Sat stoutly between two mountains, and one behind, the village of Burrmouth boasts an ideal array of natural resources. A forest, named Rivenswood, clutches to the western mountain, and its wood frames nigh every house. From the east, a waterfall flows gently into a pool that narrows to a stream of clear and fresh water, babbling in a winding path a short walk from the village walls. Flowers spring wild, and berries and fruits on every side.
For all its splendor, the wildlife around Burrmouth is rarely seen by the common traveller, as the path to this place is far out of the way of anything of particular importance. Beyond the mountains lie only lands unsettled. This does not mean Burrmouth never sees any visitors at all, however. It is only familiar faces that frequent Burrmouth’s monthly markets; tribesmen that squat in huts nearby (a day or so's ride away) ofttimes pay visit, and on the seasons that suit them (spring and fall) nomads bring their exotic wares and colourful tales.
A diagram of the village and its general vicinity
A visualization of a medieval village's typical lifestyle
A layout of the interior of a commoner's dwelling
Tonight, the sun and moon share the sky. It is a day of balance, a night of change. Jof and Nocte must share the sky in equal measure as the rule of season is turned over to Jof’s hands.
The village is abustle with preparations for tonight, since when the moon rises, so begins their Rite of Swords; then their children die and are reborn men.
While the eyes and minds of the villagers are turned towards this event, the day’s work must first be completed. This equal-day has fallen on the week’s end, and the market sees guests there to buy, there to sell, and to share tales.
Indeed, nomads which travel the country and return here for Spring bring the strangest news. The country that Burrmouth pays allegiance to has been turned on its head; a new king has taken the throne, the peasants themselves having risen against the old dynasty. Many of the villagers guard their mouths from speaking for or against this; they are grateful to live in peace.
While stalls and benches have been raised for the buying and selling of everything from local produce to foreigner blades, in the market square, a cluster of gypsies have set up their circus, and a man steps forward with a flaming sword, grinning as he opens his mouth wide and lowers the blade into his throat.
As the spring sun begins its ascent across the sky, the village children are set free; it is their last day, so it would be bad luck to let their hands touch work.
The village is abustle with preparations for tonight, since when the moon rises, so begins their Rite of Swords; then their children die and are reborn men.
While the eyes and minds of the villagers are turned towards this event, the day’s work must first be completed. This equal-day has fallen on the week’s end, and the market sees guests there to buy, there to sell, and to share tales.
Indeed, nomads which travel the country and return here for Spring bring the strangest news. The country that Burrmouth pays allegiance to has been turned on its head; a new king has taken the throne, the peasants themselves having risen against the old dynasty. Many of the villagers guard their mouths from speaking for or against this; they are grateful to live in peace.
While stalls and benches have been raised for the buying and selling of everything from local produce to foreigner blades, in the market square, a cluster of gypsies have set up their circus, and a man steps forward with a flaming sword, grinning as he opens his mouth wide and lowers the blade into his throat.
As the spring sun begins its ascent across the sky, the village children are set free; it is their last day, so it would be bad luck to let their hands touch work.
"Well, now," the colourful ribbons of the circus behind him, a man with a covering over his head, and flowing robes that were tied at his ankles and wrists, approached the young lass. "Hello there, kiddy." He bent over, his eyes bright as they regarded her jingling pockets.
The man rose back up to his full stature with a growing grin. The eagerness in this kid's eyes he'd seen many a time before, and all of them ended in his favor.
"Alvus the White is my name," he said with an extravagant bow, his mud-brown skin a seeming contradiction. "And as for my trade, well, it is quite a thing to behold." With a low voice that barely carried over the music, he said, "I collect magic."
A pair of dancers swept behind him, their dresses flying up, alight with the colors of fire. The singer's voice raised high, and the drums beat like thunder.
"By the power of this ring," Alvus said, holding up the middle finger of his right hand. There rested a silver band, with a zig-zag blue pattern that streaked and flashed like lightning. "I can disappear before your very eyes, not a trace of me left behind!"
"Alvus the White is my name," he said with an extravagant bow, his mud-brown skin a seeming contradiction. "And as for my trade, well, it is quite a thing to behold." With a low voice that barely carried over the music, he said, "I collect magic."
A pair of dancers swept behind him, their dresses flying up, alight with the colors of fire. The singer's voice raised high, and the drums beat like thunder.
