Oshi Builds
Where No One Dares Go
It was with the crumble of worn stone and a choking cloud of grey dust that the pair emerged, tumbling down into the ruined remains of a courtyard.
Æthel steadied himself on his two feet, glancing behind. The collapsed wall upon which they had been walking had been reduced to a scattering of splintered stone slabs, and the rattling of alarming amounts of debris navigating its way to the ground told him that scaling the rubble wasn’t an option. He felt a long way from the warmth of his family’s hall back in Rhoyne, where the air smelled of wine and candle wax and the warmth of the great hearth permeated each room. Here, the atmosphere was thick with the cloying scent of overgrown vegetation which had been left untamed since famine had emptied this region of its inhabitants.
His companion, Þēof, landed somewhat more gracefully. The rogue was accustomed to the sprawl of the capital, Teophis, and the precarious rooftops which he frequently travelled by. The stagnant lake which had made the centre of the courtyard into its basin, however, was nothing like the puddles which formed along the streets back home. The murky darkness seemed to loom downwards forever, like some precipice into a different world. It reminded him of when he fell from the wharf while working the dockyards during a storm, suddenly exposed to the elements in their full fury. He was afraid of deep water.
The knight stepped into the dappled light which had fought its way through a mesh of leaves vines. A frog croaked somewhere in the vicinity, and the plants bristled in the light breeze which found its way through the cracks in the stone walls, whistling.
‘Do you know where we are?’ he asked Þēof. The latter eyed his surroundings.
‘The remains of the south-east wing’, he answered. ‘We’re not far from the outer citadel wall.’ The two sought to find the former treasury room, which - like the rest of the site - had been forgotten by the outside world.
Þēof began to find his way around the edge of the courtyard, leaving a comfortable distance between himself and the water.
‘It’s a shame to see so much of Old Scimia left to rot’, he said, half to himself, as he stepped over a pile of leaves. ‘They said this place would stand for a thousand years before it fell into ruin. It makes you wonder how much longer it’ll be before someone thinks to lay claim to Scimia once again.’ Æthel only shook his head.
‘Places like this are best left undisturbed,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ replied Þēof abruptly. He was pointing to the middle of the stagnant water, where the remains of a human hand were extended from the surface, as if grasping for air. ‘There could be any number of them beneath the surface.’ He shivered.
‘They are at peace,’ replied Æthel. ‘Returned to the earth from whence their ancestors were raised.’
‘You sound more like one of the druidfolk than a knight.’
Æthel chuckled. ‘The forestmen in Rhoyne tell whoever will listen to them various folk stories about the land,’ he said, walking along the edge of the cracked pathway. ‘They say that every mortal has three masters: themselves, their liege and the natural world. Each of us is equally at the mercy of the elements, and in the end we must all succumb to them.’ His companion took little comfort in the words.
Þēof reached the other end of the courtyard, and stepped back when he saw what awaited him. Between the stone pillars, the way to the treasury was blocked by a mass of tangled foliage. Greenery seemed to extend forever into a world where the comfort of stone and fire would be nowhere to be found.
‘It would seem that no others have dared venture past this point,’ he mused. Without warning, he began hacking at the bushes with his knife.
‘Carving a path straight through may not be the safest way,’ said Æthel, alarmed. ‘The forestmen also have a saying that the natural world of Old Scimia breathes and feels much as its inhabitants do - our castles and cities make us feel invincible, but here we are in the presence of a greater power.’ His words fell on deaf ears, but his concern was drawn back to the hand in the water.
‘We’ll be fine,’ said Þēof, thoughts of gold sovereigns and jeweled reliquaries at the front of his mind. They were too close for caution now.
Æthel, however, paid no heed. He was watching with horror as the hand in the lake slowly animated its skeletal digits.
‘Better left undisturbed,’ he said quietly to himself.
Half a dozen arms of bone and gristle emerged from the undergrowth in front of Þēof, reaching for him. With an exclamation of surprise, he stumbled backwards and tripped. As the dark water rushed up to claim him, he thought for a moment that he could see the faces of a thousand ghosts, waiting in the depths of the abyss.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Built for the category of the same name in this year's Summer Joust. C&C welcome in the comments; thanks for stopping by!
