Author's Note:
Sigh. It's been what... around a year? So yeah, I kind of gave up writing for a while trying to sort through some things and other stuff like that. I honestly don't know if I'll update my other story again or not, considering that it's pretty poorly written and seems too rushed. Another major factor is that I was writing for word count, and that's something a writer shouldn't do. I've really lost all urge and sense of direction in that story, so while I'm not saying I'll quit, I'm not saying that I'll go back again any time soon. Honestly, I don't know what spurred me on to write this, but I have to give it to my English teacher this year. She's pretty strict, but she's a really good teacher, arguably the best I've ever had. We were learning about use of language one day, and I decided to give it another go with this chapter, drabble, thing as a result. I actually like this story much more, as it fits my writing style the best. While reading this, please bear in mind that this is just a preview, a drabble, and is an incomplete fragment of a chapter that has NOT YET BEEN EDITED BY ME NOR COMPLETED. It's just something I feel like I wanted to share. Hope you enjoy!
~Araulen
Chapter 1
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The lonely sound of footsteps resonated on a dirt highway. Almost dusk, a singular man with hunched over shoulders shuffled forward aimlessly. Each step was stiff and rigid, as if he was marching to his death. An icy, brisk wind swept through him, making him shiver in his threadbare clothes. The man rubbed his calloused hands for warmth, blue veins popping out. The man mentioned was actually relatively young, but his haggard face, dry skin, and lethargic pace made him seem like a withering corpse, desperately trying to resist the turbulent winds. His turquoise, half-lidded eyes, which could have once been called enchanting, were dull, like a blade that had been in one too many battles. His rawhide brown, disheveled hair was riddled with dust and dirt. His parched, paper-like skin was covered in grime.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The last dregs of sunlight finally disappeared, enveloping the surrounding area in darkness. The man slowed to a halt. He lifted his head a minute amount and focused his listless gaze on the stars above. The stars shone with a cold light, the distance between them and him too far to offer even a glimpse of the vague concept called warmth.
After staring for what seemed like an eternity, he seemed to wake from his reverie and continued down the narrow, winding path. The barren trees around him were entangled with one another, stretching to reach bygone light of a long-lost sun. No moon rose for the man today, but he didn't care. He was surrounded by the forest, twigs and rocks impeding his already lackadaisical pace.
A light. Closer… Closer…
As the man approached the fluorescent beacon, he realized that he was on the outskirts of the forest. He stopped. His feet were on the border of the wild, dense forest and the placid, green grass of an agrarian society. With trembling steps, he hobbled across the invisible boundary. It was obvious from a glance that he had been in there for lengthy amount of time, but if one asked how long he'd been traveling, he would only stare torpidly at the curious person.
He reached the light, which was actually a small, golden lantern with a single candle inside. Next to it was a small wooden door with a brass knob. Above the door was a sign that read Piggin's Tavern. The man reached out with a quivering hand, unsure as to whether or not he should enter. He stood for a moment before finally deciding to go in.
The room he entered was small, with only a few tables due to its close proximity to the forest. The oaken floorboards creaked under the pressure of his footsteps. He sluggishly walked up to the counter.
"Can I help you?" the bartender asked, looking the man up and down critically. He took in the state of the man, as well as his clothes and reached the conclusion that he was a vagabond, a wanderer, a traveler. He had seen this sort of character before, and knew that if other customers, not that he had any in the first place, saw this unkempt man, his business would be ruined, albeit how small that business may be.
The man looked the bartender in the eye for a long time, enough to make the bartender uncomfortable. He slowly pointed at stairs leading to the rooms.
"You want to stay?" the bartender asked skeptically. Although his tavern might not have been the best in terms of quality, he didn't believe that this person in front of him, with his ragged clothes and lack of shoes, could afford it.
The bartender frowned before saying, "A night costs a gold coin, if you want to stay longer, add a coin for every day after."
The man nodded once and reached into his back pocket, searching for a single gold coin. After an embarrassingly long moment, he felt the grooves of his last coin, the engravings on it resembling the Demacian Crest. He paused, unwilling to hand it over, before reluctantly extending his hand to the bartender. The other man snatched the glittering coin out of his hand, causing him to feel a sense of loss and bereavement, as though he'd lost his only child.
"Upstairs, walk down the hall, second room on the left," he said tersely. With that, he resumed his ritual cleaning of his beer glasses, despite no one drinking from it.
