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The Boy

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  • The Boy

    This is just a bored-at-work, let's-start-typing-and-see-what-happens story, consisting of two 'chapters' each written on a different friday. I thought I'd share it as I'm pleasantly pleased with how they turned out, random sequences of sentences that they were.



    The goblin struck him another savage blow across the back.

    Dimly aware of warm wet blood seeping into his leathers, the boy continued running across the unknown sands, scanning the horizon with eyes clouded by panic and fear. Wild desperation drove him onwards, back to the safety of the small port town of Mhaura, just as bored desperation had driven him onwards that morning when he had set out to find passage across this strange and barren peninsula. The boy could hear the goblin behind him making displeased grunts at the effort of the chase and he could feel the weight of the beastman's malevolent intent bearing down upon him like some ceaseless burning heat.

    His natural instinct had saved him from many of the goblin's thrusts and swings, but would it be enough? Adrenaline dulled the pain of his wounds, but the world around him was pulsing with a hazy glow and in some dark quiet corner at the back of his mind, the boy knew that his body could not long keep up the strain of maintaining consciousness, let alone keeping up this pace.

    As he reached the top of yet another featureless slope, a sight filled his pounding heart with hope - there, away to the left, lay the wooden emplacements marking the entrance to Mhaura. The boy altered his course and, in doing so, allowed the goblin to gain a yalm and land a glancing cut across his thigh. He somehow managed to retain his footing and carried on sprinting for the town with all the spirit he could muster.

    The wound to his leg was causing flashes of white across his vision with every other step. He knew his pace was faltering and that any moment now the goblin would be upon him. He didn't want to feel the goblin's jagged little blade again..

    The boy began to pray, silently, fervently. Running blindly, he called out to Altana from that quiet place in the back of his mind and offered his Love in return for her Favour.

    The goblin was close enough now to practically reach out and grab the boy. Its belaboured breathing was as loud as a gale, the guttural curses it muttered sounded like a chanting of demons and the clattering of the goblin's pots and pans were an army's drumcall. Yet, as the goblin swung blow after blow, the boy was amazed with the speed and agility with which he was suddenley able to perfectly dodge the blade that was aimed at him. He sensed a bright coolness coursing through his limbs, an awareness that emanated not from his senses but from somewhere deeper, less accessible. The goblin's mutterings escalated into angry cries of frustration as each stab and thrust met only empty air where only split seconds earlier there had been flesh and bone.

    And as he ran, Mhaura grew ever closer.

    The sun had climbed high in the sky, though not enough to penetrate the foreboding clouds which stretched endlessly above and cast that peculiar bleak ambience upon this sandy waste. The gates of the port town were just starting to loom above the boy when, without warning, his leading foot landed on the ground and was engulfed with twining branches of some sparkling and unnatural plant that sprouted from the grey sand. His other foot came down hard in an effort to keep his balance and, upon contact, was again trapped and snared by tendrils of green root that danced with motes of an ethereal-looking red light.

    Bound firmly in place and within throwing distance of the gates to Mhaura, the boy tensed his every fibre as the goblin came crashing upon him, a mood of bloodhungry irritation written plainly upon its intent. Thankfully, still under the effects of that preturnatural awareness running through his body, the boy ducked and weaved the goblin's every attack.

    It was then that the boy, his feet still rooted to the spot, noticed another goblin closing in on him, brandishing a staff of what appeared to be magical design. In no time he was being bombarded by strikes from both attackers, his body contorting wildly to escape the onslaught of blade and stave.

    Seconds later, the boy felt that bright coolness which had lent so much potency to his evasive instincts seep away. Quickly and without warning it left him, naked but for his own attempts to fend off the assault. Ducking a knife swing, his ribs caught a thrust from the pointed end of the staff, knocking the wind out of him. Dropping to his knees, he felt the goblin's knife enter his shoulder blade twice, each time deep and grating, before a blow to the skull caused the world to explode with silent noise and all went black.


    ~***~


    "Get up."

    Startled at the sudden words, the boy stayed silent. He felt decidely odd, like he was someplace else entirely different from himself. Someplace dark. He couldn't see a thing.

    "Get UP..! I do not have all day boy."

    The voice sounded distant, yet he could hear it clearly within his mind. A deep voice, rattly and serious. The boy attempted to open his mouth to ask where he was and was confused when nothing happened. Calm despite these increasingly strange circumstances, he recalled the attack by the Goblins and wondered where on Vana'diel he might be now. Was this some holy afterlife he had arrived in?

