Work Text:
Castlebound
Looking up at the majestic white, puffy clouds drifting lazily across the vast canvas of the sky, Prestley felt a pang of melancholy deep within her. A familiar comfort that wafted from the masses above. It brought a sharp, gross ache to her chest, an unwelcome reminder that the family she desperately loved was gone.
“They remind me so much of my home, back in Tennessee,” she uttered, her voice barely a whisper, thick with a lonely mask. As she spoke, a single, crystalline tear, heavy with unshed sorrow, began to trace a warm, wet path down her cheek slowly. For the first few days she was in this place, the magic of everything kept her quite busy, masking the deep, unsettling loneliness that wilted in the shallows of her subconscious.
The novelty of the sights and sounds was relentless, distracting, thrilling, and vast, drawing curiosity and relief from the soul-deep ache that yearned to return home. The once vibrant world, the one she once named paradise, made Prestley feel powerless, like a lion trapped in a cage. Every detail of the hotels where she stayed, though generous, was an alien illusion of happiness, as the hospitality of her hosts did little to soothe the gnawing emptiness.
Every night, as the poor girl lay in her cot, a sharp, almost physical pain would seize her when she thought of her mother. She missed the warm embrace—a sensation that was once a daily given, a constant reminder, now felt as distant as the seas, like an almost forgotten folktale.
She missed everything about her home: the familiar scent of pine firs and damp earth after a summer rain, the comforting creak of the old porch swing, the endless expanse of rolling green hills that defined the landscape of Tennessee. More than the landscape, though, she missed the warmth of her family, the easy laughter, and the unwavering sense of belonging. And then there was little Minnie, her beloved, tiny Corgi puppy, a vibrant splash of tri-color fluff and boundless energy.
The sight of Minnie’s stubby legs chasing a rubber ball and the soft, insistent nudge of her wet nose against Prestley’s hand. It would mean the world if they could be reunited. This fantasy realm was amazing to Prestley! For the first couple of days, she had no complaints, but now, she just wants to go home. The poor teenager wants to be able to be hugged by her mom, a warm embrace that’s almost been forgotten.
The dam of her composure finally broke. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, flowed in an overwhelming deluge as she completely succumbed to her grief.
She dove forward, burying her face into the soft, comforting fabric of her hands, her whole body shaking with the force of her sobs. Every fiber of her being screamed out for one thing: a simple, desperate longing to be transported back to where she belonged. She wanted to go home. Looking over at her robotic companion, she crossed her arms.
“Is it possible to go home, Hester?” she asked, the words muffled by her hands and the fresh cascade of tears. Her fingers, fine and delicate, and her cheek now damp and warm.
“If I could get you home, would that make you happy?” Hester asked, as mechanics whirred and bells chimed.
Prestley warmly nodded as she sat up from the grassy pasture, looking out at the hilly expanse and beyond.
“Yes, it would,” Prestley answered firmly, as they regained their composure.
A heavy silence followed the heightened emotions, as Prestley wiped her tears, her face red. As her exhaustion settled, a fragile tranquility started to muster inside the kid.
“I recommend asking Sir Chestyr of Nottingham; he may provide helpful insight that might prove high worth for your troubles.” Hester pointed west toward the Rynne region.
“His cottage is in Berghentown, you will find him there,” the machinate assistant smiled as more bells and whistles whirred and chimed.
“Shall I set course to Sir Chestyr's establishment?” he asked, waiting for Prestley to respond.
“It’s worth a shot,” Prestley replied, wishing nothing more than to leave.
Berghentown was not far from the Rynne border, being only a couple of miles by trek.
As the town drew closer, they crossed a stone bridge that towered over a raging river, with rocks and pebbles crashing below. A tan wooden sign was posted ahead; it listed information about the government and regional affairs in large brown text. Underneath all of the common info was a tattered note of parchment hammered into the post.
WELCOME TO BERGHENTOWN, WHERE THE NEXUS STARTS.