"By the power of this ring," Alvus said, holding up the middle finger of his right hand. There rested a silver band, with a zig-zag blue pattern that streaked and flashed like lightning. "I can disappear before your very eyes, not a trace of me left behind!"
The smile froze on Alvus' face. Another one? An angry one. Skepticism held her like a chain. He laughed at the accusatory finger and shook his head.
"No, no, can't have an attitude like that, little miss." He waved a scolding finger under her nose, tut-tutting. "Magic doesn't like it when kiddies show disrespect. You have to ask it nicely."
"Like this, see?" He held his hands near to his face, cupping around the ring, and with an exaggerated whisper, crooned, "Please come out, magical magic, bibbity boo, wallaKAZOO!"
A loud popping sound followed his exclamation, and a burst of smoke and spark. A hesitation in the music and dancing lasted for less than a second, barely noticeable, and continued on. Before the smoke cleared, Alvus blew on it, and the wisps and clusters swept forward to cling to the faces of those girls.
When they could see clearly again, when their coughing or blearing of sight had left them, they would open their eyes to what might be a mystery! Alvus had disappeared! Not a trace of him remained! In the market behind them, in the rolling waves of dancers before them, he could not be found.
Moments passed, until at last a hand placed itself on either of their shoulders, and a long sigh, like that after an arduous task, blew out long and slow.
"Phew," he held out the ring in the palm of his hand. "Barely got it off. Now look, I'll sell it to you, sure, but I gotta warn you to be careful. Don't let the magic run wild in this little beast."
So long as neither of them looked right above them, they wouldn't see the strained tree branch and a frayed black rope dangling down.
"No, no, can't have an attitude like that, little miss." He waved a scolding finger under her nose, tut-tutting. "Magic doesn't like it when kiddies show disrespect. You have to ask it nicely."
"Like this, see?" He held his hands near to his face, cupping around the ring, and with an exaggerated whisper, crooned, "Please come out, magical magic, bibbity boo, wallaKAZOO!"
A loud popping sound followed his exclamation, and a burst of smoke and spark. A hesitation in the music and dancing lasted for less than a second, barely noticeable, and continued on. Before the smoke cleared, Alvus blew on it, and the wisps and clusters swept forward to cling to the faces of those girls.
When they could see clearly again, when their coughing or blearing of sight had left them, they would open their eyes to what might be a mystery! Alvus had disappeared! Not a trace of him remained! In the market behind them, in the rolling waves of dancers before them, he could not be found.
Moments passed, until at last a hand placed itself on either of their shoulders, and a long sigh, like that after an arduous task, blew out long and slow.
"Phew," he held out the ring in the palm of his hand. "Barely got it off. Now look, I'll sell it to you, sure, but I gotta warn you to be careful. Don't let the magic run wild in this little beast."
So long as neither of them looked right above them, they wouldn't see the strained tree branch and a frayed black rope dangling down.
~The Forest~
Whispers under the breath, smothered in the rustle of trees and chirping of birds sing-song for the spring, and wiley, stolen smiles were passed and traded between the gypsy and the village boy that held her in arm.
Dakota would recognize him. He was the woodcutter's son, a strong and reckless boy, with too much adolescent pride to abide children. He was kinder in his youth, but these days he treated everyone he met with disdain, aside from his father, who would knock him upside the head with each careless word. He'd been named Aron, in honor of the mountain. Sawdust peppered his brown head, and freckles spotted his face. A thick jaw that jutted out and thin eyes which were two dots above a piggish nose that was perpetually flared, his normal expression seemed hateful.
But right now he was grinning ear-to-ear, yellowed teeth flashing. The girl (for she was a girl, and not yet grown into the body of a woman) under his arms, dark of complexion, raven hair thick like a pillow, had painted lips and darkened eyes. The smile on her face froze, and the two came to a sudden stop when they saw the kid sitting there, teetering over the bridge.
"Ahw, come on, get outta here, ya louse," Aron whined.
"Is this, yours, village girl?" The gypsy girl had a thick accent; her r's rolled, her lips rounded. She looked at Dakota and smiled. Happily, the gypsy waved at her, the jewelry on her arms tinkling. "Hi! What name you have, girl?"
