The Dungeon In The Mountain

The Dungeon In The Mountain

Status: In Progress

Genre: Fantasy

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Fantasy

Houses:

Summary

The tale of a reluctant Adventurer: Darren Shaw.

(I'm a super noob at writing so let me know what ya think. thanks :) )
Share :
Twitter

Summary

The tale of a reluctant Adventurer: Darren Shaw.

(I'm a super noob at writing so let me know what ya think. thanks :) )

Chapter1 (v.1) - Origin.

Author Chapter Note

Chapter 1: Origin.

‘You up yet, Boy!?’ echoed a deep and gruff voice into the ears of a sleeping Boy. The startled, now awakened Boy opened his eyes, and found himself in darkness. He felt the sensation of paper smothering his face. Fell asleep with a book on my face. Removing the book from his face, he placed it atop a desk to his right. ‘Ugh. Swear he shouts to hear his own voice,’ muttered the Boy as he sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Savoring the warmth from his fur blanket a moment longer, He reluctantly slid it off and plotted his feet onto the cold, wooden floor. The Boy glanced at the waxy remains of a candle, atop of his desk that he’d put to use the night before and let out a long-winded yawn. Probably shouldn’t have read so much last night. Standing up, he walked towards his window, where he opened the curtains and peered out onto the street. Before him was the town of Clifford. Does anyone in the Artisan Quarter ever have a lie in? The streets were already bustling with activity as the sun was slowly beginning to rise. Shops were opening their doors and the workers were busy with preparations for a new day. He removed and threw the shirt he was wearing onto his bed and opened up his wardrobe. It was packed full of clothes for the four Seasons; though there wasn’t an ounce of organization. He sunk his hand into the pile of garments and took out a white shirt at random. He gave it a quick sniff and felt satisfied with his discovery. I’m going to be sweating later anyway. His bedroom door came under attack from a loud bang as he was closing the wardrobe causing the boy to let out a small sigh.

‘You ready yet?’ inquired a deep, authoritative voice from beyond the door. The Boy slid on some woolen socks and his leather boots, and then made his way for the door. Opening the door, the Boy bent his neck upwards to find the face of the culprit for disturbing his slumber; a man in his late 40’s sporting an impressively bushy black beard, a stern stare and messy hair. Stroking his beard the man started to speak. ‘I'd say about the time you woke, but that don’t feel quite right, Darren.’ complained the man with the bushy, yet impressive beard. ‘Hmm…you’re right about that,’ replied Darren casually with a yawn. The man’s forehead slightly wrinkled at the Boy’s remark and strained not to let the frustration show on his face. ‘Least you’re up now. Go wash your face and do something about that ridiculous hairdo. It looks like it needs ironing out with a hammer. I’ll be in the Forge,’ ordered the man as he turned to his left and walked off. ‘Like you’d be anywhere else,’ muttered Darren as his Father ducked under the door frame leading downstairs.
Upon his Father's order, Darren headed towards the washroom of the house that was just left to his room. The room wasn't very big but it had many fond memories for Darren. After all, it was the room that his Mother would brush his hair for him every day. She refused to let him have a single hair out of place and scrubbed him from head to toe in the bath next to him. A daily ritual that he had taken for granted. Looking at the mirror in front of him, he agreed with his Father that he was indeed in need of a brushing. He reached up to the shelf that was next to the mirror and grasped his hairbrush. It was a somewhat luxurious item; riddled with his brown hair. He looked upon the amber brown wooden handle and the peculiar, yet beautiful carvings engraved onto it. Starting from the pommel, there was a carving of a tree, followed by strange symbols looping around each other to the base of the handle where it reached the brush. He had asked his Mother a few times about the carvings but she always said they were just a decoration. After a good minute of half-hearted brushes, he placed it back with a saddened expression on his face. I can’t bring myself to toss it. He then soaked a nearby rag into the wash bucket and did some hastily wiping off his face. Inspecting himself in the mirror once more and tying his hair back, he deemed it good enough for a day of apprenticing with his tyrannical Father.

Upon leaving the washroom, Darren headed straight to the stairs that lead down to the forge. Walking into the forge, he looked upon his Father. A towering man with whom you'd be hard-pressed to find many that could match. He had his apron on as usual with his once wild hair tied back. He was currently inspecting what seemed to be a stack of iron ingots that were probably delivered earlier this morning while Darren was still sleeping. ‘Hmm, if I knew none the better, I'd say the quality of these has fallen yet again this month,’ muttered the Blacksmith. Darren approached his Father and looked at one of the ingots that were laid upon his workstation. He laid a hand upon the cold to the touch metal. Appraise. The number 5 appeared and hovered over the Ingot in clear black writing out of thin air. Last month’s delivery was a 7. ‘You see it too, Darren?’ asked his Father. Darren nodded and headed towards his apron that was hung up on a nearby rail. He calmly fastened the apron; the leather straps around his neck a familiar sensation. Turning around he posed a question to the Blacksmith. ‘So, that means you’re being ripped off, right?’ boldly asked Darren. The Blacksmith let out a dark, almost sinister chuckle. ‘They wouldn’t dare. Richard Clayton’s got as much backbone as a termite infested railing. He wouldn’t do it on purpose,” replied the Blacksmith with firm conviction. ‘The Clayton’s have been mining the hills for generations now. No surprise if they're starting to have a bit of trouble finding a decent vein.’ Darren raised an eyebrow at his Father’s explanation. “I know that. I work and live her too, you know. Who’re you explaining that to?’ asked Darren as he walked over to his own workstation. His father fumbled the ingot in his hands and near almost dropped it on his foot. ‘Nobody in particular,’ retorted the Smith, looking somewhat flustered as he placed the ingot back on the stack.

‘A-anyway, you’re turning 13 tomorrow,’ stated the Blacksmith as he picked up a hammer. ‘Are you ready to receive your Blessing?’ asked the Blacksmith, fully regained of his composure. ‘Ahaha, what Am I saying? Of course you’re ready. Who wouldn’t be? It’s a sacred ceremony that...’ ‘Not really,’ sharply interrupted Darren as he was organizing his workstation from clutter. All of a sudden he heard a thud and a weirdly high pitch yelp. He turned round to see His father kneeling down and holding one of his feet with the hammer he was just using laying right next to it. ‘Did you just drop your Hammer?’ asked Darren with a slight bit of worry in his expression. The Smith Immediately rose up with his hammer in hand and turned around with freakishly fast speed with his back facing Darren. ‘Dropped a hammer? Me?’ laughed the Blacksmith rather suspiciously. ‘I was just tying my boot lace,’ he declared “I’ve been a Blacksmith since before you were born, you know!’ ‘I wouldn’t’ make silly mistake like that!’ laughed the Blacksmith even more suspiciously. This fool of a Father definitely broke a toe or something. I swear I heard a bone break. ‘That’s right, Dad. You’re the famous Jacob Shaw after all.’ stated Darren In a somewhat monotone voice. The Blacksmith turned round slowly and leaned somewhat weirdly on his workstation with his arms crossed. ‘Hahaha, even you can say some cute things sometimes, Son. You’re making your Old Man cry from embarrassment!’ No, you’re crying tears of pain. Darren removed his apron and placed it back on its hook and headed for the forges back exit. ‘I’ll go buy a potion. Sit down and wait for me to come back,” He ordered. His Father’s eyes widened in surprise and tried to get a word in but Darren was already walking out the door.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 24, 2017

Reads: 39

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 24, 2017

A A A

A A A

 


© Copyright 2017 D.Wright. All rights reserved.

Chapters
Booksie Spring 2017 Flash Fiction Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by D.Wright

Popular Tags