Shalotte
16-10-2008, 15:02
The sea crashed against the 400-metre cliffs with ear-shattering booms, sending cold, white spray high into the air and soaking anything that happened to be at the top of the dull grey natural sea walls. Heavy wind whipped up even more moisture from the turbulent sea and helped to further spray anything nearby with salty mist, as well as flattening the thick grasses atop of the cliffs with its tenacious ferocity. With thick grey clouds above, blocking out much natural light as they hurtled across the sky on the back of the strong winds, one would struggle to notice that it was technically midday and the middle of summer on the island of Shalotte.
But this was just typical weather here.
The tiny island of Shalotte, located a fair distance to the north, was on no maps, in the path of no trade routes, and of nobody's interest. The last remaining trace of an ancient underwater volcano that existed millions of years ago, the 8 sq kilometre small island was a lonely sight in the middle of the sea, one that treacherous conditions and an inconvenient location made difficult to find. It contained no important resources in any significant quantity that might have made it a tempting find, nor did it have any interesting flora to entice botanists. Indeed, nothing but thick grass, bracken, heather, and a few species of flowering plants grew there, and but a single tree. The only beach on the island, a mere few metres long, was regularly engulfed by the swelling tides, which made landing on the island from the sea difficult at best and hazardous at worst, and impossible during winter, while its small and uneven terrain made a helicopter the only viable means of approach from the air.
But nobody ever tried either.
Shalotte wasn't completely unknown to the world, however. Aside from the thousands of unique sea birds which called it home, a keen observer could just make out a young man clambering up the highest point of the island - essentially an enormous pile of rocks climbing some five hundred metres into the air - as he desperately clung on to the rocks with his bare hands to avoid being blown off by the winds. He wore simple clothing that threatened to tear away from him in these winds, made from sheepskin and plants, and wore nothing on his feet, yet his determination to reach the top of the hill was indomitable. After what must have felt like an eternity to the young man he finally reached the top, and curiously lifted one of his feet in the air in front of him and balanced on one foot at the peak for several minutes, before planting a flower, taken from some heather, beneath a rock and beginning the arduous climb down.
He was a member of a community of some three hundred people living on the island, as they had done in complete isolation for thousands of years. With such a small population and no competition to speak of, advancement had been slow to non-existent, with simple wood and stone tools still serving them now as they had their ancient ancestors, and their houses being made from stone, with ventilation to help them resist the winds that often prevailed. With no currency, no government and no technology, it was a communal society with a series of very obscure traditions and animistic belief systems, and most of the men spent much of the daytime harvesting kelp from the sea, tending to the few hundred sheep they had, and hunting birds and fish. Life was slow-paced, difficult, and the weather was atrocious often, but it was their lot in life and they were happy of it, ignorant as they were of the outside world.
Coalan, the man who had just successfully climbed the hill, had just completed one of their more important traditions - by climbing the hill, he had become a man, and had proved himself worthy of taking a wife. He was now eager to get down to the ground and meet up with his father and the other islanders who had gathered to watch his ascent, for he had his sights set on one of the most beautiful women he knew, but his thoughts were distracted when he saw something. From his vantage point saw... something, in the distance, on the horizon of the sea. Even at such a distance the object looked relatively large, and it appeared to be artificial. Almost losing his balance as a sudden gust of wind caught him off guard, he hurried down to the ground to tell the others.
"You must be imagining things, from exhaustion," Gawain informed the young man dismissively after he was finished relaying his story to the others. His voice was harsh and raspy, his accent visceral, but he was a man who chose his words carefully and was highly respected. He attended all coming-of-age ceremonies, as nobody would doubt his word when he said he had seen something happen, so he had become something of a trusted witness to many events. "There is nothing beyond the edge of the sea. Come, let us return home and get you some food."
"I did not imagine it sir, I saw it as clearly as I see you now," Coalan said with determination in his eyes, refusing to budge. "Something large and grey, in the distance, floating on the water. Like a rock, only... perfect in its shape and form."
"Rocks do not float, and as someone who has just scraped their hands and feet climbing up the Hill of Fathers you should know of their irregular shapes first-hand," Gawain snapped. "Let's not dull your achievement here today with fantastical stories. You are a man, and you have celebrations to attend, so let us return!"