The man nodded and headed upstairs, his stiff legs aching as they bent for the first time in a long while. His progression was achingly slow, and by the time he reached his room, the inn had been long since closed. He opened the door to his room and stepped inside, making sure to close it afterwards.
There were very few furnishings detailing the room. A bed, enough for only a single person, fit snugly against the wall and nightstand. A beige lamp sat untouched, covered in a layer of dust. There was a small, plain cabinet that could hold belongings. The only other room had a sink, toilet, and shower. The tub was white and simple, with a stark metal pipe just above it. The pipe was of common quality, allowing water to spray like a hose, nothing more, nothing less. The toilet was little more than a chair with hole leading to who knew where. In spite of all this, the man didn't complain. This suited him perfectly. In fact, if it were any fancier, then he would have been ill at ease, because he wasn't used to such treatment.
The man first took a shower, and washed away as much of the filth and grime on him as possible, the icy water stained black because of his grungy person. After spending an unreasonably long amount of time washing himself he finally turned off the water. As there was no mirror he wasn't able to check his appearance. Afterwards, he picked up his dirty clothes, towel still wrapped around him, and turned on the sink to wash them. His tattered and dilapidated clothes we're in an even worse state after the water was absorbed by the threads. Even still, the man didn't seem to care.
The man walked towards the window pulling out a chair and sitting. Towel tactfully wrapped around his waist, the man's bone thin body slouched against the back of the hard-wooden chair. the man stared out into the Stars trying to discover what his purpose was in life. He realized forlornly that in the grand scheme of things, he was nothing but an insignificant, evanescent speck, destined to leave no mark, leave no legacy, leave no memory of his existence. As seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours, he finally lost all sense of time and grudgingly allowed sleep to overtake him, his body still in the chair.
Pat Pat Pat!
The sounds of rain pattered against the opaque window. Dark, gray clouds covered the sky, making it so one could not tell what time of day it was.
RUMBLE!
Thunder roared out from the empyrean sky, like a judge giving his final sentence. The resounding boom shook the slight inn rattling it to its core. At this, the man finally woke up, seemingly indifferent to the events outside. He lifted his head from where it lay on his shoulder, rolling it forwards and backwards to soothe the kinks in his neck. Once again, he peered through the window, but gave up after seeing the hazy glass. He stood up, putting on his still somewhat damp clothes, and headed out of the room. After resting his sore muscles, he was much less stiff than the day before.
Downstairs, the bartender was nowhere to be seen. Without him, the small pub seemed like a wide dining hall with no one at their seats. The man strode over the counter and discarded the room key unceremonious on the sullied countertop. He turned around and, without a glance back, left the inn.
His moth-eaten coat flapped in the wind, a frigid mixture of biting winds and driving rain. A man in their right mind would have turned back around.
The man, without pausing in the slightest, began his trek following the beaten path.
And just like that, days passed. The man soon lost count, and decided to focus wholeheartedly on his journey. Soon enough, the clouds scattered, the rain lessened, and the thunder sputtered. The winding path led him through the flatlands and towards a hill. His bare feet long since coated with mud; ragged trousers not much better. The viscous quagmire clung to the soles of his feet as he scaled the bluff. The scorching sun beat down on his exposed skin.
He passed over the hill and looked down at the scene before him. A shining city with sprawling lights and grand houses and manors that never seemed to end. In the face of such a magnificent city, the man couldn't help but breathe in slightly, engrossed in the elegant and simple lines of beauty that spanned the giant metropolis. He walked down towards the city, met with an endless seam of walls hundreds of meters high stood proudly as they encompassed the boundaries of the city, preventing anything from breaking through. The tiny gate paled in comparison mountain around it. Demacian flags flew high on the parapets, flowing with a valiant energy as they shone with a fiery light. These flags symbolized the Demacian spirit, and held the hopes and dreams of all Demacians.
Densely packed streets full of people garbed in robes, vests, and other apparel lead to and fro. Narrow alleys lacked the perilous air of other cities. At the left, a thriving marketplace filled with merchants from various countries was disposed so that all walkways could lead to it. The merry air originating from the bright sounds of laughter and pleasant clamor created a very cheerful atmosphere. Guards held amiable conversations with both citizens and foreigners. All sorts of exotic foods and items were sold, from the latest technologies of Piltover, to the aromatic fruits and meats of Ionia. The fragrant juices of cured meats floated through the air, weaving with the smell of freshly baked bread to create a symphony of aromas. One could almost taste the ambrosial scent wafting daintily through the air.
