Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2016 6:44:39 GMT
“Omar, I just don’t know what to do with you, avoiding church and running in the squire’s forest like a wild thing!”
Omar, a striking young lad with long strawberry blond hair and primrose blue eyes turned to his mother with a laugh on his lips. “Mama, I never felt comfortable there. With all those eyes staring at me and knowing I have to stay still and try to be prayerful? No thank you please!” the young man rolled his eyes as his mother gave an exasperated sigh.
“Omar my love. This village is small and people talk. Some say it’s unnatural to not be in God’s house and giving him praise. Unnatural to play with deer and build nests for wrens and squirrels” she tried to touch his face, get him to look at her, but he turned his head and eyes turned a darker, brooding color. He turned a moment later with a sunny smile.
“Just tell them it’s strange to be in a manmade place to worship when God made all of nature for us to use” he said lightly, and left the house.
In truth Omar didn’t care what the villagers thought. He was a skilled blacksmith, having been apprenticed out at an early age, and his skill had quickly grown to surpass his master’s. He longed though to be a bard and travel England and Ireland with nothing but stories and songs at his fingertips and lips and the sky above his head. A feeling had settled in his bones, one of unrest and longing, but he had mama to look after and how could he keep her safe if he was busy traveling across the land playing music? Besides, he liked his job right now. It felt good making things and shaping hot metal. I twas fulfilling even if it didn’t sate the longing in his bones.
He passed the simple little church and paused as he watched the other men of the village struggling to get the new bell on the church. The duke had recently rode through the little village and had been so enamoured with the quaint little church he had given sanction for a bell, and the proper funds to do it. Omar found himself sneering and quickly turned away from where they were struggling. He could help, he was stronger than most of them, but he was filled with a loathing whenever he saw the bell and couldn’t be bothered to do something for the little church anyway. It just wasn’t his way.
Omar lost himself quickly in the forest, although he knew the way back as though looking at a map. It was impossible to get lost, truly, in nature for him. But he enjoyed letting deer eat out of his hands, or coaxing a wren to sit on his finger. Watching little mice scuttle through the leaves of the forest floor and hearing the cry of a fox from deeper into the forest. Sometimes he thought he heard the lonely howl of a wolf and something wrenched inside him and he would give an answering cry of his own.
He was letting a mouse scuttle up his bare arm when he heard loud crashing through the underbrush and grit his teeth. The squire let people hunt on some areas of his land, as long as it was within reason, but Omar tried to stay out of the hunter’s way. Especially Gaston, the son of the squire himself, the wife of the squire being French and thus her son was named a French name. Gaton was full of himself and a bully .He loved making all the villagers’ lives miserable, Omar’s especially.
One quick look through the trees and Omar saw it was Gaston, headed his way. Omar set the mouse down and turned to run, only to be stopped by a heavy gloved hand on his shoulder. Omar ground his teeth and turned to look at Gaston, wary primrose blue eyes staring into cold winter lake blue eyes. Eyes filled with a gleeful malice. Omar attempted to wrench his shoulder out of that grip and flee, but only ended up hurting himself. For all his strength, Gaston was stronger.
“Now now blacksmith, your reaction makes it seem like you saw the devil himself!” harsh laughter and Omar continued gritting his teeth. He refused to speak and gratify the oaf that pranced around as though he were the king himself. He probably thought he was.
“Of course, the devil himself is your father. At least that’s what people say” he chuckled and forced Omar backwards and then shoved him hard into a tree. Omar grunted, head hurting where he’d hit it. Gaston smirked. “Did that hurt the bastard’s child? poor thing. Probably hurts as much as knowing your papa abandoned you at birth, freak of a creation” Omar ducked a milisecond before the oaf slammed his hand into Omar’s face, instead Gaston hit the tree. Omar side-stepped around the tree and watched Gaston with some fear. The monster that called himself the squire’s son stared at Omar with black rage before lunging for him and nimble as a deer, Omar took off running.
