Work Text:
Pipperrin Paisley
August 28, 2023
Genre, Fantasy, Fable, Adventure
The wind gently brushed his wild brown hair, full of leaves, small sticks, dust, and all sorts of natural objects. His pale, lightly tanned skin was marred with dirt and an assortment of small scrapes. He wore a simple brown tunic and shorts, no cleaner than the rest of him. With green eyes that always shone with innocence and childlike wonder, this was Pipperrin Paisley. A young lad no more than ten, his exact age wasn't known for sure. The only child of a young logging couple, the village hadn't seen much of him in his early years, but when the famine had struck, he’d been the only one found alive. Despite the early loss of his parents, he was a cheerful child, so friendly and sweet that he won the hearts of all he met.
He was taken in by the local “orphanage”, a large building used to house and take care of the abandoned, unwanted, and struggling kids. While technically community-run, there were a select few who chose to run it full-time. The rest of the village occasionally brought part of their harvest for food, furniture, and materials, or just volunteered manual labour like repairs, maintenance, and gardening. So he’d always been able to be healthy and happy. Although he was known and loved by all, they found him a bit strange because he liked to disappear and do his own thing.
Pipperrin was now crouched in a bush, listening to the village housewives gossip away. They were lovely ladies but strong and strict nonetheless. Whenever he sat around, it would always come to a part where they shooed him off, saying, “Some things just aren't for the ears of children.”
Nanny Grelda spoke up, interrupting the flow. “Oh, that reminds me, what do you think of that strange morning man under the tree? What do you reckon he wants? I haven't seen him move in three days. Where'd he come from?” She crossed her hands over her apron.
“We don't get many travellers, not this time of year, and never like him. Do you suppose he lost his wife or something? He must be terribly distraught. I haven't seen him eat, drink, or sleep since he arrived. Poor fellow,” Mrs. Trona shook her head.
Finally, Mesethe, one of the eldest women in the village and thus one of the most respected, spoke up. “Aye, I've heard of people travelling the lands trying to find meaning after losing what means most to them. Struggling to find a new meaning or purpose. But these are broken people with nothing else to lose. So leave the outsider alone. He could very well be dangerous.” With that, they all solemnly agreed that he should be avoided and ignored and went on chattering.
Pipperrin crawled out from the bush and ran by the women, “Morning Nanny, morning Mrs. Trona, Lady Mesethe.”
Grelda screeched seeing the filthy child. “What in tarnation have you been up to? Such a state so early!? Wash yourself in the river as soon as possible. And change out of those clothes and leave them for me to wash. Try your best cleaning them in the river, and we'll see how you're looking by then.”
“My, my, my, Lady Mesethe is it? It's been a while since I've heard that. Who taught you such flattery? You'll be a fine gentleman when you're older, not like the ruffians we have around here. Maybe it's best that he doesn't play with the other kids so much. We can't have them corrupt him.” The old lady laughed heartily.
Mrs. Trona smiled, “Or the others might stand to gain a little from him. Especially mine. Did you hear that Pipperrin spent hours the other day helping clean the stables? He's always scampering about, helping whoever he pleases. At this rate, he will pick up every trade in town.”
As they spoke, the child was long gone, wild and whimsical. His curiosity had been struck, and he crept up approaching the large oak tree on the hill just outside town. There were many trees around, but the large ancient oak had stood long before any villager or house had been here, and no one needed to specify which tree when saying "by the tree." Just as he’d heard, he saw an older man in his late sixties or early seventies, weeping in its shade. He lurked, watching for a while, hidden in the bushes and foliage. But the man just did the same as he’d done for the last few days.
Then suddenly, he spoke up. “It seems I have a tail. What sort of beast must you be to lurk in the shadows? Are you waiting for me to die, so you can eat me? Well, you won't find me such an easy prey.” He raised his walking stick as if to prove himself.
Pipperrin stumbled forward and approached him. “Don’t be scared, sir. It's just me, Pipperrin. I heard you had not eaten. Want some berries? I found them myself.” He fished into his pockets and pulled out an assortment of slightly squashed multicoloured berries, presenting them to the stranger.
