Slowly, ever so slowly did a grand canvas bloom forth into view, the stark and untouched nature of it's being laid bare before all. Laid before all was this infinite and boundless expanse that could bear any sort of composition including any number of places both far and near, both in reality and memory. As the image of such a canvas would resolve and grow clear, unseen hands would work to ebb and draw brush strokes across the untamed and stark white of the canvas’s field. These indistinct and seemingly random lines would resolve themselves into countless fading images that they themselves danced across the scene in an unbidden torrent. Each of these bearing a murky and distant clarity to them as if recalled indistinctly and from a time long past.
Each faded image would come fluttering across with rich flashes of color upon a canvas now dyed of the deepest blue. Shifting oily vistas and horizons would be given form from these unbroken and unceasing swathes of blue and orange hues, splotches of deep earthy tones would demark the oil painted sky from the terrestrial land beneath royal blue sky’s glorious visage. Drawn forth from brushstrokes beneath this dazzling azure sky, these many countless motes of earthen hue would be dressed in redolent colors as if an artist had laid by hand each of the blossoming flowers and their unique colors both warm and cold.
Rising up in vast and neatly laid lines would be garbed in shimmering golds, resplendent like treasure stand tidely in obedient rows. These painted fields of flaxen wheat and barley rest alongside grand vista’s of emerald and green hues that demarcate lush tones of the untamed natural world that would rise and fall with many viridian gnolls that ebbed off into the infinite distance. Nestled squarely upon the edge of the bright natural hues of the untamed world beyond and before the expansive and warm colors of the tidy fields would reside the painted form of a quaint and humble cottage, it's form an encompassing blend of the natural world and the clean and tidy lines of creative hands. Warm crimson hues of a chimney would nestle themselves alongside the faded brass of the thatch roof that resided upon the dull grey of the plastered walls. This quiet and unassuming abode would softly puff and bellow soft white clouds from it's chimney as the distant sun would bow low, gracefully moving to depart the stage in this picture frame of some long ago halcyon day.
Curiously amid the colors of nature would a shifting oily form make its way down one of the tidily painted gnolls that rolled among the thralls of nature. This small figure would bestride this canvas awash with color their form indistinct but of warm and inviting hue as they contrasted and made their way down among the rolling hills of green. This lone figure would be given pause as it trailed along pale outlines of an earthen path, pausing to give notice to the golden tone wheat fields ripe for harvest. The slight figure would cast it's gaze across the scene, the hue of its body shifting to a warm and rosey red and dulcet amber as the slight figure looked upon the serene vista laid before it with fond and adoring nostalgia.
As the shifting rosen tinged figure would gaze forth upon the scene, it would take notice of another of it's kind moving forth from the quiet abode to join it upon the earthen rise upon which it stood, overlooking the lands below. Rising up from the fields below, would this new figure would be tinged with flowing and fluttering streaks of white and silver intermixed with flashes of gold and warm tender scarlet. This smaller form would finally work it's way among the trails up to the place in which it's kindred had stood on watch. The duo would excitedly raise their arms in some wordless greeting, their bodily forms moving and excitedly exchanging unheard news excitedly with one another in this silent painting. The duo would beam forth excitedly and begin the trek further down along the confines of paths that lead them both forth towards the lovely cottage’s form. Where there had been but a single figure, now these two bestrode alongside one another, basking in the cool colors of the evening air these two indistinct forms wordlessly mimed and motioned conversation on their journey to the mote of color that presented their home.
In this picturesque scene, the two tiny forms would quietly basked in the blissful warmth of the quiet and growing eve, the larger of the two would be caught up in some wordless conversation, their focus only broken when the smaller of the two would cast their gaze onward to the painted horizon. The slightest of the figures would indicate in silence to the distance, giving pause to the larger of the two as their gaze towards the distant horizon as something estranged would ebb upon the canvas of colors.