It was several hours before Omar was confident he had managed to outwit Gaston, who was a practiced hunter and good at tracking for all his other failings. Omar had waded through a chilly creek and then climbed a tree, not stopping till he was high in the branches. He was cold wet and hungry but he wasn’t going to chance getting into an ‘accident’ because of the oaf of a squire’s son.
By the time he got back to the village he was freezing and the sun was going down. It was a beautiful sunset and he stopped to allow the dying light of the sun to steal over his face before he made his way into the village proper.
People were celebrating, and with a start he realized it was because of the bell; it had been successfully mounted onto the church. Omar stared at it with revulsion and awe.
And then they rang the bell.
All at once the young man was filled with deep agony and terror and fell to his knees and then to his side with a raw scream of agony. He writhed on the ground as people around him fell silent but the merciless bell tolled on.
Omar curled in on himself and then snapped straight as a line as his face elongated and his long hair turned from gentle strawberry blonde to a deep blood red. His fingers went from four to three and his teeth elongated into two little tusks in his mouth. His eyes opened as primrose blue turned to ink black. He continued screaming in agony as his ears became larger and his feet grew, splitting the boots his mother had sent to get from a special shop some miles away with the little extra money he had earned. He’d loved those boots.
The bell stopped tolling and it was as though he were a hot poker put in cool water. His screaming stopped and he lay on the ground panting.
“A changeling” someone whispered.
“The Unseelie curse!” cried another.
“A troll” said a calm voice and everyone turned, Omar propping himself on his elbows and craning his neck to get a look at who was speaking. It wasn’t anyone he recognized. It was a redhead man on a horse. His ears curved above his head like knife points and elegant, though torn, wings rose away from his back. He had rust red hair and sky blue eyes that looked down at them all in cold amusement. Pale skin and the unnatural grace pinned him as one thing and one thing only; a fairy. What type was beyond Omar to comprehend. Not that he currently could, lying on the ground and unable to muster up the strength to do more than stare at the stranger. “You lot were right, but he’s also a troll. Typical to steal troll children and swap them for human babes to keep as pets” a collective gasp and unfriendly eyes turned to Omar, still on the ground.
Suddenly he was lifted roughly off the ground and had an arm wrapped threateningly around his throat. He struggled to breathe as the arm crushed his windpipe. It was Gaston. He shifted so he could hold Omar in his arm and hold his bow and an arrow at the same time. The stranger cocked his head at the squire’s son, who sneered at him. “And what are we supposed to do, bow before you and let you have your way with the village? I think not! First, we’ll kill you. And then him” a ragged amount of cheers sprang forth and the stranger raised an eyebrow before flicking his hand. Gaston’s head snapped too far to the left with a sickening crack and he collapsed. It didn’t take a genius to know that the fae had killed him. It left no doubt what this was. It was Unseelie, and the creature wasn’t messing around.
Omar gasped for breath and felt a sudden shocking sense of remorse for Gaston. The idiot was a brute and spoiled but he had also been the squire’s only son, and relatively harmless. Despite having just threatened to kill him. The Unseelie got down from his horse and walked over to Omar, grabbing him by the arm and holding him still. “My name is Black Jack Davie. I am nseelie and feeling bored. This troll is now mine. Anyone else who dares dispute me will be killed. Do I make myself clear?” no one spoke. Omar looked desperately for help in the crowd. He caught the face of the woman he had known as mother, and their eyes met. She looked down and his heart broke.
“Mama!” she turned and walked away. Omar’s knees felt like jelly but the Unseelie wouldn’t let him fall to the ground again. Instead he was hoisted onto the horse and his hands tied to the saddle. He kept his head down and despite the burning of tears in his eyes refused to let them fall. The Unseelie got on behind them and with another flick of his hand the church bell fell with a clang. He grinned savagely and Omar slumped in the saddle. Despite being outed as not human, he still felt human, and felt betrayed by the people he had grown up with. Without further incident, Black Jack Davie urged the horse into a canter and they were gone from the village Omar had always known.