“Ah, you say don't fear, but yet before me, I see the most dreadful beast of all, Man.” He reached out his hands and picked the berries from the young lad's palm, popping a few inside his mouth. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
Pipperrin sat on the ground next to the man and giggled at his words. “I'm not a man yet, and I promise I'm not scary. Say, sir, how come you’re crying? Nan says men don't cry, only boys."
He quickly exclaimed, “Why do I weep? How can I not weep? The cruelty of man is insufferable! Abominable! From the day they rose, they spread nothing but violence and death! Upon each other, nonetheless. Hardly one war ends, and they start another. They abandon their kin to die by the wayside for gold and profit. They rip each other apart like dogs for power, only to use that power to oppress, destroy, fight, and kill. And under that suffering, the people revolt, fight back, take control, seize, destroy, and kill. All for the greater good, for a better life, they sacrifice everything, only to set a worse, more evil tyrant on the throne. Those who live peacefully are crushed by their wickedness. Give the peaceful power to protect themselves, and they oppress others. Corrupted by power, corrupted by gold, corrupted by pride, greed, and gluttony, by lust and hatred. How many excuses do they need? What will they not blame for their evil? Rotten. Evil lurks in the heart of all men like a beast waiting to rear its head. Desperate for blood, for reason or cause. Those who don't die battling evil fall to it, spreading their wickedness endlessly. Thousands and thousands of millennia may go by, and the herds of man never learn nor change. You ask why I weep. I weep because of the endless cruelty of mankind and how nothing can escape its grasp. Ah, to be a tree, ignorant of the nature of this world.” He broke down crying again.
Pipperrin snuggled next to the man and wrapped his filthy arms around the old man. The man looked shocked and stopped sobbing for a moment, staring at the child quizzically. “Whenever I feel sad, Nanny hugs me, and everything feels a lot better… like you're not alone anymore.” He smiled up at the old man, his eyes glittering with empathy.
The old man hugged him tightly against him and wept, clutching the child against him. Pipperrin slumped across his lap, still holding him, and lay his head down. Hours passed, and he awoke to the old man shaking him. Awake, he sat up and saw the sun setting; he’d been here all day. His stomach rumbled; he had missed lunch and forgotten to wash himself.
The man smiled at him. “It's getting late, probably your dinner time. I reckon you’d best be off before they start looking for you. Lad, what did you say your name was?"
He sat up. “I’m Pipperrin Paisley, sir. How about you?” He looked at the old man, who seemed to be in a much more pleasant mood.
The old man laughed. “That's a wonderful peppy name for a peppy lad. Truly someone who adds a bit of spice, and with all the sirs you’ve been handing me out and the hugs, your last name fits too. Place of worship indeed.” He lifted his hand, and all the dirt and wounds washed away in a soft glow of light. “Be off, child.”
His eyes sparked, brimming with excitement over this display of magic, but deciding to heed the ban, he set off. “Bye, see you tomorrow, sir.” The child darted down the hill, awestruck with wonder and joy, vividly recalling the soft glow and warmth of magic enveloping him.
The boy burst into the building, and a waft of soft scolding and lecturing hit him. Grelda and the other caregivers were used to his strange behaviour but made sure to always give him a stern talking-to. He sat down at the dinner table, excitedly chattering about the old man using magic on him. The other kids were enamoured, bombarding him with questions while the adults began to recite the dangers of strangers, outsiders, and magicians.
“You keep hanging out with magicians, and you'll be turned into a potion one of these days. Those people think they can do whatever they want as if all the laws of the world bend for them.” Grelda shook her head slowly and wagged her finger. Entitlement stemming from pride in their accomplishments was indeed a common trait among magicians, leaving them with quite a bad reputation.
The sun rose the next morning, and Pipperrin was up and out already. He was in Mr. Magalicer's field, helping him bring the animals out for the day. After sticking around a bit longer and weeding a small carrot patch near the house, he left for town.
As he passed the lumberjack's cabin, he was asked if he could take some wood to the forge, and Pipperrin was never one to say no to helping others. Darting down the cobbled streets, a villager's voice rang out. “Ah, to be young again. While other kids sleep and slumber, there's not a place Pipperrin doesn't wander." And the old man laughed, patting him on the back as he walked by.
