This is the first story I have posted here! I thank everyone who takes time out for me to view and hopefully critique this... and I hope you like it! Italicized words are being thought.
Chapter 1
The village of Crysteria was nestled between the Icy Mountains to the north, the sprawling taiga to the south and the Northern Ocean to the west. It was a village that was completely dependent on the surrounding environment; its rich oceans and thick evergreen forests gave it the ability to trade for items that could not be found in the north, such as fruit.
Bayard Vischer was the son of Caddis Vischer, the most prominent fishermen in the village. Caddis held high standing in the village, representing the interests of the fishermen in the village council and holding a seat in the trade committee. Bayard was a tall and wiry youth of 14 with long auburn hair and had recently graduated top of his class in the village's school. His father had always hoped for his son to inherit the family business, but he had given up on that hope and was now encouraging his son to further his education. He would soon be traveling to the sprawling metropolis of Vandaer, considered a mecca for the well-informed, to attend a university.
Today Bayard was perusing along the beach looking for anything that might have washed up; a massive tempest had blown through a few days before and the village was still recovering. While practically all the buildings were left standing because of their robust brick design, some of the shipyards had been simply blown away as if they were twigs. Bayard had now started to return back along the beach, with a full net of fish over his shoulder; they had been out of the ocean for a while and where now beginning to reek, but they could be used as bait for the few intrepid fishermen that hunted the giant sharks of the northern seas.
As he made his way back across the stony beach, he heard a faint noise, barely audible over the crashing of the waves. It sounded like the chirping of a bird, but none were visible to him.
"Hm... the noise seems to be coming from the cliffs. It doesn't sound like any local sea bird's call." he muttered to himself as he made his way across the beach to the cliff face . When he got there, he followed the chirping for a few minutes until he came upon a small opening, that seemed to descend diagonally. As he got on his knees, however, he realized that the sand was damp around him; he knew the tide couldn't reach this far, even when high, so he made nothing of it.
"This shaft is way too slippery to crawl down," Bayard said, recoiling from the opening after having tried to go on his knees, "guess I'd have to slide down... but then how would I get back up?"
Bayard sat there for a moment, thinking what he could possibly do to get in the cave safely. Then he had a bright idea: he ran back to the ocean and found a long, sturdy strand of kelp that had dried enough to be used as a rope. When he returned he tied the kelp around a boulder sticking up out of the ground.
"This should hold." he remarked after having tugged it a few times, to check if it it would hold his weight. So, he held it under his arm and settled himself in a relaxed position, and pushed off. He rushed down the shaft and in a few seconds he was thrown flat onto the ground, his body aching.
"God, why'd I do that?" he asked himself bitterly as he stood up, stretching his body. As his eyes adapted to the lack of light he saw that he was in a cavity of the cliff. Along the sides of the cavern he saw that there were a few more vents and in the middle of it was a big pool of water, probably from the storm. In here, the chirping was quite loud, and as Bayard looked around he saw the source of it. He was star-struck for a moment, and then ran towards it to make sure he wasn't just hallucinating after his crash.
"Great Scott! It is a penguin!" Bayard cried with a mix of excitement and wonder, "Since when do they come this far south?". He had heard stories of penguins from sailors that braved to go into the high latitudes of them and read of them in school, but he had never seen one before. What surprised him the most, however, was its peculiar coloring; instead of the traditional suit of black and white, this one was covered in blazing red and translucent blue feathers! The poor thing was covered in cuts and bruises from head to toe, most likely given to it by the storm. "I think he sought refuge in here from the storm... yes, that must be why. But still, why has this little guy come so far south?" Bayard pondered to himself as he gently picked up the penguin and caressed it.
He was violently taken out of his world of though when a vent, right above him, started to gush water. It started out as a trickle first, but then soon grew to a healthy stream. Bayard knew just by smelling the water it came from the sea; the vent must lead out of the cliff somewhere and was now being submerged by the emergence of the high tide!
"Well, this explains the damp water in front of the opening; this cave must fill up during high tide, then flow into that pool of water!" He said despairingly. He quickly made his way back to the vent he came from quickly and grabbed onto the seaweed. He tucked the little penguin under his arm. While the oceanic rope of his held, he could not get up more than couple feet into the vent; even with the occasional hand hold here and there, it was just too slippery! How stupid am I to miss such a blatantly obvious feature? If it is too slippery to crawl down, it will be too slippery to crawl up!, he thought to himself, cursing his luck. The cavern was now filling up, and the water was now to his knees.
The penguin, which had been silent under his arm, now began to stir. He let go off the rope and held out the little guy, just to see the penguin open its eyes. They were like jade and pierced anything they looked at with a knife of keen inquiry. When he saw Bayard holding him and the rising water, it jumped out of his hands and hustled up through the vent without hassle. Bayard was amazed at this, and then saw that the vent had dried up completely. He quickly grabbed the rope submerged under the water, which had now gotten up to his waste and scampered up the vent.
Bayard flew out of the vent, ran for a while, and then collapsed. He heard the water starting to trickle, and then stream out of the vent, but didn't bother standing up. He was overwhelmed by a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion; it wasn't until the tide began lapping at his hair that he bother to stand up. As he looked around him, he saw the tide receding and then the vent's flow of water stopping. Beside the vent was the little penguin asleep and Bayard began to think about the events in the cavern.
What just happened? Was it magic? How could such a beat-up little penguin regain its strength and jump out of a hole? Could this perhaps be some special creature? Bayard's mind was racing with thoughts, until he decided to just give it a rest and think about it later. He went and got the net of rotten fish and hauled it over his shoulder and returned to the vent to check out the penguin; it was sound asleep. I owe my life to this little guy; best should take him home and give him a nice infirmary to recover. So, he picked him up with his free hand and trudged home, unaware of the sheer wonder he was carrying along with him.
The thing that I noticed about this work was the slow pace. It took several paragraphs for you to tell us the background of your story. Which is what Dostoevsky did, but you're not Dostoevsky. What you basically told us that it was a town that fished and that your main character was educated and that he was the son of a fisherman. But it was done in such a style that it was way to info-dumpy. That is, you thought, "Oh noes, I must describe every single bit about my society before I start the story!!!" Trust me... you don't.