Upon the vast distant horizon, would pale droplets appear, misplaced and errant upon this carefully orchestrated painting akin to a forgetful error of a novice artist spattering his completed work with aberrant colors. However, these pallid motes would fester within themselves growing and feeding eagerly upon the royal and rich blues and oranges of the sky. These anomalous motes would swell, leeching and desaturating colors about them until naught but a rolling tide of silver-white hue spread across the proverbial horizon. This churning tide crested and peaked as if painted by the manic hands of an artist whom had seemingly forgotten that clouds bore not these colors nor that their place was among the skies solely. This rolling fog-cloud of silver-white would ebb and curdle, heaving upon itself as it's vast form would roll across the distant hills like a heavy and smothering shroud. The rolling tufts of silver-white would loom forth like a maw gobbling up the lovely azur of lily's, the vibrant greens of the untamed grass, before finally pervading and subsuming the golden stalks at the edge of the picturesque field it's movements unhalted and only increasing in speed and rapidity.
This unceasing tide would crawl and heave itself forth across the beautiful landscape laid before the trembling duo that watched this from atop the earthen gnoll at the cottage fields edge, as this all consuming cloud crawl it's way forth greedily towards the unaware homestead before it. The sudden pang of fear would resonate as the slight duo’s colors and hue would quiver into fearful shades of darkened inky splotches. The figures would wordlessly give haste to their step, their body’s a blur of color as they mime frantically, silently calling forth in alarm trying to beckon or rouse those that dwell within.
Each step along the painted path of earthen hue would carry them closer and closer to the cottage, their colorful forms flashing in bright hues of panic and desperation as this idyllic dreamscape was engulfed within the seething tide of silver-white oil paints run-amuck upon the canvas. However their efforts were to no avail, the final image of the scene laid before them the duo was treated too was the lasting image of the small farmhouse being silently subsumed by this foggy-mist gobbled down it's endless gullet. The duo reeled, their hues and colors fading from their bright selves into muddy and murky hues of dark azure. For nothing heralded this silent cataclysm, no answers nor respite to explain this wonton subsumption of this art, there was but the silent and inexorable fog-tide that ebbed steadily onward.
The trembling duo would reel and skid forth to a halt as the rolling tides and clouds of silver-white would race forth, sprinting towards their cowering forms. The duo would cling, one to another as this onrushing tide of silver washed over them, the image upon this canvas would distort as the once redolent flowers in their vibrant beauty would be faded to a dull ashen grey, wilted and withered within the embrace of this oily cloud. The natural world around them would be leached, and supped upon and drawn dry as the fog-cloud of silver-white would eagerly cling to the two cowering forms. The pair thrashed as lattices and racing firey lines would dance and spread across the bodies of the duo trapped within the silence of the silver-storm cloud.
The unbroken torrent of silver-white would slowly begin to fade unto murky black as it would bleed forth upon the corners of this dream, slowly replacing but the corners at first, before trickling down closer and closer to the center and the solitary pair of thrashing and agonized colors that remained upon the canvas.
The two figures would cleave to one another amid the growing and looming abyss, the figures clasped to one another, as they drift further from one another. With morose silence, the space between the duo is filled, akin to the onrush of the untamed waters into unfilled space. The pair’s discolored and warped frames would be pushed apart, the smaller of the duo being carried forth into the inky mire of the slowly fading silver-white tide. The sole remaining figure thrashing about in silent contortions of pain-stricken grief as the inky and murky questing lines of black would fully down silver-white canvas. The solitary figure was left adrift, in this abyssal sea of polluting black. The sole lingering effect on the drifting body would be the visible sense of falling upon an endless midnight expanse much akin to a star having fallen from the cosmic seas above.
The sudden feeling of an unseen ground racing up from the nebulous and inky void would jar the dream to an abrupt and harsh end. Sharp pains danced across the body of a gaunt ragged frame of the youth, as he stirs, having fallen from his ragged cot onto the rough hewn timbers of the floor. Nikolai would groan, throwing his makeshift sheets that had bound around him like a snake, from his body as he takes short ragged breaths, in panic his left hand races forth and tosses free the covers from his form. As he blinked to clear his vision he’d turn over his sweat slick hand and arm, his breathing slowly coming back under his control. Thusly much to his relief, he found his body in the same state he'd left it when he delved into the world of slumber upon the prior eve.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
He’d craned his head about, taking in the slowly focusing view of the room around him in stride as he worked to collect himself. The room was cramped a single panel-less window covered with but a bolt-scrap of moth-eaten sackcloth would allow the early rays of the dawn’s light to cast illumination upon the rooms interior. Upon the wall clung faded and cracked plaster covering the spartan room, dull exposed timbers bitten by brine and a life at sea composed the skeletal rafters that hung overhead, Within the room where but a pair of bare-bone bed stacked one atop the other with crude straw stuffed cots laid upon them. Much to his relief the other occupants of the room remained fast asleep in their bunks, their covered forms heaving slightly beneath sackcloth blankets.