The text was weathered and damp from all the rain and humidity in the elements. The handwriting boasts an inverse to the official font above it.
“The Nexus?” Prestley mumbled under her breath, confused.
It was weathered and damp from all the rain and humidity in the air; Patches of moss had clung to the post, flowers thriving in the sunlight.
As they ventured through the settlement, the dank musk of horse-drawn carriages and an odor thick with sweat, smoke, and mud. Slate and plaster homes towered above the town’s skyline, overlooking a bustling square full of merchant booths selling everything from apple cider to jewelry and runes.
Prestley's leather shoes sloshed through the mud of the street, keeping close behind her motored ally.
Hester ventured left, as the town echoed behind them, marching into a narrow alley. Dirt and sludge piled high, and rats skittered in the dark shadows.
“We have arrived, Miss Prestley,” Hester chirped before stopping at a large and imposing door.
It was white and elegant, seemingly constructed of a veined marble or quartz, with a Greek phrase carved into the top of the arched frame. The entrance seemed out of place amidst the grime and muck.
Prestley stepped up on the porch, knocking on the door, as a charged silence fell. She stood patiently as she could hear the distant callings of marketplace auctioneers and sellers and the drops of rain that trickled from the sky.
The door opened, and a tall elven creature revealed itself, towering above them. He leaned lazily upon the doorframe as he looked down.
“Is there something I can help you with, young one?” The man asked with a bright smile following his words. Anxiety capsized any words that Prestley tried to formulate,
“I-I need to speak with Sir Chestyr.” She stuttered, her eyes dodging contact with the forested creature.
“Okay! Right this way.” The elf chirped, a bright glow shining in his eyes. Through the wooden door, a roar of conversation, ale, and pipe tobacco washed over them.
Inside a bustling tavern with a diverse array of creatures greeted them: an orc arguing with a group of loud dwarves, with a fae grinning in the corner. There was a halfling studying a map posted to the back wall.
A plump ogre stood behind the bar top, slinging various drinks to patrons amidst the smoky, yeasty air. The forest elf ignored the commotion, weaving toward an unmarked door next to the bar. Pausing, his pointed ears twitched before looking behind him.
"This way, ma’am, Sir Chestyr’s chambers are right this way, it’s your first door on your left," he waved, guiding us on as Prestley walked through the door.
She walked inside a dimly lit cellar, rank with a horrid odor that stained her senses. It was a burning smell, like a decaying corpse in a muddy swamp. To her left, a thin satyr sat behind a pine-made desk, feathering ink into a piece of cloth draped on the wood.
The ovine creature looks up at the teenager, as his eyes widen like a river.
“You’re not from here, are you?” his eyebrows narrow as he breathes through a gentle smile.
“N-no, I’m from Tennessee,” Prestley replied, a beatbox booming in her chest, her heart pounding in her neck.
Her stomach felt like it had grown wings, a butterfly wanting to fly away.
“My name is Chestyr Hemingway, and I’m going to help you home, my dear.” The ram replied, blissful and comforting. His poignant tone distracted the overflow of emotions that plagued Prestley. The girl collapsed to the floor, slumping into her hands.
“Promise?” She mumbled, her face wilting like a tulip in a freeze.
Chester trotted over to her and placed his hand on her forehead, smiling. He closed his eyes and began reciting a chant.
“Reddite hanc puellam eo loco quo debet esse. Reddite eam domum, ad caros suos.”
A thick smoke rose from the floor, as thunder crashed on the ceiling.
“Da ei quod vehementer cupit, et eam tuto ex hoc mundo deduce, ubi prius erat.”
A beam of light blinded her as she drifted into a deep slumber.
She darted up in her sheets, breathing quick and exasperated.
She was in her warm bed, a rooster calling from the fencepost outside, announcing the rise of the sun, marking dawn. Sounds of little scurries barreled down the hallway, as her tan corgi waited patiently for love at her bedside, with everything normal again.