Shut Up And Write - Assignment Book

Round Two

The Prompt:

Your character arrives at a very small medieval village. They are tired after their awful night in the woods and seek help. They look around and are confused to see that the houses are made from wood and people are dressed in very old-fashioned clothes.

You will need to research medieval villages. Think about what they wore and what their villages looked like.

Describe the village.

Tags:

ShutUpAndWriteClub

JABrownOfficial

orchidals

My Submission:

The sun finishes its cycle of yellow, becoming completely enveloped in green. The color flawlessly blends with the seemingly endless flora around me. Daylight will come to an end soon. I check the map again to make sure I'm heading in the right direction. According to the drawing, I'm still on the right path, but I'm not sure what I'm looking for.

A faint sound off in the distance tickles my ears. Is that what I think it is?

I quicken my pace as the path before me steepens. When I reach the top, my jaw drops slightly at the sight.

There's a small town here in the middle of the forest. At first glance, the town looks like it is stuck somewhere in the past. Rather than stone or marble buildings, these buildings are all constructed of wood. The designs are simple, looking to only be big enough for one, maybe two rooms. The light brown-grey wood stands as one-story boxes covered by peaked roofs constructed of dried grass. Some of the homes have open doors or windows where the flickering of fire can be seen from within. A simple wooden fence surrounds the area, more as a mark of boundaries than for actual defense. It looks like these homes were built with their hands and tools rather than magic or technology.

I check my map again. I can't tell if this squiggle is meant to represent the town, but I could at least ask for directions. I untuck my shirt slightly, letting the material hang around my waist to cover my belt where my dagger hangs. I don't want to appear threatening, but I want to make sure I keep up my guard. Who knows what kind of people would voluntarily live without modern luxuries. I descend the hill and find that my path takes me right to an opening in the wooden fence.

A blur of movement to my left causes my heart to leap in my chest and my hand to grip the hilt of my dagger. I look to see a man holding a crude cleaver covered with the blood of a chicken he had just beheaded.

The man looks like I would expect in a town like this. He wears a brown tunic that looks like it was poorly hand-stitched years ago and hasn't been repaired since. The rough material stretches down to his wrists and just below his knees. A piece of rope hangs around his waist where he has pulled at the woven cord to create loops where he currently hangs a small knife, a stained tan rag, and a key. His head is mostly covered with a dark brown hood made of similar material and stitching. The back tip of the hood is strangely elongated and droops down to his shoulder like an extra limb. The same dark brown material fits tightly around his legs and around his feet.

The man stands up straight, holding the headless body of the chicken in one hand and the bloody cleaver in the other. His aged, sun-leathered face looks at me with a slight frown and one raised eyebrow. We both stare at each other speechless for a moment.

Perhaps I made a mistake coming here. These people are on the verge of savagery. I should leave while I still have my head.

The man places the chicken back down on the chopping block and uses his free hand to grab the stained rag from his rope belt. He sighs as he uses the filthy cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow.

While he's distracted, I carefully take a step back to prepare my quick departure.

"Greetings." The surprisingly young-sounding voice of the man catches me off guard almost as much as his pleasant tone. "What can I do ya for, stranger?" The right side of his lips curve in a smile and his eyes drop only for a moment to see my hand defensively on my hip.

I quickly change my posture to appear more relaxed and inviting. I spread my lips in a charming smile to cover my unease and I take a few steps forward to engage in conversation. "Greetings. I am traveling to the other side of the woods and I came upon your village." I shift my head to the right and left. "I didn't know anyone had settled here. How long have you been here?"

"Yes, we're still pretty young. It's only been a year, but we're growing." He wipes the cleaver with his rag, showing the origin of the stains. "Mostly we're a group of family and friends that wanted to live a more simple life. Our community is open to any that would like to share in our ways."

I feel a slight twist of annoyance in my stomach, but I keep my face straight. I can't believe he's trying to recruit me. This must be a group of cultists. I do not want anything to do with this. I was planning to ask for directions, but I don't want them to know where I came from or where I'm going. This is a waste of time.

I open my mouth to bid my farewells when I hear the unfamiliar sound of children's laughter.

Two young girls round the corner of the house. They both wear clothing similar to the man, but rather than a tunic, they are wearing gowns that go down to their ankles. They also look like they have hoods of some sort, but both of their hoods have fallen to behind their shoulders during their play. The younger of the two carries freckles on her cheeks and curly brown hair while the older has curly blonde hair.

Upon seeing me, the blonde girl halts in her tracks which leaves her wide open for the brunette to come barreling in. They both giggle as they lie in the dirt.

"Daddy." The blonde girl stands up. Her entire right side is covered with the brown dusting of the earth. "Who's that?" She points at me, tilting her head to the side as she studies me.

"He's a traveler," the man smiles fondly at his daughter. He reaches out and pulls a pebble from her hair, but otherwise makes no attempt to clean her.

"A traveler?" The brunette girl chimes in. Her eyes open wide as she stands and walks up to me. "Sir, tell us stories! Travelers have the best stories!"

I silently look over at the father and meet his gaze curiously. There are other travelers?

The man's smile widens. "We'd love to hear of your adventures." He bends forward to pick up the chicken again, holding it up. "And invite you to dinner."

I look back down at the child's innocent, amber eyes and I physically feel my guard drop. I guess one meal couldn't hurt.