11 Ashan, 724
.
Kotton saw upon taking a cursory glance out his frost-coated window panes and agreed that it was still as cold as ever. The sight was uninviting, but not deterring. His desire for adventure was greater than the insouciant warning of a seasonal chill. Even if the wind was blowing at high speed, he didn’t care. His solution would be to bundle up, thermal shirt, down coat, snow boots, mittens, a hat (just in case his hood blew up) and pants lined with the warmest wool he could purchase. He was destined to emerge from his catacomb of pre-Cylus decree to fight off his unrelenting boredom.
A man ordinarily plagued with monotony, tasked with the most routine of tasks, was not to be met with more of the same; he was not destined to be absconded from potential outside pleasures any longer- to hell with the cold! He hadn't been able to go to the library, he could barely go to work, it had been too windy to buy groceries, and it was all due to the algid temperatures and snowfall of the previous season. Now that it was warming up, as sloth-like as it did, Kotton was dedicated to leaving his hell hole of a cave for what promised to be more than an ounce of modicum recreation.
And as outlandish as it was, his mind was set on discovery- into the Sweetwine Woods of all places. 'Cross the bridge on the south side of Scalvoris, through the limited fields and into the woodlands that had been flocked with the feathered remains of a last minute dusting. The trek through town, the abject torture of redirection around the... Tower..., the delicate placement of feet on wooden slats of a frozen bridge not sought to be plowed, and eventually the saunter through fields thick with snow up to his calves. But finally, the conclusive destination of forestry and it felt all too surreal. It was sublime, like a moment captured by a playwright, the director dedicated to crafting his first debut at the most highly prestigious theatre, insensibly.
The half-blood retrofitted to the arbitrary idea of a playwright by the admiration of the backdrop: glazes of ice adhered gently to the limbs of many trees. It was called rime, wasn't it? He would have to add that vocabulary word to his journal. In addition to the shiny beauty of ice atop the wooden stalks of the trees, there was comeliness. And it was artistically attached to the pillars of snow that decorated the trunks. Some looked like pathetic piles formed playful children, others seemed to be fashioned in the likes of homes for various wildlife. He could appreciate the expenditure of time taken to create such a dwelling.
With a mind departed from its respective body, the young man moved almost indifferent to the cold now, until he was faced with an unusual entity. There, in front of him, was a roadblock- a large piece of rock with a queer indentation cut from out of its basic structure. Was this a miniature cave?
Kotton’s excitement rocketed skyward at the proposition. He had set out for adventure and adventure had found him. And with adventure, came the need to document, and... for the immortals' sakes! He had been so enveloped by aspiration that he hadn't bothered to remember bringing his journal. That was unfortunate, but he had to believe he wouldn't come across anything that required such intensive detail that his memory couldn't retain it. Boy, was he wrong. Hindsight was a wish for those who were befallen with bad luck.
Nevertheless, the discovery was enough to plaster a smile onto the young man's bluing face- the cold was starting to set in. He rubbed his cheeks with his mittens, hoping to form some heat with the friction. Friction, as it were, was the force of resistance in relation to the movement of two things. Sometimes, particularly in this case, the resistance created heat as consequence.
He lowered his body to the ground so he was able to fully grasp the size of the cave’s opening. He observed the circumference of the hole, which was the enclosing boundary of an object or its perimeter, and quickly came to the conclusion that yes, he could transverse this. His strong suit certainly wasn’t one of maths, but objective judgement proved to him that his spatial awareness and its measurements were smaller than the gap in front of him.
Kotton positioned his hands against the sides of the cave, but before he could move another muscle, anxiety crept in, preventing him from continuing any further into the sphincter. Were his calculations correct? What he could not see was not bliss- not like ignorance was. What he could not see could be dangerous- he could get stuck if he was wrong. But- but what if he wasn't? Wasn't adventure enough to support him in his need to ignore his intrusive doubts? Kotton was insistent on finding the other side, even if it stopped short and sent him right back to where he came from.
So he continued...
There was always the possibility of venturing head on into a slippery slope. No one had ever held an absolute belief in terms of anything, at least not from what Kotton had learned and he had his head in books regularly. Theories were theories for a reason, and experimentation was the only solution that gathered factual truth. The thought process of theory lay a mystery- facts that could only be affirmed by real-time testing. Science didn’t rest solely in place of potentially duplicitous facts that garnered truth, at least not without proper evidence. Science relied on discovery and discovery relied on adventure. Even if Kotton was certain this part of the forest had been discovered, he was encouraged to do his own finding.