Pipperrin beamed and chirped, “Morning, sir," before heading into the blacksmith. He set down the sack of sticks before beginning to clean out the ash from the furnace and set it up, ready to light. The blacksmith walked into his own shop, being set up for him, and laughed, sending the kid on his way with fresh eggs and some coins for sweets.
He wandered back to the orphanage and gave them to the nanny to cook. Sitting down at the table, he was soon surrounded by groggy-eyed, sleepy kids coming down for breakfast, and their chores for the day were assigned. “Aww, how come Pipperrin never gets given anything?” a nanny smirked and replied to the sulking kid. “I'll tell you what, when your random nonsense starts contributing as much as Pipperrin does, you don't have to do chores. Now enjoy some eggs Pipperrin brought back."
Pipperrin grabbed a chunk of bread and a couple of eggs and darted out the door after slurping up a glass of milk. He darted up the forbidden hill came under the shadow of the ancient tree and saw the man. Sitting there with a solemn grin, he handed the old man the food. But the man spoke before he could say anything.
“It's the most pure and innocent thing this world takes first. Perhaps it's death, violence, or time. But no light ever remains forever. Humanity will never fail to snuff out or corrupt all good things." He looked down at Pipperrin, and his eyes were wrinkled, tired, and sad. "I wonder what kind of monster you will turn out to be. Which vice you will fall to."
Pipperrin furrowed his brow and didn't answer for a moment. The shimmering morning grass still damp with dew tickled his leg. He took a deep breath and slowly scanned the village, noting all he'd known and seen in life. The bakery, or so it was called, but it was just a lady in her kitchen who everyone knew to come to if they hadn't the time to bake bread. The mill stood across from them, perched on the side of the river. Grey smoke billowed from the forge. He could see people scurrying around, doing their jobs and chores. His eyes wandered to the forest; the smallest corner of a chimney poked above the trees. It was a long-abandoned building that he'd once called home, though he'd been too young to remember.
"Sometimes, Miss Aison talks too much. Says things that get people mad at her. Daisy too, they say that she's got a rotten mouth. Heloc is lazy and falls asleep under the trees when he's supposed to work. Mr. Orim drinks too much and gets really scared. Sir, I don't know anything about power or killing and stuff, but I know that the people in this town are good." Pipperrin articulated carefully.
The old man laughed. "Give one of them power or gold, and watch these 'Good' People turn on each other like animals. I've seen it a thousand times."
"Doesn't that mean that money and power are bad?" Pipperrin curiously inquired.
He sighed. "Perhaps, there are many that hold that opinion. But I've seen too much from man to take such a favourable view… I'm so tired of man… It's better to have never been born. They say all good things must come to an end, but yet here I am. It must mean that even I failed to be good."
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Pipperrin laughed, "Sir, that's because you're not a thing; you're a person, and people can make mistakes. Things can't make mistakes, so they can't be bad."
He looked at Pipperrin, "Tell me, child, tell me the secrets to joy. Tell me how you laugh. Tell me why you would come to a strange old man and feed him, talk to him, and comfort him."
The boy shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know, I just wanted to."
The man chuckled once more, an old, tired, and soft laugh almost under his breath. "The purity of children who don't know better. Perhaps I should have spent more time with children. But I'm too tired now. It's all been too much for me." He turned to Pipperrin, and suddenly he began to emit a powerful glow. Ripples of energy filled the air, and the child could barely even face him.
"I'm sorry to make you a pawn, child. You may grow to hate me, this curse and burden, but please find me a good person; that's my wish for you in exchange for this power. Or better yet, be a good person. Listen carefully; I am giving you all my vitality, the vitality of a god, so that age and time will be nothing but the wind to you, gently stirring your surroundings. You may see this as a blessing, but time will prove it a curse, as it did to me. Nonetheless, please hold onto hope and enjoy this life that I never could. I will not allow this world to take this one good prematurely, so live long, happy, and well. I will watch you carefully from the next realm, so please show me my dream fulfilled and the good of mankind."