Omar, a striking young lad with long strawberry blond hair and primrose blue eyes turned to his mother with a laugh on his lips. “Mama, I never felt comfortable there. With all those eyes staring at me and knowing I have to stay still and try to be prayerful? No thank you please!” the young man rolled his eyes as his mother gave an exasperated sigh.
“Omar my love. This village is small and people talk. Some say it’s unnatural to not be in God’s house and giving him praise. Unnatural to play with deer and build nests for wrens and squirrels” she tried to touch his face, get him to look at her, but he turned his head and eyes turned a darker, brooding color. He turned a moment later with a sunny smile.
“Just tell them it’s strange to be in a manmade place to worship when God made all of nature for us to use” he said lightly, and left the house.
In truth Omar didn’t care what the villagers thought. He was a skilled blacksmith, having been apprenticed out at an early age, and his skill had quickly grown to surpass his master’s. He longed though to be a bard and travel England and Ireland with nothing but stories and songs at his fingertips and lips and the sky above his head. A feeling had settled in his bones, one of unrest and longing, but he had mama to look after and how could he keep her safe if he was busy traveling across the land playing music? Besides, he liked his job right now. It felt good making things and shaping hot metal. I twas fulfilling even if it didn’t sate the longing in his bones.
He passed the simple little church and paused as he watched the other men of the village struggling to get the new bell on the church. The duke had recently rode through the little village and had been so enamoured with the quaint little church he had given sanction for a bell, and the proper funds to do it. Omar found himself sneering and quickly turned away from where they were struggling. He could help, he was stronger than most of them, but he was filled with a loathing whenever he saw the bell and couldn’t be bothered to do something for the little church anyway. It just wasn’t his way.
Omar lost himself quickly in the forest, although he knew the way back as though looking at a map. It was impossible to get lost, truly, in nature for him. But he enjoyed letting deer eat out of his hands, or coaxing a wren to sit on his finger. Watching little mice scuttle through the leaves of the forest floor and hearing the cry of a fox from deeper into the forest. Sometimes he thought he heard the lonely howl of a wolf and something wrenched inside him and he would give an answering cry of his own.
He was letting a mouse scuttle up his bare arm when he heard loud crashing through the underbrush and grit his teeth. The squire let people hunt on some areas of his land, as long as it was within reason, but Omar tried to stay out of the hunter’s way. Especially Gaston, the son of the squire himself, the wife of the squire being French and thus her son was named a French name. Gaton was full of himself and a bully .He loved making all the villagers’ lives miserable, Omar’s especially.
One quick look through the trees and Omar saw it was Gaston, headed his way. Omar set the mouse down and turned to run, only to be stopped by a heavy gloved hand on his shoulder. Omar ground his teeth and turned to look at Gaston, wary primrose blue eyes staring into cold winter lake blue eyes. Eyes filled with a gleeful malice. Omar attempted to wrench his shoulder out of that grip and flee, but only ended up hurting himself. For all his strength, Gaston was stronger.
“Now now blacksmith, your reaction makes it seem like you saw the devil himself!” harsh laughter and Omar continued gritting his teeth. He refused to speak and gratify the oaf that pranced around as though he were the king himself. He probably thought he was.
“Of course, the devil himself is your father. At least that’s what people say” he chuckled and forced Omar backwards and then shoved him hard into a tree. Omar grunted, head hurting where he’d hit it. Gaston smirked. “Did that hurt the bastard’s child? poor thing. Probably hurts as much as knowing your papa abandoned you at birth, freak of a creation” Omar ducked a milisecond before the oaf slammed his hand into Omar’s face, instead Gaston hit the tree. Omar side-stepped around the tree and watched Gaston with some fear. The monster that called himself the squire’s son stared at Omar with black rage before lunging for him and nimble as a deer, Omar took off running.