Coalan sighed. They were no more likely to believe that he had seen a floating rock at the edge of the sea than they were going to believe that the sky had turned green. He was fatigued and in pain, and all he wanted to do was to go home and rest. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat and nodded, receiving an eager pat on his sore back from Gawain and his father each, and they walked back to the settlement, ignorant of whatever had come so close to their isolated little island.
But this was just typical weather here.
The tiny island of Shalotte, located a fair distance to the north, was on no maps, in the path of no trade routes, and of nobody's interest. The last remaining trace of an ancient underwater volcano that existed millions of years ago, the 8 sq kilometre small island was a lonely sight in the middle of the sea, one that treacherous conditions and an inconvenient location made difficult to find. It contained no important resources in any significant quantity that might have made it a tempting find, nor did it have any interesting flora to entice botanists. Indeed, nothing but thick grass, bracken, heather, and a few species of flowering plants grew there, and but a single tree. The only beach on the island, a mere few metres long, was regularly engulfed by the swelling tides, which made landing on the island from the sea difficult at best and hazardous at worst, and impossible during winter, while its small and uneven terrain made a helicopter the only viable means of approach from the air.
But nobody ever tried either.
Shalotte wasn't completely unknown to the world, however. Aside from the thousands of unique sea birds which called it home, a keen observer could just make out a young man clambering up the highest point of the island - essentially an enormous pile of rocks climbing some five hundred metres into the air - as he desperately clung on to the rocks with his bare hands to avoid being blown off by the winds. He wore simple clothing that threatened to tear away from him in these winds, made from sheepskin and plants, and wore nothing on his feet, yet his determination to reach the top of the hill was indomitable. After what must have felt like an eternity to the young man he finally reached the top, and curiously lifted one of his feet in the air in front of him and balanced on one foot at the peak for several minutes, before planting a flower, taken from some heather, beneath a rock and beginning the arduous climb down.
He was a member of a community of some three hundred people living on the island, as they had done in complete isolation for thousands of years. With such a small population and no competition to speak of, advancement had been slow to non-existent, with simple wood and stone tools still serving them now as they had their ancient ancestors, and their houses being made from stone, with ventilation to help them resist the winds that often prevailed. With no currency, no government and no technology, it was a communal society with a series of very obscure traditions and animistic belief systems, and most of the men spent much of the daytime harvesting kelp from the sea, tending to the few hundred sheep they had, and hunting birds and fish. Life was slow-paced, difficult, and the weather was atrocious often, but it was their lot in life and they were happy of it, ignorant as they were of the outside world.
Coalan, the man who had just successfully climbed the hill, had just completed one of their more important traditions - by climbing the hill, he had become a man, and had proved himself worthy of taking a wife. He was now eager to get down to the ground and meet up with his father and the other islanders who had gathered to watch his ascent, for he had his sights set on one of the most beautiful women he knew, but his thoughts were distracted when he saw something. From his vantage point saw... something, in the distance, on the horizon of the sea. Even at such a distance the object looked relatively large, and it appeared to be artificial. Almost losing his balance as a sudden gust of wind caught him off guard, he hurried down to the ground to tell the others.
"You must be imagining things, from exhaustion," Gawain informed the young man dismissively after he was finished relaying his story to the others. His voice was harsh and raspy, his accent visceral, but he was a man who chose his words carefully and was highly respected. He attended all coming-of-age ceremonies, as nobody would doubt his word when he said he had seen something happen, so he had become something of a trusted witness to many events. "There is nothing beyond the edge of the sea. Come, let us return home and get you some food."
"I did not imagine it sir, I saw it as clearly as I see you now," Coalan said with determination in his eyes, refusing to budge. "Something large and grey, in the distance, floating on the water. Like a rock, only... perfect in its shape and form."
"Rocks do not float, and as someone who has just scraped their hands and feet climbing up the Hill of Fathers you should know of their irregular shapes first-hand," Gawain snapped. "Let's not dull your achievement here today with fantastical stories. You are a man, and you have celebrations to attend, so let us return!"
Coalan sighed. They were no more likely to believe that he had seen a floating rock at the edge of the sea than they were going to believe that the sky had turned green. He was fatigued and in pain, and all he wanted to do was to go home and rest. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat and nodded, receiving an eager pat on his sore back from Gawain and his father each, and they walked back to the settlement, ignorant of whatever had come so close to their isolated little island.