Late Summer, 507
The wooden floorboards moaned and shook, creaking as Vizayas followed in the footsteps of someone important to him. The candlelit shadow-filled halls were familiar to him, as was the dusty air that pricked at his senses in regular intervals. Today, his mother was going to teach him something, and these were exciting times for him. Moments that would later become some of his best memories would soon be fostered. Of course, he didn't know that at the time, but none-the-less he was giddy to have the chance.
The woman, much taller than he was for Vizayas was but a child with long bangs and ridiculously poofy hair, warranting the ire of every other child who thought it to be so - she stopped at the entrance to her office. She grabbed a burning candle from the wall with her right hand, holding it carefully in front of her and casting her shadow upon Vizayas as he followed. "Your father made something for just the occasion." Vizayas' mother said with a smile, pushing her shoulder into the door as her arm raised towards the knob, spindly fingers grasping and turning it. Vizayas heard the click of the door giving way, the wood following with a noise most sharp and filled with disdain. He didn't like the sound a creaky old door made.
The office was eearily darkm pitch black even despite the open window. The candles weren't lit. It was dusty, just like any other place in their home. In fact, Vizayas often complained of the dust stinging his lungs if he stayed home too long, since they rarely let him out into the world. He never thought of these sad things though, for he was most often in the moment and thinking of the possibilities to come rather than time ill spent. His mother ventured into the office, and Vizayas stood at the doorway. They didn't like when he was in there unattended, even if he would often sneak into it when they were both away.
"You can come in, my dear." Her voice sounded in his direction, carrying a cheery tone. She turned towards the wall and lit a candle, then set hers down upon a tray on the large oak desk Vizayas' father had made. "Have a seat." She said, leaning over the table and shuffling through an assortment of parchment. "I want you to read something." The air slowed the descent of the paper she yanked out of the pile, placing it upon the desk and in fron of the chair. Vizayas looked to his mother, then approached. He was to read something? He liked to read.
She pulled out the chair for him as he maneuvered his way around it. It was an uncomfortable wooden chair, but it had a single dreary cushion placed upon it. He briefly glanced at it for spiders before he risked his rear on such a dangerous surface. Plopping down into the chair, he leaned forward and dug his heels into the ground to pull the chair forward so he was closer to the desk. Looking at his mother for a brief moment - she had a passive enthusiastic gaze that he could feel upon his skin, he pulled the parchment forward and set his eyes upon it, beginning to read.
But his eyebrows arched in surprise. The text was not in common, it was in the language he had been practicing with his mother, the ancient tongue she called it. Nader Canoch. It was sometimes frustrating to read on paper, he had a much easier time understanding it when it was spoken. Placing his finger upon the page, he read the language aloud, trying to make sure it sounded right by this comparison. "You-student good are." He said aloud, careful to punctuate the words properly as his mother listened. He connected the words to praise, wondering if a reward was in his future. His birthday was approaching soon, after all.
Djeod Daladaeq
The wooden floorboards moaned and shook, creaking as Vizayas followed in the footsteps of someone important to him. The candlelit shadow-filled halls were familiar to him, as was the dusty air that pricked at his senses in regular intervals. Today, his mother was going to teach him something, and these were exciting times for him. Moments that would later become some of his best memories would soon be fostered. Of course, he didn't know that at the time, but none-the-less he was giddy to have the chance.
The woman, much taller than he was for Vizayas was but a child with long bangs and ridiculously poofy hair, warranting the ire of every other child who thought it to be so - she stopped at the entrance to her office. She grabbed a burning candle from the wall with her right hand, holding it carefully in front of her and casting her shadow upon Vizayas as he followed. "Your father made something for just the occasion." Vizayas' mother said with a smile, pushing her shoulder into the door as her arm raised towards the knob, spindly fingers grasping and turning it. Vizayas heard the click of the door giving way, the wood following with a noise most sharp and filled with disdain. He didn't like the sound a creaky old door made.
The office was eearily darkm pitch black even despite the open window. The candles weren't lit. It was dusty, just like any other place in their home. In fact, Vizayas often complained of the dust stinging his lungs if he stayed home too long, since they rarely let him out into the world. He never thought of these sad things though, for he was most often in the moment and thinking of the possibilities to come rather than time ill spent. His mother ventured into the office, and Vizayas stood at the doorway. They didn't like when he was in there unattended, even if he would often sneak into it when they were both away.
"You can come in, my dear." Her voice sounded in his direction, carrying a cheery tone. She turned towards the wall and lit a candle, then set hers down upon a tray on the large oak desk Vizayas' father had made. "Have a seat." She said, leaning over the table and shuffling through an assortment of parchment. "I want you to read something." The air slowed the descent of the paper she yanked out of the pile, placing it upon the desk and in fron of the chair. Vizayas looked to his mother, then approached. He was to read something? He liked to read.
She pulled out the chair for him as he maneuvered his way around it. It was an uncomfortable wooden chair, but it had a single dreary cushion placed upon it. He briefly glanced at it for spiders before he risked his rear on such a dangerous surface. Plopping down into the chair, he leaned forward and dug his heels into the ground to pull the chair forward so he was closer to the desk. Looking at his mother for a brief moment - she had a passive enthusiastic gaze that he could feel upon his skin, he pulled the parchment forward and set his eyes upon it, beginning to read.
But his eyebrows arched in surprise. The text was not in common, it was in the language he had been practicing with his mother, the ancient tongue she called it. Nader Canoch. It was sometimes frustrating to read on paper, he had a much easier time understanding it when it was spoken. Placing his finger upon the page, he read the language aloud, trying to make sure it sounded right by this comparison. "You-student good are." He said aloud, careful to punctuate the words properly as his mother listened. He connected the words to praise, wondering if a reward was in his future. His birthday was approaching soon, after all.