Nikolai would rise from the floor, moving to kneel beside his bed as he fished about with his right arm beneath the cots edge till his hand found purchase on the old battered case beneath his bed. With a swift motion he’d withdraw the case and began to dress himself for the day. Several thick rolls of heavy gauze would first be applied upon his flesh, covering the areas of flesh not veiled by the thick trousers and rough plain tunic he wore. The pale white of the bandages would wind around his twisted flesh.
The once pale skin, having been gnarled and twisted long ago. The roll would wind it's way across the length of his legs and neck, the painful red flesh, swollen and blistered would be latticed with estranged vine-like growth bulbed beneath his flesh as he briskly bound these weeping wounds tightly. With due reverence, Nikolai would reach down once more into the case at his bed-side, pulling forth the well worn and slightly moth eaten wool tricorne. He’d move to brush lingering dust from the saw-mills blades from it, as he placed the hat squarely atop the shaggy mop of faded blond hair. Feeling closer to complete with the addition of his prized hat. The lad would offer a swift kick back to the footlocker to send it back and beneath the bed. Within such faded soldiers of tin would clatter in protest as they sink amongst a sea of leaflets and summons all adorned with faded wax seals of the provincial governor of the island port, all whilst wooden ships would bob and heave upon the leaflet sea before the case finds its place back beneath his cot.
His brow furrows sharply as he moves to the crooked pegs that hang from the wall along his bedside, glancing about as a dull haze of discomfort hangs in his numbed mind. He’d had another of those dreams again like spectres they loomed over him. However, try as he might the more detail he’d try to recall the more distant and unclear they would become as the ebbing thoughts of home would fade from him. The dull pain and the lack of recall gnawed at the boy, something that hung upon him like a shroud that taunted him with distant flashes of places and the pervading confusion as the line between reality and fantasy blurred. Inwardly he’d sigh, denoting yet another day in which this recurring thought had given him restless sleep. He’d idly lean forth and carve a single line on the edge of his bedpost using his nail, a long running list of tally marks only adding to his discomfort as another night was snatched.
He’d finally manage to get upright, his bandages and attire sorted, he’d flex his right hand before him trying to give his mind something to focus upon, satisfied with the movements of the heavy leather gloves, he’d then move to raise his left arm seeming to feel the clench of his fingers, Only to have nothing move before him. For no limb would find itself displayed forth awaiting its owner’s bidding, no nimble dance of fingers to focus his mind. He’d glance oft to his left side and give an involuntary wince as he spies the empty space in which an arm should occupy. The limb vacant spot, sends a faint quiver in his back and flutter in his gut as he could have sworn to have felt the phantom presence of his digits, the sight acting as a silent reminder that his morning routine was not yet complete.
The young lad would rise forth and move over to his bedside, hand reaching up to the gnarled pegs upon the crude walls. Dangling from these wooden pegs would be a faded and worn leather harness, with a brisk action he’d haul it down and loop it across his vacant left shoulder joint, the harness sliding neatly into the void and finding its place in the left shoulder socket. As the harness is moved, the faint light that crept through the window would strike dull burnished steel, and the dull hues of bronze that shimmered as Nikolai adjusts the harness.
Hanging from the peg, the missing piece would reveal itself, a slightly oversized parody of a human arm born forth from steel and bronze would idly sway when the harness was removed, it's hardened shell pinging as intricate runic inscriptions stirred slightly from the movements that had roused it from it's quiet slumber, eagerly awaiting the master’s call.
Nikolai would nod, satisfied that the harness was in the most comfortable spot, he would heft the artificial limb from its resting place and move to slot it firmly into the ball-socket of the shoulder harness. The ghastly skeletal digits would leap as if pricked by needles whilst twitch as from within the iron casemate of the limb, a dull amber glow would radiate and thrum as a shimmering augite would stir to life. Gears click and whirr within the armored arms, as the vaguely skeletal shape would flex and twinge, ponderous in the cool air of the morning. The dull thrum of heat would wash forth from the limb as ebbing trails of the arcane would flow cross the ancient rune work upon intricately constructed digits and the minutia of it's inner-workings that stirred the faux limb to life. Violently and jerkily the prosthetics digits would flex and winge, as Nikolai would feel as if someone doused his mind in a cold stream, as this replacement limb would reach forth and diligently work to harmonize with his own mind and muscle movements. After a few awkward moments, the digits would flex and respond with the same eagerness as his flesh and blood hand.