So he pushed.
He manoeuvred his left leg in front of his right, before thrusting his right arm forward. Once in front of him, he latched his hand onto a solid surface. Succinctly, he willed his other arm to follow suit. He continued this make-shift swim until he couldn't. And when he couldn't, he dove his head. His hairline scraped against a piece of solid rock, but there was no resistance other than that. Kotton continued, and without light, until he found the space to pull from his knapsack a candle and a pair of matches. He lit the phosphorus against the dry wood until the wick of the candle was ignited.
It was difficult to see in front of him, even with the illumination of the candle, but obvious spaces had been elucidated, and they appeared to be ones his appendages were capable of fitting into. Kotton adjusted himself so his left leg struck against the right side of the cave wall. He hoisted his other leg forward and found a stable position to rest it. His left hand moved forward, found an open spot and held dear to it. His right hand, which held the candle, relocated slowly to the front, thereby bathing the extent of the cave in bright light. It seemed to go on and on and on… so Kotton tried to as well.
Even as the dimensions of the caves narrowed, the young man recognized his body's structure was still capable of fitting. Fear was instilled in his heart, but his desire to continue adventuring trumped everything else, even the soft voice in the back of his head that willed him to return to warmth and comfortability.
Further he went. That was before he took witness to several different kinds of stones. There were some that shone brilliantly amidst the beacon of the candlelight. They reflected the light's glare in shimmers; it felt almost like he held the world's definition of peace at his disposal. There were others that shone less brilliantly, but still sparkled with flecks of green and glorious gold. Kotton grabbed a few arbitrary gemstones with the hopes of examining them once he had retreated from this claustrophobic hellhole. But for the time being, he was certain he had collected an assortment of elements, common or not. In the moment, he was unaware that his fist clutched several samples of tourmaline, citrine, and zircon.
He knew of tourmaline from a textbook. The pages had been flavoured with adjective-heavy description: a gem mentioning a blackish mineral accompanied by prismatic crystals. And since Kotton was no gemologist whatsoever, he had stashed the description in his mind, not without having memorised it first. Additionally, there was a crystal-like structure that had been fastened mightily against the cavernous siding. Kotton managed to use brute force to rip it from its hold. It was another common element according to his textbook. Citrine was it? Or at least that was it had suggested. Kotton wasn’t one-hundred percent sure, but he was one-hundred percent adamant that what he had acquired was worth something; it was a transparent yellow and had an odd shape similar to that of a diamond. Whatever it was, he wasted no time in pocketing it in the back of his pants. He patted his pocket for safe-keeping before pressing his body into an uncomfortably tight position between two unmoving structures.
His candle continued to glow and highlight a route that encouraged further exploration, but the encouragement of exploration was met with hesitation. The lad took a second to deliberate whether he should continue his venture or retreat to what was commodious. A part of himself screamed to persist, but there was something stronger within him that announced his need to return. Would he be coaxed into safety or threatened toward an unforeseen destiny?
He was sick and tired of the same ol' same ol'... but he was instilled with the nerves of reasonability that coursed through his veins in bold. He was sure any adventurer on a quest for a result was met with the same forked road, only to drafted the next steps regarding the unknown.
Kotton bit his tongue and submitted to his gut feeling. He wouldn’t explore further. Whilst his candle illuminated a way that displayed a multitude of foot placements and hand-rails, he was certain that anything more would result in entrapment. Besides, he was out here all by himself. He had told no one of his whereabouts. He didn’t want to be a statistic used in history books.
So, as athletically as he could, Kotton backtracked, removing his footing from its placement against the curvatures of the cave’s walls. It took more time than it had venturing into the cave, but finally he was a free man. And freedom allowed him the experience to fresh rain that had started to fall since the start of his journey.
He still had his trophies and he deposited them so they fell nicely inside his knapsack. He cursed himself again for having not brought with him his journal. He knew now that his mind could only retain so much information before it needed to be jotted down into permanency. He wouldn't even try to scrutinise the treasure he had collected from inside the cave. His next mission would be to consult a well-trained individual in geology and minerology.