It was several hours before Omar was confident he had managed to outwit Gaston, who was a practiced hunter and good at tracking for all his other failings. Omar had waded through a chilly creek and then climbed a tree, not stopping till he was high in the branches. He was cold wet and hungry but he wasn’t going to chance getting into an ‘accident’ because of the oaf of a squire’s son.
By the time he got back to the village he was freezing and the sun was going down. It was a beautiful sunset and he stopped to allow the dying light of the sun to steal over his face before he made his way into the village proper.
People were celebrating, and with a start he realized it was because of the bell; it had been successfully mounted onto the church. Omar stared at it with revulsion and awe.
And then they rang the bell.
All at once the young man was filled with deep agony and terror and fell to his knees and then to his side with a raw scream of agony. He writhed on the ground as people around him fell silent but the merciless bell tolled on.
Omar curled in on himself and then snapped straight as a line as his face elongated and his long hair turned from gentle strawberry blonde to a deep blood red. His fingers went from four to three and his teeth elongated into two little tusks in his mouth. His eyes opened as primrose blue turned to ink black. He continued screaming in agony as his ears became larger and his feet grew, splitting the boots his mother had sent to get from a special shop some miles away with the little extra money he had earned. He’d loved those boots.
The bell stopped tolling and it was as though he were a hot poker put in cool water. His screaming stopped and he lay on the ground panting.
“A changeling” someone whispered.
“The Unseelie curse!” cried another.
“A troll” said a calm voice and everyone turned, Omar propping himself on his elbows and craning his neck to get a look at who was speaking. It wasn’t anyone he recognized. It was a redhead man on a horse. His ears curved above his head like knife points and elegant, though torn, wings rose away from his back. He had rust red hair and sky blue eyes that looked down at them all in cold amusement. Pale skin and the unnatural grace pinned him as one thing and one thing only; a fairy. What type was beyond Omar to comprehend. Not that he currently could, lying on the ground and unable to muster up the strength to do more than stare at the stranger. “You lot were right, but he’s also a troll. Typical to steal troll children and swap them for human babes to keep as pets” a collective gasp and unfriendly eyes turned to Omar, still on the ground.
Suddenly he was lifted roughly off the ground and had an arm wrapped threateningly around his throat. He struggled to breathe as the arm crushed his windpipe. It was Gaston. He shifted so he could hold Omar in his arm and hold his bow and an arrow at the same time. The stranger cocked his head at the squire’s son, who sneered at him. “And what are we supposed to do, bow before you and let you have your way with the village? I think not! First, we’ll kill you. And then him” a ragged amount of cheers sprang forth and the stranger raised an eyebrow before flicking his hand. Gaston’s head snapped too far to the left with a sickening crack and he collapsed. It didn’t take a genius to know that the fae had killed him. It left no doubt what this was. It was Unseelie, and the creature wasn’t messing around.
Omar gasped for breath and felt a sudden shocking sense of remorse for Gaston. The idiot was a brute and spoiled but he had also been the squire’s only son, and relatively harmless. Despite having just threatened to kill him. The Unseelie got down from his horse and walked over to Omar, grabbing him by the arm and holding him still. “My name is Black Jack Davie. I am nseelie and feeling bored. This troll is now mine. Anyone else who dares dispute me will be killed. Do I make myself clear?” no one spoke. Omar looked desperately for help in the crowd. He caught the face of the woman he had known as mother, and their eyes met. She looked down and his heart broke.
“Mama!” she turned and walked away. Omar’s knees felt like jelly but the Unseelie wouldn’t let him fall to the ground again. Instead he was hoisted onto the horse and his hands tied to the saddle. He kept his head down and despite the burning of tears in his eyes refused to let them fall. The Unseelie got on behind them and with another flick of his hand the church bell fell with a clang. He grinned savagely and Omar slumped in the saddle. Despite being outed as not human, he still felt human, and felt betrayed by the people he had grown up with. Without further incident, Black Jack Davie urged the horse into a canter and they were gone from the village Omar had always known.