A simpler time
Amidst great seas of golden wheat there is a humble village. A picturesque little place where entire lives can pass with hardly a passing thought for what goes on beyond the horizon. Only four of the approximately hundred and ten villagers can read, only twenty two have ever been more than ten miles from where they were born and yet it has the same vibrant feel of any great city. But there is just something.. Different about this place.. Something.. More wholesome.
Scythes drag through the fields, collecting the first harvest of the year. The hardworking men and women haven't eaten a morsel since the sun arose eight hours ago, however the sound of children's laughter in the distance, reminding them of what they strive for, gives them the energy to finish the job.
Going to the source of the laughter we find two boys throwing pebbles at ducks in the pond, having a blast watching the birds fly off in a panic. Little snotnosed bastards.
It doesn't take long before the mischievous duo grow bored of their antics and run off elsewhere. Where? Frankly they don't know themselves. They simply run and run through the village without a care in the world. The hours pass by as they find other kids to spend the day with, getting up to all kinds of childish shenanigans. Snatching apples from the aldorman's garden or picking on the orphans, time flies when you're having fun.
It seemed like it had been just ten minutes before the boys were, much to their dismay, summoned home for supper. With obnoxious groans and a dawdling saunter they draw closer to the thatch-roofed hut that they unashamedly call their humble abode.
Just a stone's throw away from the hovel and the youngest boy puts his eyes on the neighbour's dog. He's knelt down into the mud next to the shepherd's dog, giving it all the attention a pet could ever ask for. This joy is swiftly bereaved of the boy though, as his older brother whacks him over the head and spits out at him, "C'mon, ye twit. Pah will beat us red 'till next harvest if the soup's cold when we get home!". The boy reluctantly left the hound, sniffling into his hand. "I hate carrot soup.." He whimpered to his older brother. The elder could only laugh, "Har har har! Ye sniveling wimp! Are ye crying, He--" But then a thundering roar came from the doorway, interrupting the elder's chastisement. Both the boys paled as they saw their mother waving a wooden spoon threateningly at them, hollering out, "Aethelric! Hengest!.. Hengest!..... Hengest!".
The calls kept coming and had faded in volume slightly more every time untill it all turns to black. Just as everything faded away, it all began fading back but to a grand mansion somewhere far away. He sat at the head of a table surrounded by lords and ladies, all awkwardly quiet while observing the lady of the land desperately calling for the attention of her husband in hushed tones. "Hengest! Have you been listening at all?" He notices slipping past her lips, to which he only slowly nods along. "Hrm? Oh, aye. Naturally.." He huffs out and the dinner chit chat resumed like nothing had happened.
Mere seconds after and a thought deafens out the blabber of bluebloods and allegedly important people. "I want to go home.."
((Finally managed to produce my first lore story on here. Figured I should put it to good use and show a glimpse of the inner machinations of everyone's favorite choleric Anglian!))
Amidst great seas of golden wheat there is a humble village. A picturesque little place where entire lives can pass with hardly a passing thought for what goes on beyond the horizon. Only four of the approximately hundred and ten villagers can read, only twenty two have ever been more than ten miles from where they were born and yet it has the same vibrant feel of any great city. But there is just something.. Different about this place.. Something.. More wholesome.
Scythes drag through the fields, collecting the first harvest of the year. The hardworking men and women haven't eaten a morsel since the sun arose eight hours ago, however the sound of children's laughter in the distance, reminding them of what they strive for, gives them the energy to finish the job.
Going to the source of the laughter we find two boys throwing pebbles at ducks in the pond, having a blast watching the birds fly off in a panic. Little snotnosed bastards.
It doesn't take long before the mischievous duo grow bored of their antics and run off elsewhere. Where? Frankly they don't know themselves. They simply run and run through the village without a care in the world. The hours pass by as they find other kids to spend the day with, getting up to all kinds of childish shenanigans. Snatching apples from the aldorman's garden or picking on the orphans, time flies when you're having fun.
It seemed like it had been just ten minutes before the boys were, much to their dismay, summoned home for supper. With obnoxious groans and a dawdling saunter they draw closer to the thatch-roofed hut that they unashamedly call their humble abode.
Just a stone's throw away from the hovel and the youngest boy puts his eyes on the neighbour's dog. He's knelt down into the mud next to the shepherd's dog, giving it all the attention a pet could ever ask for. This joy is swiftly bereaved of the boy though, as his older brother whacks him over the head and spits out at him, "C'mon, ye twit. Pah will beat us red 'till next harvest if the soup's cold when we get home!". The boy reluctantly left the hound, sniffling into his hand. "I hate carrot soup.." He whimpered to his older brother. The elder could only laugh, "Har har har! Ye sniveling wimp! Are ye crying, He--" But then a thundering roar came from the doorway, interrupting the elder's chastisement. Both the boys paled as they saw their mother waving a wooden spoon threateningly at them, hollering out, "Aethelric! Hengest!.. Hengest!..... Hengest!".
The calls kept coming and had faded in volume slightly more every time untill it all turns to black. Just as everything faded away, it all began fading back but to a grand mansion somewhere far away. He sat at the head of a table surrounded by lords and ladies, all awkwardly quiet while observing the lady of the land desperately calling for the attention of her husband in hushed tones. "Hengest! Have you been listening at all?" He notices slipping past her lips, to which he only slowly nods along. "Hrm? Oh, aye. Naturally.." He huffs out and the dinner chit chat resumed like nothing had happened.
Mere seconds after and a thought deafens out the blabber of bluebloods and allegedly important people. "I want to go home.."
((Finally managed to produce my first lore story on here. Figured I should put it to good use and show a glimpse of the inner machinations of everyone's favorite choleric Anglian!))
