Zelda Universe Forums - View Single Post

Blizzaga · #8 [ ] 01-13-2008, 04:56 PM

Because of the fact that chances are high caravan members could never return from their journey of harvesting myrrh, you might come to the conclusion that villages would have to invoke a draft of some sort each year that forces people to join up. That is simply not the case. I am proud to say that every settlement in Epoh has their fair share of stripling volunteers eager for excitement and adventure!

Chapter One:
Purely Voluntary

“I don’t want to go! You can’t make me!” shouted Klaf over his shoulder as he took off running for the opposite side of the village, the visor on his helmet clanging up and down the whole time. If only his feathered arms would allow him to fly!

“You’re going, and that’s that!” an elderly male voice answered back from behind him, sounding very commanding. Even so, Klaf knew he’d easily outrun the ancient shaman. He zigged and zagged around buildings and through alleyways while bumping into people, tripping over random objects, and knocking over a disgruntled shopkeeper in the process of making good his escape. After a few minutes of continuing this activity, he decided to stop and rest in the back corner of a barn where he wouldn’t be visible to his pursuer.

Minutes had passed before Klaf decided it was safe to come out. The commotion was over, and everyone continued about their business as if nothing had happened. Klaf carefully made his way to his favorite hiding spot, as to not attract unwanted attention. He often came here to spend time alone. It was the only thing he seemed to be good at. He was in an abandoned marketplace on the outskirts of town, just inches away from the end of the myrrh tree’s protection. The Yuke race was known for their solitary nature, but even for then, Klaf seemed to be against the grain in that regard. The villagers knew about this too, but they thought it better that he spend time alone as he see fit since he wasn’t causing any trouble.

So, the villagers let Klaf be, and Klaf was free to come to this place whenever he so chose to hone his magic skills. The place was a wreak, and was evidence of Klaf’s continual practicing of Dark Magic. If one were to describe it, they would probably say that it looked like a fire, thunderstorm, and tornado hit the place all at once. If one were to take a second look, they would also find flower petals and stems all over. Standing in the middle of the plaza, Klaf took this all in as he thought of what he wanted to do first.

Suddenly, it grew very cold and he was immediately chilled to the bone. Though it had never happened to him before, it became apparent that someone was using a freezing spell on him. He tried to get of the way, but couldn’t.

Klaf was frozen!

In his line of vision, a figure slowly walked out of the shadows and calmly headed toward him. It was the shaman!

Klaf should have known better than to have tried running from the shaman. The midmorning sun revealed his Yukish features. Unlike Klaf and the most common of his kin, the shaman wore a helmet that replicated any other, but made of wood, and without horns protruding from the top. This was a sign of humility in the Yuke tribe; with great power comes great responsibility to serve others. Other than that, the shaman was wearing traditional Yuke garb since he wasn’t performing any rituals or ceremonies. The tips of his leather cone-shaped shoes were curled as if he’d stubbed his toes one too many times. Long stockings were also popular among the Yukes, and his were brown-stripped. His main garb was cerulean-colored, and looked like what might happen if you crossed a kilt with a tunic that extended past the knees.

Because of his helmet, the only thing giving away the shaman’s emotions were his little bat-like wings that grew right beneath the shoulder blades on his back. They were currently drooping from exhaustion. Klaf at least had the satisfaction of giving the old Yuke a challenge before finally being caught.

“Ah, I thought I might find you here. How are you feeling? Cold? Well, that’s too bad since I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you at the moment. Now, while you’re standing there frozen, you’d better listen up.”

The shaman went on and on about how it was Klaf’s duty to join this year’s caravan. How it depended on their very survival. Klaf couldn’t imagine a worse kind of torture at the moment.

But there are plenty of people who would rather go than me! Klaf thought to himself. What about Mr. Dibbs?

“…and Mr. Dibbs has a broken leg. So I couldn't ask him to join the caravan this year. He’d only slow everyone down.”

Fine. How about the new guy. What’s his name? Tracklay!

“I then thought about Tracklay, but then realized that I couldn’t ask him, seeing as how he was eaten alive by a giant snail last week.”

Sambo, then!

“Sambo was next in line, but what’s left of him is now bird food along the Wycoastal Trail. Let that be a lesson to everyone! Never stand too close to a Bomb fiend when it explodes.”

Even Old Fred would be a better pick over me!

“I would love to ask Old Fred, but that would be kind of hard since he’s busy digesting in the belly of a colossal sandworm that devoured him just yesterday.”

Are you reading my thoughts again?

“Yes.”

You know I hate it when you do that.

“Do you think I have a choice? You’re kind of frozen at the moment and unable to talk.”

So unfreeze me then!

“No. I very much like the state you are in now. It’s easier talking to someone while he is frozen than chasing him all over town. There are plenty reasons as to why you should be going with the caravan this year, but that’s for you to find out. Normally, I wouldn’t ask you to go, but there’s no choice this time. You are the only able substitute.”

If Klaf were able to roll his eyes, he would.

“And anyways,” the shaman added mischievously, “she will be going too.”

Even through the sheer cold, Klaf could feel himself blushing.

***

It wasn’t long after when the shaman and the frozen form that was Klaf floating alongside him made it back to the village gates.

“Hey! What happened to him?” said Gerald, who was a member of the Clavat tribe.

“A minor accident,” the shaman replied. “Klaf is more than willing to go. Just stash him away with the supplies for now, and he should thaw out in a few hours.”

Klaf wasn’t sure if it was his anger or embarrassment that aided in melting his frozen frame as the caravan rolled away from safety and towards adventure.

______

Boom! My first chapter! How'd you like it? Did anyone catch the Tremors reference?