Satisfied and finally through the tedium of his early morning routine, Nikolai maneuvers himself past the bunks and cots of his bunkmates in an effort not to wake them. He’d pass by without incident and manage his way to the door, slipping out into the corridor beyond. The hall was still as far below in the commons area the dull commotion of the early risers from the foundling hospital. The few rooms that he moved past their tattered and ripped curtains that hung from the door frames, veiling the slowly stirring forms within that groggily turned over in their bunks as the dawn’s early light would peer forth into their windows.
Nikolai would move with a modicum of vigor, his eyes glancing warily between the thresholds as he pasted them. His stance and movements betrayed a furtive fear that was almost palpable, a wary eye that he kept upon the other foundlings that he shared this decrepit dormitory with. For within the hierarchy of the waifs within, there were few that were more despised than he. Be it from spiteful jealousy over the free-range he enjoyed at the hands of the overworked caretaker of the youths or perhaps it was the few dusty scuffles he’d brokered with in the past over bunk-space and what few possessions he had.
Nikolai had long learned to scrape and struggle for the dredges of what their realm had to offer with their meager supply. It was no small secret either as the veiled forms stirred in their rooms, that Nikolai stood apart from them. His human form all but aberrant in comparison to the rest of the youths, long had he spent his days musing over what it truly was that earned him condemnation within this realm. His gaze would filter down upon his tightly bandaged form, a pang of worry leaping up into his throat as he shamefully tugs at one of the loose ends of padding.
Perhaps it was the affliction that crawled upon his form? The angry lattices and growths beneath his flesh, had drawn more than their fair share of wretches and hushed curses at the sight of his pained form. In some form or another, perhaps it was the warping of his flesh and the loss of his natural limb that set him aside as a pariah among the folds of the denizens of the realm. His mind mulling and churning over these guilty and shameful thoughts as he worked to reconcile the manner in which his fellow foundlings and the myriad of passerby’s in the streets would react to him. As none would provide context nor clue as to what unspoken red letter from time gone by hung over him still. The looks of disdain and loathing he would earn upon the sight of his bandaged form moving through the streets of the city beyond the foundling homes walls, would cause him much chagrin. As it seemed to him that it would come from no other fact than the nature of his blood and the affliction he bore upon his frame no matter the manner in which he conducted himself. For man upon the realm in which Nikolai dwelled was seen as some harbinger of inscrutable danger, and the treatment of the few that dwelled here on this isle upon which Nikolai found himself ran the gambit from avoidance to callous cruelty.
Inwardly he fretted over this reflexive disdain that the heritage of his blood earned him, it made little sense to him as he was left within the foundling hospital at an early age, too far back for him to recall his own parents which had deposited him therein nor for what grand and unforgivable sin he now bore at the expense of his own blood and heritage.
His head throbbed, far too much thinking for such an early hour, the indistinct images dancing again in his head as he would hasten down the creaking and misaligned stairs ducking beneath a thick and heavy bundle of fishing net that had been haphazardly hung up over the route further down the stairs.
Perhaps thoughts for another time, he’d spent long hours pondering what it was that mankind had done to the myriad of beings and creatures within the land to earn them such loathing but all of such had been naught but fruitful. With a tired sigh, Nikolai would shove down the clouding thoughts into the haze of discomfort, as he’d draw back the thin clinging curtain that cloaked the doorway into the dinning hall, more than keenly eager to eat his fill and be off to avoid the worst of the harrying that would arise on this day when the older of the waif’s finally woke and roused themselves from their slumber.
Despite all this, the young man would give a fleeting smile as he wheeled about into the dinning area, for today was going to be a special day for many a great and wondrous things that awaited him. Slowly as he passed the final threshold before him into the dinning hall, his gently whirring and clicking automata hand would rest upon the gnarled and time eaten form of a wooden ships wheel, his steel digits moving across the deep channels his hands had worn upon the old and faded wood. Someday, he’d told himself, he’d find himself a way to set a course upon the seas of azur and murky jade that stretched on into the endless horizons beyond and the curious unknown that lies beyond.