The boy winced; the god's powerful words seemed to echo through his mind and body, and he was wrapped in a thick green light. And as it seemed to dissipate, seemingly seeping through his skin, he opened his eyes and found himself alone. Vigor filled his body, and he darted down the hill, dumbfounded at his strange encounter. He ran to the orphanage and exploded with excitement, spewing his tale. The only response was, "Aren't you getting a bit old for such games? You act so sensible all the time; sometimes I forget how young you are," from one of the nannies.
Despite all his protestations, no one would believe him, though they noted that the old man had left. The best he got was for some people to believe that the man had been a strange wizard who had seen a kid and playfully cast some light magic to impress him and gave him a cool story at the same time. And so life went on as normal, and eventually, Pipperrin learned not to talk about it.
A year later, people began to note he wasn't growing very fast, and the kids his age teased him for being a shorty. The matter had been completely forgotten by the town, so no one questioned it, and Pipperrin continued to help anyone and everyone.
Three years after the incident, he often got really strange looks. Until now, people had just assumed he was a late bloomer, but now the fact he hadn't aged a day in the last three years was starting to unnerve people. They muttered as he walked past and began to be distant and avoid him. The kids began to mock him, calling him "demon boy" or that he had made a deal with a devil. No doubt simply repeating what they had heard said behind his back.
But Pipperrin seemed unbothered and treated everyone with the same kindness and respect he always had, further solidifying the persona of the unchanging child. Those who loved or knew Pipperrin well were baffled but knew whatever was going on; he was still the sweet, friendly child they had always known.
Five years later, there was much less negativity around him. Mrs Mesethe had fallen ill, and on her deathbed, she had gathered all the influential women and declared that there would be no more slander of Pipperrin. The boy she had been present when he was born, and who the whole village had watched grow up, should once more be accepted as one of their own. She passed away soon after, but her words could not so easily be disregarded, so they heeded her. There were still whispers that perhaps one of his parents had secretly been an elf or something, but they were quickly dispelled as there were many alive who had grown up with or were directly related to them.
After ten years, Pipperrin had mastered almost every trade and craft in town and was almost able to replace anyone in town if they fell sick or needed a break. It seemed Pipperrin never fell sick or burnt out, and whatever wounds he got never left even a scar once they healed. Once he had burnt his hand badly working at the forge, and a few months later, he was completely healed, to the extent it was impossible to know it ever happened.
He had begun spending his time in the forest, and he'd begun to feel it calling to him. He could sense its power and began to talk to its creatures. Animals listened to him as they understood, and even the plants he spoke to seemed to come alive at his touch or presence. The farmers were quick to exploit that and had him wander their fields and gardens and play with the animals.
Seventy years later, the village almost worshipped him as a god of life. A famine had once swept through the land, and everywhere, but this village had been affected. In fact, the produce had seemed more fresh and bright than ever. It had been sixty straight years of good harvests that only seemed to get better each year.
Pipperrin was rather flustered by all the attention, especially when people came from out of town to see him and confirm the rumours. People, hearing exaggerated rumours, would sometimes travel for weeks to bring the sick before him, believing he could cure them. This saddened him a lot, so he focused on learning medicine and remedies from the locals and asking the trees and animals for their knowledge. He soon became a fairly renowned healer. Not only was he seemingly naturally gifted, but he also had lots of time to learn more and more and the ability to easily cultivate otherwise difficult-to-grow or find herbs.
The medicine master titles soon began to attract druids and clerics to learn from him or buy rare herbs, and he was quick to take advantage of it by trading for their knowledge of spells and magic.
After ninety years, Pipperrin was nearing one hundred years of age and was hailed as a god. Most of those who had once known him as a person were dead or old. As an accomplished life cleric and prospective deity, he was constantly swarmed by strangers. He was always happy to help people, but the king, government, other towns, and rich people wanted to have him and use him for their gain. They got mad at him for healing the wrong people or for not immediately prioritizing them over peasants. He found it difficult to resist or deny. So, after nearly a century of never leaving the village, he bade goodbye to his home and set out during the dead of night.
Time went on, and the rumours faded. The village was still successful and had grown into a large town with local legends, dances, and songs about their missing deity. From all across the land, there were often legends of a small child who would heal strangers free of charge. But soon, the name Pipperrin Paisley was forgotten. Pipperrin continued to live as he always had, bringing joy and helping as many as he could, while enjoying himself on various adventures throughout the ages.