Whispers under the breath, smothered in the rustle of trees and chirping of birds sing-song for the spring, and wiley, stolen smiles were passed and traded between the gypsy and the village boy that held her in arm.
Dakota would recognize him. He was the woodcutter's son, a strong and reckless boy, with too much adolescent pride to abide children. He was kinder in his youth, but these days he treated everyone he met with disdain, aside from his father, who would knock him upside the head with each careless word. He'd been named Aron, in honor of the mountain. Sawdust peppered his brown head, and freckles spotted his face. A thick jaw that jutted out and thin eyes which were two dots above a piggish nose that was perpetually flared, his normal expression seemed hateful.
But right now he was grinning ear-to-ear, yellowed teeth flashing. The girl (for she was a girl, and not yet grown into the body of a woman) under his arms, dark of complexion, raven hair thick like a pillow, had painted lips and darkened eyes. The smile on her face froze, and the two came to a sudden stop when they saw the kid sitting there, teetering over the bridge.
"Ahw, come on, get outta here, ya louse," Aron whined.
"Is this, yours, village girl?" The gypsy girl had a thick accent; her r's rolled, her lips rounded. She looked at Dakota and smiled. Happily, the gypsy waved at her, the jewelry on her arms tinkling. "Hi! What name you have, girl?"
"Dah-Koo-tah?"
She sounded out the name slowly, and her lips pursed after in a dissatisfied look, but she shrugged off the unhappy mood quickly. The gypsy gestured to herself and said with no small amount of pride, "I am Giourvanna, firstbourne dotter of Master Alkafa's first wife! Very important in tribe. No one young as I can--ehhh--tell what do."
An impatient groan exploded from Aron. He released the gypsy and started walking towards Dakota. "Hey louse, we were gonna sit here. Leave already." He nudged her with his foot, sideways towards the village.
"Ach, very mean, Aroon." The gypsy scolded.
Aron rolled his eyes. "You're makin' me look bad, kid. Move. This's the last time I'll warn ya."
"Ach, enough. Girl come with me. I show her pretty things. Come, girl, come with me." Giourvanna beckoned Dakota with a waggling hand, coming around Aron to her.
She sounded out the name slowly, and her lips pursed after in a dissatisfied look, but she shrugged off the unhappy mood quickly. The gypsy gestured to herself and said with no small amount of pride, "I am Giourvanna, firstbourne dotter of Master Alkafa's first wife! Very important in tribe. No one young as I can--ehhh--tell what do."
An impatient groan exploded from Aron. He released the gypsy and started walking towards Dakota. "Hey louse, we were gonna sit here. Leave already." He nudged her with his foot, sideways towards the village.
"Ach, very mean, Aroon." The gypsy scolded.
Aron rolled his eyes. "You're makin' me look bad, kid. Move. This's the last time I'll warn ya."
"Ach, enough. Girl come with me. I show her pretty things. Come, girl, come with me." Giourvanna beckoned Dakota with a waggling hand, coming around Aron to her.
Alvus' dark eyes flitted back and forth between the two ten year olds, gauging their expressions.
"No," Alvus said slowly, carefully. "The rope is not mine, nor have I ever seen it before." The ends of his lip twitched, as it was wont to when nervousness held him in grip. Alvus smiled, letting out a breath between his teeth. "No, only the ring has the power to make you invisible, nothing else. So! Because you're so adorable, here's my most extreme sale price: only thirty pence for this Super Awesome Shiny Invisibility Ring!"
He coughed, recognizing that he'd overcompensated with gusto. In a more modest manner, he finished his spiel, "Now, I'll count to ten, and if you haven't made up your mind by then, I'll be happy to keep this valuable artifact for myself!"
"No," Alvus said slowly, carefully. "The rope is not mine, nor have I ever seen it before." The ends of his lip twitched, as it was wont to when nervousness held him in grip. Alvus smiled, letting out a breath between his teeth. "No, only the ring has the power to make you invisible, nothing else. So! Because you're so adorable, here's my most extreme sale price: only thirty pence for this Super Awesome Shiny Invisibility Ring!"
He coughed, recognizing that he'd overcompensated with gusto. In a more modest manner, he finished his spiel, "Now, I'll count to ten, and if you haven't made up your mind by then, I'll be happy to keep this valuable artifact for myself!"