped the village, casting an otherworldly atmosphere over the familiar surroundings. The soft glow of the lanterns struggled to penetrate through the swirling mist, adding an air of mystery to their journey. The tales of Rëslo and the monsters from the depths of the sea still echoed in their minds, making them warier of their surroundings.
As they walked, their footsteps muffled by the mist, they kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. Shadows danced in the dim light, and the hushed whispers of the night seemed to carry hidden secrets. Beirës stirred in Lady Äkei's arms, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She held him closer, providing him with comfort and reassurance.
Lord Oupok's grip tightened on Lady Äkei's hand; his protective instincts heightened by the stories they had heard. Yet, within the fog, a flicker of resilience and determination burned within their hearts.
With each passing step, their weariness transformed into resolve. They drew strength from each other, knowing that together they could overcome any challenge that lay ahead. The misty veil seemed to thin as they approached their home, allowing glimpses of starlight to break through the haze.
As they walked, the mist gradually lifted, revealing the comforting familiarity of their city. They could almost taste the warmth and safety that awaited them, as they neared the haven of their home.