As the rain pitter-pattered against his head, Kotton slowly stepped toward the direction of town. Every now and then he gave his knapsack a tug to make sure it still rested with significant heft against his backside. He had no plans to sell any of his findings. Apart from ensuring their authenticity, he was determined to display them proudly on the shelves that were otherwise barren above his hearth.
A man ordinarily plagued with monotony, tasked with the most routine of tasks, was not to be met with more of the same; he was not destined to be absconded from potential outside pleasures any longer- to hell with the cold! He hadn't been able to go to the library, he could barely go to work, it had been too windy to buy groceries, and it was all due to the algid temperatures and snowfall of the previous season. Now that it was warming up, as sloth-like as it did, Kotton was dedicated to leaving his hell hole of a cave for what promised to be more than an ounce of modicum recreation.
And as outlandish as it was, his mind was set on discovery- into the Sweetwine Woods of all places. 'Cross the bridge on the south side of Scalvoris, through the limited fields and into the woodlands that had been flocked with the feathered remains of a last minute dusting. The trek through town, the abject torture of redirection around the... Tower..., the delicate placement of feet on wooden slats of a frozen bridge not sought to be plowed, and eventually the saunter through fields thick with snow up to his calves. But finally, the conclusive destination of forestry and it felt all too surreal. It was sublime, like a moment captured by a playwright, the director dedicated to crafting his first debut at the most highly prestigious theatre, insensibly.
The half-blood retrofitted to the arbitrary idea of a playwright by the admiration of the backdrop: glazes of ice adhered gently to the limbs of many trees. It was called rime, wasn't it? He would have to add that vocabulary word to his journal. In addition to the shiny beauty of ice atop the wooden stalks of the trees, there was comeliness. And it was artistically attached to the pillars of snow that decorated the trunks. Some looked like pathetic piles formed playful children, others seemed to be fashioned in the likes of homes for various wildlife. He could appreciate the expenditure of time taken to create such a dwelling.
With a mind departed from its respective body, the young man moved almost indifferent to the cold now, until he was faced with an unusual entity. There, in front of him, was a roadblock- a large piece of rock with a queer indentation cut from out of its basic structure. Was this a miniature cave?
Kotton’s excitement rocketed skyward at the proposition. He had set out for adventure and adventure had found him. And with adventure, came the need to document, and... for the immortals' sakes! He had been so enveloped by aspiration that he hadn't bothered to remember bringing his journal. That was unfortunate, but he had to believe he wouldn't come across anything that required such intensive detail that his memory couldn't retain it. Boy, was he wrong. Hindsight was a wish for those who were befallen with bad luck.
Nevertheless, the discovery was enough to plaster a smile onto the young man's bluing face- the cold was starting to set in. He rubbed his cheeks with his mittens, hoping to form some heat with the friction. Friction, as it were, was the force of resistance in relation to the movement of two things. Sometimes, particularly in this case, the resistance created heat as consequence.
He lowered his body to the ground so he was able to fully grasp the size of the cave’s opening. He observed the circumference of the hole, which was the enclosing boundary of an object or its perimeter, and quickly came to the conclusion that yes, he could transverse this. His strong suit certainly wasn’t one of maths, but objective judgement proved to him that his spatial awareness and its measurements were smaller than the gap in front of him.
Kotton positioned his hands against the sides of the cave, but before he could move another muscle, anxiety crept in, preventing him from continuing any further into the sphincter. Were his calculations correct? What he could not see was not bliss- not like ignorance was. What he could not see could be dangerous- he could get stuck if he was wrong. But- but what if he wasn't? Wasn't adventure enough to support him in his need to ignore his intrusive doubts? Kotton was insistent on finding the other side, even if it stopped short and sent him right back to where he came from.
So he continued...
There was always the possibility of venturing head on into a slippery slope. No one had ever held an absolute belief in terms of anything, at least not from what Kotton had learned and he had his head in books regularly. Theories were theories for a reason, and experimentation was the only solution that gathered factual truth. The thought process of theory lay a mystery- facts that could only be affirmed by real-time testing. Science didn’t rest solely in place of potentially duplicitous facts that garnered truth, at least not without proper evidence. Science relied on discovery and discovery relied on adventure. Even if Kotton was certain this part of the forest had been discovered, he was encouraged to do his own finding.
So he pushed.
