Webnovel / Fantasy / To Sleep In The Sea Of Time

#ACTION #ADVENTURE #REINCARNATION #R18 #MYSTERY #CULTIVATION #DARK #SUPERPOWERS #TRAGEDY #HISTORICAL

To Sleep In The Sea Of Time

This is a story of a guy who loses everything, and then gets it back. Same old new world story, just a different kind of story teller. *** They took away our hunter tags. They had us grow our hair. They gave us a new brand, when we were over there. They staged us out of Dragur, East of the Olim Horn. I guess they call us Slaves, but no one calls us much anymore. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. Karn brought Sorrow. Pookie brought Fear. Milk brought the fly boys. They did work in Undia. I worked mostly clandestine. Some Legends I should not say. We played with better wands. I could use the extra pay. Did Mara give the order? Did venom pay the way? They said we were slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. This was before HALO, and Codex was king. Hej atop the rider, he never felt a thing. When our rider caught a spell, and both the mages killed. It pitched us over sideways on some cold Sylph hill. My back felt like it was broken, my legs I could not feel. I kept on slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I never did heal up right from injuries sustained Officially in Torin, unofficially we train. I remember all their faces. They dream about me still. I guess I'm slaying demons, but it's kind of hard to tell. There no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I speak the cold logistic, that old boys speak so well. Veni, Vedi, Vici. I'll see you in Hel. Maybe it's bravado, or an unspeakable guilt. That village, they were demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't wanna to do it anymore. I've done plenty. What is one more? -Corb Lund *** Come guess me this riddle. What beats shire leaves and fiddle? What is hotter than pleasures touch, and whiter than cream? What best wets his whistle? What is clearer than crystal? What is sweeter than honey and stronger than steam? What will make the lame walk? What will make the dumb talk? What is the elixir of life and philosopher's stone? And what helped Pookie-Baba dig up a tunnel, that runs from Shalamanda to West-Torin? When you are digging a crater, It is the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys. Sometimes I wonder, if lightning and thunder, is made out of the plunder, of the reddest hiski and oils. *** If you can keep your head when all about you, are losing theirs and blaming it on you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise. If you can dream, and not make dreams your master. If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim. If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same. If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools. If you can make one heap of all your winnings, and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss and lose, and start again at your beginnings, and never breathe a word about your loss. If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you; Except the Will which says to them ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, nor walk with Kings, nor lose the common touch. If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you. If all men count with you, but none too much. If you can fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds worth of distance, run. Yours is the World and everything that’s in it, and which is more you’ll be a Man, my son. - Rudyard Kipling

man_of_culture3030 · Fantasy

Not enough ratings

467 Chs

Isla

Dinner for them was always soup and bread which is usually delivered by the overweight man, the soup they make themselves.

Usually from what is laying around outside like mushrooms and herbs from the rich soil.

The meat was not something these kids could have unless one of the older boys catches a critter, but they would never share it with us, roasting it over a fire as far away as they can.

I was able to join them for dinner now that I was a little over a year, I would eat bread and soup along with my daily milk.

This was not out of the goodness of their hearts I overheard a Silla she was "surprised the runt is still alive" making Kirle chuckle.

They didn't know what it was like to not have a stomach or to have to eat your own offspring or to survive off of alien sea plankton.

I was counting my blessings but both boys next to us were very displeased with their lot in life, taking it out on the little girl because the older one was too big to bully.

They would take portions of the little girl's food at dinner and when they are working they would make her turn the cart around and go back with a full load when it was their turn.

I felt bad for the girl, but I had to give it to her, she knew how to lay low.

If she wasn't eating you would never see her, she would disappear behind the house when not needed and always be there when someone is looking for her, which wasn't often.

I also learned the names of my roommates. Silla was the oldest Kirle was the second child Tume was the third and the little girl was called Isla.

Isla was always kind to me feeding me and picking me up when she could so that I could see the outside world from the window.

I made sure to make cooing sounds and never let on that I understood too much but with Isla, I truly felt like it didn't matter.

Silla stared at me one day and said, "Stop staring at me"! I think what creeped her out more was when I stopped making eye contact with her.

She wasn't cruel to me but she did the bare minimum making sure I was fed, clothed, and didn't die.

I didn't mind it, Isla seemed to take it personally and consoled me often "You're just a baby it's not your fault" she would say when she and I were alone in the room.

I didn't know if she was talking to me or herself.

I'm about eighteen months old and walking around.

This was an amazing time for me because I could walk away from the crowd of children and no one would notice.

Other children my age would be crawling or walking around with me but were always pulled back into the group before they strayed too far away, Silla on the other hand wouldn't notice until it was time to leave.

I wonder how many kids got hurt or worse in this kind of environment, I shrug that thought away as quickly as it came.

I knew what happened to those kids, they were placed in the barrels of bread and thrown into the back of the fat man's cart.

I was brought some clothes in the form of rags, saying goodbye to the bedsheet I walked around with.

I was given a new bed although it was the same thing as everyone else's a bunch of sticks tied together with some pillows stuffed with red grass as a makeshift mattress.

I never saw anyone drop these things off it seems like it has been here or in one of the other houses. I was okay with the change and since I wasn't defecating on myself anymore and using the outdoors the room, we slept in smelt a lot better.

The bad thing was I didn't know where to wash myself as Isla always brought a bucket every week or so to rinse me off.

Soap was out of the question; these children lived in filth and knew no other way.

One day the horse cart came early and along with the portly man came another sickly-looking man with pale skin that gave you the shivers.

His nose was hooked over his extremely thin lips giving a gargoyle-like appearance.

All the children stiffened at his arrival. He jumped off the carriage without a moment's hesitation disembarking quickly.

Covering his nose and wrinkling his brow as he walked around and started pointing at children starting with the oldest one who was now twelve along with some other boys who were coming close to his age.

They loaded the boys and took as much grass as they could, there was no yelling or grumbling, not even a lecherous look from the plump man as he looked like the children, with a hunched back trying his best not to be noticed, making himself as small as possible.

They left as quickly as they came. As we were going inside, I could see the color drain from Silas's face knowing that her time was soon.

I almost pitied her… almost.

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