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Chronicles of Jonas - Prologue


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My name is Jonas, and I am writing this chronicle as a way to easy my mind of daily troubles and finally put my gift of written words into action. I am but a mere commoner, a night watchman and mechanical. I earn my keep by keeping the artisans' powered machinery working and by the conscription of our town's lord I occasionally keep the night watch upon the town windmill whose height allows me to see both danger and calamity alike.

You might ask how does one who is not noble born contain such a pristine gift of writing, and you would be right to do so. When I was a younger boy, I was conscripted by the town lord to give company to his son, who was about my age, whom, by a short passage of time, became a close friend. By his insistence I joined him in his daily receptions of life's lessons, including those of a written word. Fate would not have it remain so, however, as my friend, the lords son has fallen to dysentery by the due of despoiled black currants. And thus so I stand with the ability of putting my words into writing, and to that, none is the wiser.

The town I speak of, and also live within is the town of High Haven, perched upon the oaken plateau. It is a small town, of a few hundred souls only. It is perched upon higher ground, with a steep climb upon its arrival. Such favorable terrain, does by the claim of our lord, not warrant the expenditure of a wall or palisade to sit upon. Vigilance of men, such as I, has always been our defense, and the high ground of our lodgings allows to us see any threat upon our kind greataways before it has a chance to strike upon us.

Our town is a wet and muddy one, with walls of cobble and roofs of thatch. It always wets and rains here, except in winter, when it always snows. Aside from the rain there are two things we have aplenty: Limestone and crops. Yes, crops. Our bountiful rainy climate allows for rich harvests of Flax, spelt and rye wheats, and vegetables of a kind carrot, parsnip, turnip and cabbage. It is of great quality. Trades of far and wide come for our lands to buy our most auspicious foodstuffs.

I began this prologue by this introduction to explain who I am and where I live to renew my way of how the written word is placed upon paper and if by some chance, someday one would upon this chronicle, they would know how I am and learn about the town I live in. And thus I end my words with which I began chronicling my life here, in the town of High Haven.




[more story to follow eventually as comments on this thread]

Edited by BigBadBeef
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Over the last few nights, I stood watch upon the windmill. It is peaceful for most nights, yet of two nights ago. Jedediah, our towns brewmaster has been doing much sampling of his own wares of late. I have seen the fool wobble through the streets, jug in hand, and naked to the butt. To make the scene all the more comical, It was raining the other days, so mud and filth are abound. He took the appearance of a swine on its hind legs, wobbling furiously, singing and pretending to dance. He woke people in the middle of the night, they threw rotten food at him yet he did not seem to mind. The fool even wandered close to the cliff of our village. One of these days he is going to fall down and die painfully.

But there is something that did catch my eye right at the end of my watch, as the sun began to rise. I could have sworn the distant horizon below the sun took a brownish hue, almost the color of rusty nails. Barely to be seen by the naked eye. Regardless, I went to the tavern to catch breakfast before I went to bed and told the patron about this strange occurrence. They claimed that tired eyes see many things that arenth' there. Nodding in agreement, I ate, drank my ale and ended my watch with a most welcome sight upon my bed, waking upon the day, pen in hand, ready to put my words into writing.

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