All About It

Brilliance; More Than Just Being Smart

The small village of Rachshere was not a name known by many, for it laid far east of the nation's Capitol, Ceamlyn. Rachshere seldom saw a new face, save for merchants, new born children, and of course, farmers from just outside the village, coming in for either the regular Sunday market or an annual festival. This year had been special though, for an event so powerful, so uncommonly great, that nothing for the years to come could surpass it. However, I am afraid that I am getting far ahead of myself. Our true story, complete with hero, tragedy and triumph, begins inside Rachshere, with John Michell.

The small house seemed an eclipse, as the morning sun broke over the hill on which it sat. Rays of light, seeping through the crack in the middle of the curtain, stirred John Michell awake. He sat up, rubbing his deep set eyes, and running his hand down over a tired face.

Still in his robe from the night before, falling asleep in the middle of the floor from simply thinking to hard, he walked slowly into his bathroom. He felt his way around the dark room, running a hand along the counter top until he found his box of matches. Striking one, he held it up to the place where he knew his wall-mounted candle was. The room lit with the candle, and John stared into the mirror over his sink.

His bathroom seemed nothing spectacular, just a lonely toilet in the far end, a bathing tub on left wall, and a sink and mirror positioned across from it on the right. However, John Michell was the only person to have his own indoor plumbing. This lonely, seemingly mediocre man was the exact opposite.

John Michell was one of the greatest scientific thinkers of his time. This indoor toilet was an invention that he had hoped would gain him much gratification from the public, and also, riches beyond imagination. However, John realized how hard this would be to achieve, after all, barely anyone knew that his town, or even he, existed. Therefor, he left this notion of riches alone for a while, an started focusing on something else, a way to find out the force of gravity, and ultimately the weight of the very earth on which he dwelled.

Oh, look, I've done it again; gotten too far ahead of myself. I have yet to fully introduce our hero, and I am already drawing to a close. Well, I suppose I can stretch this tale out a little more.

Looking in the mirror, John saw the man that he had seen staring back at him for the past five years. Sunken eyes, encased by thick circles from a lack of sleep, cheek bones which rested high on his face, and a beard so thick that he had once placed a quill there, and forgot about it. His lips were thin, and his hair grew shaggy, resting heavily on his shoulders. These features gave John a very weathered appearance, as one would expect from a man who spent most of his time thinking and inventing.

Yawning, he stretched his long arms out. With a cloth dampened in a pale of almost stagnant water, he washed his face. Feeling almost his normal, creative self, John left the bathroom, went into his bedroom, and changed out of his night-time robe, and into something more respectable.

The only income John had was from his small job as a cleaner at the nearby Inn's horse stables. He and another man shared this employment, which left him plenty of time to spend as he pleased. Food was not the most common of substances in John's small house, and late nights made this fact very well known to him.

After changing he quickly walked down his narrow hallway. This hallway wasn't the typical mid-house passage you would expect. It wasn't littered with family photos, or even shelves containing books, more-so, numerous impractical inventions; from simple things like contraptions made of wires and springs, to larger, more intricate objects which showcased metal bent to exact, obtuse shapes, and intricate displays of cords and wires.

He made his way to the thin door, and turned the knob. Stepping outside, he yawned as the cold morning air filled his lungs with a yearning for more sleep. He routinely made this jaunt walk down the road from his house, to the Inn in the center of the village.

Walking by the same people he did every morning, he greeted them with a face that said he was much too tired for work. The Inn was now in view, so he slowed his pace, picking up every valuable second he could before his shift started. He walked up to large oak doors of the Inn, and quietly pushed them open.

The large room in which he stood was softly bustling with the few patrons the Inn's bar held, as they had their morning drinks. Tables littered the far wall, and the center of the room, next to a great fireplace which encompassed almost a quarter of the wall on John's right.

"John!" said a deep sounding voice off to his right. Looking over, John saw the short, portly inn-keeper waddling his way over to him. The man was more than a head shorter than John was, which made his balding black hair and comb-over very noticeable. His long red coat was embroidered in a fake gold color. A round face held thin eyes which tightened into semi-circles to accompany his fake smile as he spoke, "Right on time I see-more than I can say for the past few days-how are you? Still trying to find... what was it?"

"The weight of the earth," John replied blankly, knowing that the stout man did not even care.

"Right, well in any case, there is much to be done outside. One of the guests' horses made quite the stir last night; scattered hay, and broke her ropes. She's out there somewhere, and the guest who owns her is not particularly happy," said the man with a grimace.

John knew what the man would then ask, "Ill go find her, sir."

Without another word, John walked to the back of the Inn. He pushed the doors open, the warmth from the fire now starting to leave him as he faced the stables outside. Sure enough, before him laid a large mess of hay, and a frayed rope leading a few feet from the stables.

Most of the land around the Inn, and that which laid beyond it, was mucky this time of year, so hoof tracks were not hard for John to spot. He saddled up one of the Inn's mares, and mounted her. With a yell and a small kick in the ribs, John started galloping off behind the Inn, to the small mountains which lay beyond.

* * * * * * * *

John had been riding for an hour, but he had been lost in thought within the first ten minutes. For all he knew, he could have past the stray horse which he was searching for already. He had just finished thinking