16WINGS OF UTOPIA PROJECT MAY '05
Wings of the Luminae
A thick blanket of snow draped over the secluded village of Winterflower. Once a prosperous village, it had turned into a desolate crypt. The shade of corruption laid a sepulchral pall over the land, affecting all in its wake. A revolution was occurring… a bloody revolution that would take the lives of many.
Cecily, a youngwoman fleeing from the instability of her homeland, stared out into the dreary snow. The past years had been filled with unprecedented hardships and pains. Her clothes were as tattered as rags and her face was pale, streaked with tears. The creaking timbers of her humble abode let in shrill winds, threatening the meager embers that smoldered in the fireplace. A roll of thunder clapped in the distance, and the sky dimmed by several shades. Cecily strode out into the snow, wrapped in old furs and cloths. The gales howled, and for a moment, a vague shape began to materialize from the general direction of the gate. Squinting,she attempted to make out the shape. However, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. Looking up at the thick, black clouds hovering above her, the shadows seemed to meld together to form pictures…
Memories of the previous years flashed through her mind. The despair that had replaced the joy in her life plagued every inch of her mind. She longed for the friends she had lost, the family she had abandoned, and the warmth of a blazing fire. The thoughts became darker, and were transmuted into writhing tendrils of torment. Clutching her head in pulsing agony, she wondered if there was any such entity capable of bringing such pain upon people. When she opened her eyes again, the wind had not decreased any, but the shape she saw by the gate just moments ago seemed to become more distinct. Once again, she strained for a closer look but like the first time, it faded into the mists.
Growing crops had been her source of survival for the previous two years, but with the rising of the corruption, the weather rapidly worsened as if the two were connected. The snowfall had destroyed the last of her crops, and she knew she would not survive much longer. Delirious with hunger and emotional pains, she ran up to the abandoned bell tower. Climbing the rotten woodworks to the top, she let a blast of cold air hit her face. She fell backwards, stunned by the force of the wind. The timber creaked audibly, and the bell tower could take no more of the buffeting Drawing upon her remaining stamina, she looked down again at the gate- and she was sure there was something. For one last time, she attempted to open her eyes, but failed. As her strength receded, the frigid darkness beckoned.
Even through all the snow and darkness, a single flame illuminated the atmosphere.A weary travelerhuddled by the fires, painstakingly tending his hands and feet, taking precautions to prevent them from being afflicted by frostbite. Though it was evident that he was once strong and sinewy, he still retained a lithe body. Opening his satchel, he revealed a hard object wrapped in broad leaves. He closed his eyes, slowly unwrapped a corner of the package, and took a bite. No comfort came from such food, which was dry and stale. As he chewed the food, he tasted a trace of salt and the well-expected weevils. In such a harsh environment, theamenities of life had to be discarded. Davis swallowed, and stowed the remaining hardtack within his satchel. The fire was crushed, and by the time the embers floated off into the distance, he had already stridden away.
The rings from his chain mail clinked as he walked, though he wore a white tunic over it. Each step he took was guided by an untarnished silver rod- a rather strange choice of a "third leg". His jet-black hair was long and unruly, especially for that of a male, and a strange shoot of it extended noticeably upward, arching downward in a jagged spike and falling in front on his forehead. He seemed very lean now, and his face was incredibly carved. Whether it was due to malnutrition or another cause, the shape of his cheekbone indicated that he was not of this land.
Faces stared out from windows above onto the stranger. Seldom had a foreigner wandered upon the land of Winterflower- two years without a single new face- and even before that visits were very rare. The gaunt and haggard citizens shrunk back from the windows, viewing the drifter as an ill prophecy. The question that seemed to be etched upon everybody's mind was what the young man intended to do. After all, nobody came to Winterflower by chance.
The citizens of the exotic land were correct in that one respect. As if pressured for time, the newcomer never tarried in the same spot for long, though occasionally asking for directions. His wanderings took him to the center of the town, where the dilapidated bell tower swayed. Sitting down under a dead rowan tree that was leaning over the gate to the bell tower, his gaze met those of the mistrusting visages. Nodding his head in acknowledgement, he turned around and entered the gate. The villagers debated about themselves what he had acknowledged, but they unsurprisingly had little luck in the matter.