A disturbance.
The day was cloaked in a shroud of bleak dreariness. It was a dismal monotony that had become all too familiar.
On this afternoon, which initially seemed as ordinary as a cup of weak tea, merchants haggled with customers over meager scraps of goods. Busybodies gossiped about the scandals they wished their neighbors were involved in. Meanwhile, peddlers, hurried through the streets, their carts rattling in their desperation to get out of town.
Suddenly an incoherent child was heard running through the village. Now, it was no strange thing to hear shouting in Bickerton, or even children fighting. In fact, it was quite common. But this ... this ... well, people dropped what they were doing and quickly headed towards the commotion.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, Bickerton!
Bickerton was a small village that sat on a plateau, surrounded by fragrant pine trees. It was located just off the Wilderness Road. To the north was a clear, picturesque lake, nestled into a small valley. Beyond were the snow-capped Dagon Mountains. To the east ran the ancient wilds of the Wilderness Beyond, full of unknown and dangerous creatures. To the south lay a grassy lowland dotted with small towns and even smaller farms. Far to the west lay the great Wisparia Castle, separated from the eastern lands by a dense corridor of hardwood trees called the King’s forest.
As for Bickerton? Once a place of vibrant life and prosperity, now lay in a state of desolate decay. Mud-splattered frowns seemed to adorn their grim faces, while thatched roofs sagged low over crumbling walls. Crooked, rough-hewn doors hung between grey, weather-beaten, shuttered windows, a testament to the weight of time and neglect.
Outsiders often whispered that the name “Bickerton” was born from the towns constant arguing and fighting. It was a name that had stuck like a curse. Nobody now living in Bicketon remembered what its original name had been.
Bickerton was so well-known as a disagreeable place that, whenever possible, people from other towns deliberately traveled well out of their way just to avoid passing through.
It was said that the villagers passed the time arguing.
About everything!
In fact, if anyone in Bickerton happened, by chance, to say, “Good morning” (not that anyone in Bickerton ever would, except perhaps the “eccentric” old man who lived in the Wilderness Beyond—that’s me, Dominic), the most likely and immediate response would be, “No, it is not! It is a dreadful morning!”, followed by a grumpy, detailed explanation of just how dreadful a morning it had been and how much worse it would surely get!
Bickerton was in trouble, in shambles, falling apart, and desperately in need of change!
Now, back to our story and the kid running through town. The name of the boy disrupting the villagers' typical day was Axyl, Axyl Hedwyn. He was dashing down the town's only main street, dodging stray dogs that were snapping at his heels, and jumping over mud puddles as he headed to the town's main square.
Villagers were already gathering, their curiosity piqued. Each one eager to hear the news and be the first to glimpse whatever was causing the ruckus.
-Dominic