As the man ambled through the smooth, paved roads he felt that when compared to the grand palace looking out over the entire city, this plaza, with its bright colors and blend of people and cultures, seemed much more welcoming than the aloof white marble of the palace's inner gates. Here, no one really cared what one looked like, as long as they didn't look too beggarly.
While he drew some passing glances, no one paid too much attention to him. In this sort of environment, where people from all around the continent gathered, he had one of the least extraordinary appearances out of everyone. In truth, if he looked like an average man, then he would have been even more conspicuous than he was now.
The man continued walking before he felt something tugging at his coat. He turned his head and saw the curly, honeyed locks of a little girl of 7 or 8 years who pulling on his thin, black coat. When the young girl saw him looking at her, she quickly and ran back giggling to her scolding mother. The woman looked at him apologetically before gripping her daughter's hand and pulling her into the crowd.
The man shook his head lightly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he continued forward haphazardly, not even sure himself why he was there. By then, it was around midday, and a loud gong signaled that start of the afternoon. The deep sound reverberated throughout the plaza, drowning the conversations currently taking place. As the gong grew in intensity, the man closed his eyes and surrendered to the vibrating sound. He let it fill his body and mind, embracing the texture of the simple yet complex waves.
He had found it.
What he was searching for.
After a little bit, he opened his eyes and continued forward, as though nothing had happened. He roamed around for a while, with new purpose. Shops of all sorts lined the walkways, inviting people in. The man chose one, an old-fashioned single-story shop that looked out of place in this place of business. He gripped the handle, pushing it wide before entering. A faint tinkle signaled his entry.
As he stepped inside he swept his gaze across the quaint bookstore. A low ceiling brought a homey feeling to the entire room. Small rows of shelves lined the floor and walls. There were all kinds of books, maps, encyclopedias, journals, newspapers, novels, etc. A hanging chandelier lit up the store, providing a little light to the otherwise dim shop. The man walked up to the counter, ringing the bell for the attendant.
A few seconds later, an elderly man walked towards the man. He exhibited an amicable and sagely air, the kind that one would feel in a caring senior. His white hair gleamed with vitality, and his face naturally curved upwards, indicative of one who smiled often.
"Why, hello young sir. It's not often I get visitors nowadays. I'm Zhare," the elder said with a grin.
The man curved his lips upwards in an approximation of a smile. He slightly nodded his head before returning to his usual disposition.
Zhare, being a very perceptive person, realized that this young fellow in front of him couldn't or wouldn't talk. Seeing this, he took the initiative and asked some relatively simple questions.
"Are you here to buy something?" the Zhare asked politely.
The man shook his head.
"Well, then why are you here if I may ask," Zhare asked, not unkindly. He valued patience and had met far worse people in his life than the young man in front of him, if his intuition was correct.
The man hesitated, then shrugged. He looked around the store to find something he could reference. His eyes lit up when he found what he was looking for. He picked up an old newspaper and pointed to the word "Job" in the "Job Listings" section.
"Ah. I see," Zhare stroked his beard, deep in thought. He knew from a glance that this young man in front of him had been through a hard life and pitied him. If he could do a simple kindness for him, maybe it could help him through whatever he was dealing with.
"How about this? I'll take you on as my assistant. I'll have you do some errands and such in and out of the store. I'll provide a room for you, so you don't have to pay for your lodging. In your spare time, you can do what you wish. Also, you can read the books here free of charge," Zhare offered.
The man looked deeply at Zhare, trying to figure out if his offer was real or not.
Author's Note:
So yeah, that's the end (temporary) of that. I know it ends suddenly, but remember, IT'S NOT COMPLETE. It's just an idea that popped into my head randomly. I know that this is far from perfect, and that the end is kind of terrible, but this was an experiment for me. I might turn this into a real chapter after completing this and begin a new journey on this path. I already have some ideas as to how I would want this to go, but I'm still debating whether or not I should. Actually, I'm still considering if I want this to be a Sona x OC fic, as that was the direction I had originally planned, but now that I read it over again I see another direction. One that opens up so many more options and isn't just a character driven story. I'll probably have to do a lot of research, or just create the image and landscape in my mind but it has a lot of potential. So yeah, thanks for reading, and have a wonderful day!
~Araulen