    "Are you even there?! Listen boy. You have been knocked out. You are unconscious."

    He was.. unconscious? The boy absently wondered how the owner of this mysterious voice was communicating with him if that were the case. Again he tried to reply, but it was plainly apparent that he had no control over his own voice.

    "Hm. I presume you are just inexperienced.. Okay. Look. Do you know how to tell me things with your mind? Communicate directly to me boy. Go on. Give it a try. Either that or just GET UP. I have raised you from your fall. Just will yourself back in to your senses. Please boy. Time is short."

    It certainly seemed that whoever he was listening to was in something of a rush.

    "I wonder why he's so impatient?" the boy thought.

    "Ah! He speaks!" replied the deep voice, "And for your information, I am impatient because I have to BE somewhere very soon boy. My ferry is due shortly. Now please. GET UP."

    "You.. heard me?" the boy exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. At this the other voice let out a short, exasperated sigh.

    "Yes. Just do as I say. Concentrate. Locate your hands and feet with your mind. Place them where you know they should be. From there, you need to then draw the rest of yourself towards your centre. And FEEL it as you do so."

    "O..okay. Let me try," the boy replied, not at all certain what the other person's words actually meant.

    Doing as instructed, he attempted to concentrate on where his fingers were. His surroundings were empty though, devoid of substance. It was peculiar to experience this feeling that, as much as he wanted to wiggle his fingertips, there was nothing there to actually wiggle. It was then that he felt a tingle, followed shortly by several other tingles. Were these.. were these his fingers? They took shape, form. They felt familiar to him, though distant and detached. There was no doubt though. This was his left hand.

    The boy’s right hand took form shortly after, again accompanied by that strange tingle, that felt at once cold and reassuring. The two feet were easier to latch on to, as he now had some idea of what he was feeling around for.

    “I think I have my hands and feet, sir” he called out.

    “Excellent boy. Now. As I said. Bring that inwards. To just below your stomach. To your centre.”

    This proved more difficult. The boy was perplexed about how he might begin to ‘pull’ this tingly cloud which currently defined and shaped his extremities. He was unable to create the same sensation in his wrists and lower leg and, no matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to bring it up through his limbs. Whatever he was doing, it was wrong.

    He relaxed and took a deep breath, preparing to try again. And a strange thing occurred – the cold tingle shivered and trembled slightly. He realised he had drawn no deep breath – that was as futile as attempting to speak through his mouth – but that mental action, the thought process to inhale deeply, was somehow connected to bringing the tingling form up into the rest of his body.

    Trying again, he felt the sensation course upwards. Slowly and with some resistance at first but, as his arms, shoulders and his legs became overwhelmed with a focussed refreshing chill, the sensation gathered speed, ripping forward and shooting towards his stomach. As everything came together within his centre, the darkness and calm of his unconscious state was obliterated by a white flash of cold and he felt his entire awareness lifted bodily upwards.

    “There we go! I knew you would get it boy.”

    The boy was oblivious to the words though. As he became one with his body once again, pain erupted through his every fibre. Stab-wounds sang with bloody malice, broken ribs cracked and poked and jabbed at his organs. His head swam with a fusion of sharp points and aching oceans.

    He was aware of a noise behind him as he balanced teetering on his ripped and bloody legs – a light tone which grew louder and closer. A candescent aura enveloped him and entwined itself with his many injuries. Washing away blood, healing lacerations and reassembling bone, health swiftly returned to his ravaged body. The pain subsided and the boy blinked, nauseous and so very, very tired.

    “Take it easy boy. You are weak. Here. Let me escort you back to town. It is just a short walk this way.”

    The boy’s eyes took in his surroundings. He was still in the same spot on that dull, sandy peninsular where he had fallen to the goblins. The wooden emplacements lay just a dozen yalms to his south.

    A huge, powerful-looking hand took his arm. The boy lifted his eyes with effort and looked upon his helper. A large, hulking shape. Adorned in robes of white, red and gold. Topped off with a bushy, unkempt beard.

    The galka smiled back at him, wise eyes sparkling under even more facial hair, before gently - but hurriedly - leading him back. Back towards the safety of Mhaura.
    Oh, Warp. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

  • #2
    Re: The Boy

    Very nice work.

    Thanks for sharing.

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