He manoeuvred his left leg in front of his right, before thrusting his right arm forward. Once in front of him, he latched his hand onto a solid surface. Succinctly, he willed his other arm to follow suit. He continued this make-shift swim until he couldn't. And when he couldn't, he dove his head. His hairline scraped against a piece of solid rock, but there was no resistance other than that. Kotton continued, and without light, until he found the space to pull from his knapsack a candle and a pair of matches. He lit the phosphorus against the dry wood until the wick of the candle was ignited.
It was difficult to see in front of him, even with the illumination of the candle, but obvious spaces had been elucidated, and they appeared to be ones his appendages were capable of fitting into. Kotton adjusted himself so his left leg struck against the right side of the cave wall. He hoisted his other leg forward and found a stable position to rest it. His left hand moved forward, found an open spot and held dear to it. His right hand, which held the candle, relocated slowly to the front, thereby bathing the extent of the cave in bright light. It seemed to go on and on and on… so Kotton tried to as well.
Even as the dimensions of the caves narrowed, the young man recognized his body's structure was still capable of fitting. Fear was instilled in his heart, but his desire to continue adventuring trumped everything else, even the soft voice in the back of his head that willed him to return to warmth and comfortability.
Further he went. That was before he took witness to several different kinds of stones. There were some that shone brilliantly amidst the beacon of the candlelight. They reflected the light's glare in shimmers; it felt almost like he held the world's definition of peace at his disposal. There were others that shone less brilliantly, but still sparkled with flecks of green and glorious gold. Kotton grabbed a few arbitrary gemstones with the hopes of examining them once he had retreated from this claustrophobic hellhole. But for the time being, he was certain he had collected an assortment of elements, common or not. In the moment, he was unaware that his fist clutched several samples of tourmaline, citrine, and zircon.
He knew of tourmaline from a textbook. The pages had been flavoured with adjective-heavy description: a gem mentioning a blackish mineral accompanied by prismatic crystals. And since Kotton was no gemologist whatsoever, he had stashed the description in his mind, not without having memorised it first. Additionally, there was a crystal-like structure that had been fastened mightily against the cavernous siding. Kotton managed to use brute force to rip it from its hold. It was another common element according to his textbook. Citrine was it? Or at least that was it had suggested. Kotton wasn’t one-hundred percent sure, but he was one-hundred percent adamant that what he had acquired was worth something; it was a transparent yellow and had an odd shape similar to that of a diamond. Whatever it was, he wasted no time in pocketing it in the back of his pants. He patted his pocket for safe-keeping before pressing his body into an uncomfortably tight position between two unmoving structures.
His candle continued to glow and highlight a route that encouraged further exploration, but the encouragement of exploration was met with hesitation. The lad took a second to deliberate whether he should continue his venture or retreat to what was commodious. A part of himself screamed to persist, but there was something stronger within him that announced his need to return. Would he be coaxed into safety or threatened toward an unforeseen destiny?
He was sick and tired of the same ol' same ol'... but he was instilled with the nerves of reasonability that coursed through his veins in bold. He was sure any adventurer on a quest for a result was met with the same forked road, only to drafted the next steps regarding the unknown.
Kotton bit his tongue and submitted to his gut feeling. He wouldn’t explore further. Whilst his candle illuminated a way that displayed a multitude of foot placements and hand-rails, he was certain that anything more would result in entrapment. Besides, he was out here all by himself. He had told no one of his whereabouts. He didn’t want to be a statistic used in history books.
So, as athletically as he could, Kotton backtracked, removing his footing from its placement against the curvatures of the cave’s walls. It took more time than it had venturing into the cave, but finally he was a free man. And freedom allowed him the experience to fresh rain that had started to fall since the start of his journey.
He still had his trophies and he deposited them so they fell nicely inside his knapsack. He cursed himself again for having not brought with him his journal. He knew now that his mind could only retain so much information before it needed to be jotted down into permanency. He wouldn't even try to scrutinise the treasure he had collected from inside the cave. His next mission would be to consult a well-trained individual in geology and minerology.
As the rain pitter-pattered against his head, Kotton slowly stepped toward the direction of town. Every now and then he gave his knapsack a tug to make sure it still rested with significant heft against his backside. He had no plans to sell any of his findings. Apart from ensuring their authenticity, he was determined to display them proudly on the shelves that were otherwise barren above his hearth.