This is a story I wrote two years ago, in my Junior year of highschool. I consider it to be pretty mediocre, but some of you may enjoy it. At the very least, I hope it will show how much I have improved over the past few years. Please feel free to comment.
Today, Bron becomes a priest. Today, for the first time in his life, Brom is given the honor of glimpsing the figure of the wiseman. This is an honor reserved solely for the priests, who must dedicate their lives to interpreting his words.
Bron dresses in the fine white toga, which is the pride and joy of priesthood. The toga will become Bron’s greatest responsibility in life, as only one is given to a priest, and if it is ever stained, he will be exiled from the priesthood. After donning his garb, Bron is escorted through the temple, past fine marble statues and altars made of pure gold. At the far end of the temple, there is a curtain, dyed a majestic crimson. The curtain is pushed aside by attendants, and Bron lets out an audible gasp. The wiseman is no older than he, twenty-two winters of age at most. He has a handsome, childish face and a thin build, and he sits on a bed of lush silk blankets. “Oh, mighty wiseman” begins a retainer “this is the newest priest of your order, he shall follow you till his death.” Bron prostates himself before the wiseman, in awe of the spectacle. The wiseman opens his mouth as if to speak, and then “BRAAAWR!!”
“The wiseman is satisfied with you.” says the head priest.
Bron already knows this, a major portion of priestly study is dedicated toward learning his language. The wiseman has never spoken as the other humans do, and according to the elders who had found him so long ago, he speaks the language of the gods. What he had said roughly translated to “thank you for deciding to help with the great cause of spreading the will of the gods throughout the land.” Coincidentally, “BRAAWR” meant “he shall be killed and his corpse dragged throughout town as an example.”
The curtain is drawn back, and Bron is led away to his new quarters. He will not see the wiseman again for several years. His job now is that of a scribe, faithfully writing the words of the wiseman as transcribed to him by an older priest. Bron works at his job very diligently, but he is troubled. He swears that the wiseman winked at him before he was obscured from view, and can’t shake the feeling that there is something suspicious about the wiseman.
Many summers passed, and Bron faithfully translated the wiseman’s words. He soon advanced through the priestly ranks, eventually proving himself to be the most capable ever, and advancing to the rank of Head Priest at the young age of twenty-seven summers. It was at this time that a great strife fell upon the land. A plague of locusts had swept in from the north, and was devouring all the plant life across the realm. The plague was moving south, and expected to reach the villages near the temple within a month. Bron came to the wiseman, as he had done every day since he became head priest, and asked what could be done to stop the plague. “BLARG! GRAAAAWR! KSASHHKKA!” The wiseman violently clawed at the air with both hands.
“Of course!” thought Bron. Such a simple answer for such a terrible problem. The wiseman was truly a genius. Bron had the priests throughout send out a message throughout the land: “all citizens must take the blankets from their households, and cover the edible plants with them. Weigh down the blankets with rocks, so that they will not be taken away by the wind. When the plague comes, stay indoors and it will pass.” The citizens did as they were told, and the locusts passed through the land. Since there was no food, they disappeared as quickly as they had come, and the people were saved.
Bron eagerly told the wiseman the news.
“You know, I can’t tell if you guys are geniuses or idiots.” Said the wiseman.