The Fallen.
The midnight sky of Karamesh was alive with light this evening, a millions stars scattered for as far as the eye could see, shimmering light creating a scene of spectacular beauty. This sight was ancient, pre dating anything that existed in the old world, older then the Sa’an itself. But what could not be missed was the moon, ‘Trekian’ as so many called it, it stood for ‘the light bringer’, as when in darkness, the moon often brought light over the land, as if it was scaring away evil, so many people grew a fondness of it and when they saw it in the sky, they knew they were protected. In the lands of Karamesh, lay a small village that sat just behind the mountains of Igaar. It was a village nobody thought of, or cared for, it lay forgotten to the rest of the world, so the people had adapted to their isolation in a way that carried them through the days ahead. They grew crops to feed themselves, educated there young, nursed their wounded and became adapted to this way of life, helping their own.
One of these villagers was a boy named Igor, at the age of 17 he had spent his younger years learning the way of their people, he had learnt how to heard cattle, how to plant and harvest crop, how to tend to a wound and teach the language they so fluently speak. All children were to be taught these, there was no exception, boys and girls alike had to take their part in sustaining their ancestral ways in order to survive. The good thing about this system was that, everybody had a roll in their community, everybody helped and did their bit which in result, kept them alive each year. Igor had chosen his roll herding the cattle, it was a job his father and grandfather had taken before him, so he found it best to keep it in the family, and as a boy his father would take him to the cattle ranch with him, and so he accustomed to the way they did things, and so it became a part of him.
Igor sat in the Inn, a pot of ale in one hand, and a plate of meat in the other, the atmosphere was bustling with the sound of cheering and laughter this evening. They were celebrating a great hunt with a feast fit for kings, a plate full of hearty meat that was hunted and caught by the villages hunters, the most skilled of them all. Hunters were the back bone of the villages survival, from a very young age they were taught to handle a bow and arrow, to a wield a knife and kill without conscience. They were the best at what they do, they were silent and deadly, they could blend in with the earth and move without a sound. But today, the village was celebrating because of the catch they had brought home, there luck had been struck and they had found a herd of bison, enough to feed the every villager for a month. Igor poured the alcoholic liquid down his throat and slammed the pot down on the wooden table, a loud roar escaping his cracked lips and the crowd around erupting into cheers of excitement,
“I win again!” Igor cheered looking at Symon with amusement, he always won these drinking competitions, no one could beat him, and everybody knew that, but yet, he was stupid enough to think he could still win, after all this time.
Igor and Symon had been friends since their mothers brought them into the world, since they both could remember they had been in each other’s lives, they were connected by brotherhood, maybe not by blood, but certainly by friendship. Symon finished drinking his ale seconds after, hitting his mug on the table in defeat, letting out a grunt as he looked at Igor with annoyance.
“One of these days I will win brother, you have my word!” He promised, a certain playfulness in his voice, Igor nodded, accepting the challenge. Working her way through the now disappearing crowd appeared a girl, Igor recognised her instantly as Symons love. She had a small bodily frame that looked like it could be snapped in half if not handled with care. Her long blonde locks were perfectly held back and confined in a red silk ribbon that made it clearer to see the smooth features of her face.
“Symon my love, it’s time to go home” she purred, her small hands brushing his shoulders, clearly sending a rush of electricity in him as his body jerked upward, a smile speading over those once defeated lips,
“Come here my precious wall flower” He pursed his large hands around her petite waist and sat her down on his lap, the aroma of love stinking the air. Igor couldn’t help but feel jealous that Symon got to feel the power of a womans love and he did not, what was it that he had and he didn’t? He couldn’t help but wonder. Feeling nausea’s from the scene unfolding infront of him, he excused himself from his friends presence and stepped out of the Inn into the bitter cold of the autumn air.
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Just something i decided to write up... may turn into a story :)