Where No One Dares Go
It was with the crumble of worn stone and a choking cloud of grey dust that the pair emerged, tumbling down into the ruined remains of a courtyard.
Æthel steadied himself on his two feet, glancing behind. The collapsed wall upon which they had been walking had been reduced to a scattering of splintered stone slabs, and the rattling of alarming amounts of debris navigating its way to the ground told him that scaling the rubble wasn’t an option. He felt a long way from the warmth of his family’s hall back in Rhoyne, where the air smelled of wine and candle wax and the warmth of the great hearth permeated each room. Here, the atmosphere was thick with the cloying scent of overgrown vegetation which had been left untamed since famine had emptied this region of its inhabitants.
His companion, Þēof, landed somewhat more gracefully. The rogue was accustomed to the sprawl of the capital, Teophis, and the precarious rooftops which he frequently travelled by. The stagnant lake which had made the centre of the courtyard into its basin, however, was nothing like the puddles which formed along the streets back home. The murky darkness seemed to loom downwards forever, like some precipice into a different world. It reminded him of when he fell from the wharf while working the dockyards during a storm, suddenly exposed to the elements in their full fury. He was afraid of deep water.
The knight stepped into the dappled light which had fought its way through a mesh of leaves vines. A frog croaked somewhere in the vicinity, and the plants bristled in the light breeze which found its way through the cracks in the stone walls, whistling.
‘Do you know where we are?’ he asked Þēof. The latter eyed his surroundings.
‘The remains of the south-east wing’, he answered. ‘We’re not far from the outer citadel wall.’ The two sought to find the former treasury room, which - like the rest of the site - had been forgotten by the outside world.
Þēof began to find his way around the edge of the courtyard, leaving a comfortable distance between himself and the water.
‘It’s a shame to see so much of Old Scimia left to rot’, he said, half to himself, as he stepped over a pile of leaves. ‘They said this place would stand for a thousand years before it fell into ruin. It makes you wonder how much longer it’ll be before someone thinks to lay claim to Scimia once again.’ Æthel only shook his head.
‘Places like this are best left undisturbed,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ replied Þēof abruptly. He was pointing to the middle of the stagnant water, where the remains of a human hand were extended from the surface, as if grasping for air. ‘There could be any number of them beneath the surface.’ He shivered.
‘They are at peace,’ replied Æthel. ‘Returned to the earth from whence their ancestors were raised.’
‘You sound more like one of the druidfolk than a knight.’
Æthel chuckled. ‘The forestmen in Rhoyne tell whoever will listen to them various folk stories about the land,’ he said, walking along the edge of the cracked pathway. ‘They say that every mortal has three masters: themselves, their liege and the natural world. Each of us is equally at the mercy of the elements, and in the end we must all succumb to them.’ His companion took little comfort in the words.
Þēof reached the other end of the courtyard, and stepped back when he saw what awaited him. Between the stone pillars, the way to the treasury was blocked by a mass of tangled foliage. Greenery seemed to extend forever into a world where the comfort of stone and fire would be nowhere to be found.
‘It would seem that no others have dared venture past this point,’ he mused. Without warning, he began hacking at the bushes with his knife.
‘Carving a path straight through may not be the safest way,’ said Æthel, alarmed. ‘The forestmen also have a saying that the natural world of Old Scimia breathes and feels much as its inhabitants do - our castles and cities make us feel invincible, but here we are in the presence of a greater power.’ His words fell on deaf ears, but his concern was drawn back to the hand in the water.
‘We’ll be fine,’ said Þēof, thoughts of gold sovereigns and jeweled reliquaries at the front of his mind. They were too close for caution now.
Æthel, however, paid no heed. He was watching with horror as the hand in the lake slowly animated its skeletal digits.
‘Better left undisturbed,’ he said quietly to himself.
Half a dozen arms of bone and gristle emerged from the undergrowth in front of Þēof, reaching for him. With an exclamation of surprise, he stumbled backwards and tripped. As the dark water rushed up to claim him, he thought for a moment that he could see the faces of a thousand ghosts, waiting in the depths of the abyss.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Built for the category of the same name in this year's Summer Joust. C&C welcome in the comments; thanks for stopping by!