The First of Twelve

Writing short stories set in Ganoltir? Post them here to show them off and receive feedback!
Post Reply
User avatar
Fialova
Magical Liopleurodon
Posts: 4745
Registered for: 11 years 2 months
Location: The Great North
Contact:

The First of Twelve

Post by Fialova »

The following is a detailed account of the life of the First Apostle, who, it has been argued, is the true origin of Imardin's greatness. Transcribed here by one Father Melovian.

There are two major ports on the Bay of Ellis, but only one is ever talked about. Ellisport, the largest city in the world and the crown jewel of Imardin, is the more eastern of these two ports. It was once only a frontier settlement of the Old Kingdom, before its collapse centuries ago. Today it shines brightly as a center for culture and trade, an urban sprawl surrounding a formidable fortress, home to the Arch-Bishopric's wealthiest elite. Its white walls glisten in the sun, surrounding the docks that protect the most powerful ships the world has ever known. Its massive city hall houses more workers than any other building yet constructed, towering over the homes that surround it, keeping a watch on the city below. While not the capital, it can truly be said that Ellisport is the heart of Imardin, with everything and everyone of importance finding their way there at some point.

This story, however, begins in the other city, the one that is ignored in the grand scheme of things. Overshadowed by its neighbor is Arenport, an impressive city in its own right and which would be considered much more impressive if not for Ellisport nearby. Perched along the southwestern portion of the Bay of Ellis, Arenport sees the largest export of lumber of any other in the world, providing over 50% of the wood used in the construction of the navy's fleet. If Ellisport is the heart of Imardin, then Arenport is the backbone - without it, the nation would not be able to support itself.

Apart from its lumber trade, though, Arenport is fairly unremarkable. The aristocracy doesn't find its simple, run down streets appealing, nor its rough and lackluster terrain. Much of the land around the city was once beautiful forest, but decades of clear-cutting have left only barren, hilly fields, somewhat reminiscent of the Tulrissian region of Volberg. Further south one finds the Great Swamp, a region few in Imardin or Tulrisse alike would dare enter, and those who do rarely stray far. These things combined have left it so only the strongest willed, or most proud, remain willingly. It is perhaps surprising, then, that it is this place - this dreaded, ugly, important city - that gave birth to the child that would raise our great nation to heights it had never dreamt of before.
User avatar
Fialova
Magical Liopleurodon
Posts: 4745
Registered for: 11 years 2 months
Location: The Great North
Contact:

Re: The First of Twelve

Post by Fialova »

Many centuries ago, late in the third era by the Tenant's calendar, there was born a child. She was an ordinary child born to ordinary people, as many of our greatest tend to be. Her father was one of many lumberjacks living in Arenport, a large man with an even larger grin, happy to spend his days in the forests with his friends. Her mother, on the other hand, was small and frail, an unpleasant woman prone to jealousy and fits of sobbing at the slightest hint of distance from her husband. It was not an ideal marriage, but how many are?

Their daughter was named Geneviève, and she was raised to the best of their abilities. Their abilities, unfortunately, were fairly lacking in this regard. Her mother's were especially poor, and her father was rarely around to do better. Recognizing their failure as parents, they gave young Geneviève to the Clergy when she was five, figuring that she would have a much better chance at a happy life if she were raised by the Fathers and Mothers of the Church. She never saw her parents after that, nor would she even be able to recognize them if she had.

The Arenport Cathedral was a very empty place, built at a more optimistic time in the city's history. "We will rival Ellisport one day, so our cathedral should reflect that," said the mayor who commissioned it centuries prior, unaware of the city's bleak future as a 'backwater' everyone was only interested in escaping. It was quite a grand sight to behold, that is certain, but depressing at the same time. Its massive chambers were only ever barely filled, and the local Clergy took on very few new members, most local families preferring to raise their children to contribute to the lumber industry instead.

Young Geneviève would be one of only three children her age being taught, the others a six-year-old boy named Antonio and a four-year-old girl named Natalia. Her new, and only, friends were siblings, orphans left in front of the church when the younger was merely an infant. Antonio was talkative, Natalia was not. The three were the only children in each others' lives, though, so friendship was their only option if they didn't want to be alone.

From an early age, the trio were tutored by a young and ambitious Brother Mathieu. He saw the children as his opportunity to get ahead in the Church, a way to earn the local bishop's respect and be made Father. Despite this he was a kind and knowledgeable tutor, well-liked by his charges and truly deserving of the respect he so desired. His ambitions would never be fulfilled, though, as he caught pneumonia and died three years after Geneviève arrived.

The task of educating the children moved to a Sister Catherine, who was also nice, but not nearly as prepared for the job. Her knowledge of history was shaky, and though she understood mathematics she was not the best at explaining it. She was replaced after a year by Brother Bartholomew.

Unlike Brother Mathieu, Brother Bartholomew was harsh and impatient with his students, and would not hesitate to punish them for poor performance. He was an old, bitter man who had many times been passed up for becoming Father, and let that bitterness seek into every aspect of his life, not least of which was his tutoring position. If he was doomed to a meager life, then why should these brats get a shot at a better one? If anyone should be afforded a better life it should be him, or so his reasoning went.

While they children did not enjoy his lessons, Brother Bartholomew's method of teaching did prove effective, with Geneviève proving herself the quickest of the bunch. She grew to love learning in spite of it all, her favorite subjects being history, politics, and especially religion. As the years passed, she took whatever opportunity she could to read about the other religions practiced by the 'savages' of the world, with their many gods and their giant dragons, their evil wizards and horrible monsters. All of it she absorbed, but it was not enough. She dreamed of seeing the places she read about, and visiting the temples to these other gods. Life in the Clergy would not permit it, though.
User avatar
Fialova
Magical Liopleurodon
Posts: 4745
Registered for: 11 years 2 months
Location: The Great North
Contact:

Re: The First of Twelve

Post by Fialova »

While Geneviève excelled, her friends often struggled. Antonio was bright in his own right, but his knowledge tended more towards the arcane, something that Brother Bartholomew was both unwilling and unable to teach to his students. It was not proper, at the time at least, for those dedicated to Elys to be practiced in the arcane arts unless they had ascended to the rank of Father or Mother, after which it was permitted, but restricted and closely monitored by the local Bishop. As such, Antonio felt like his talents were being wasted, and so showed little enthusiasm for the other subjects he was made to study instead.

Unlike the other two, Natalia was simply not the brightest when it came to academics. Her area of expertise lied in the more physical realm, and since that was not part of a Clergy education she too often felt little interest in her lessons. Of the three she was the one that most often faced Brother Bartholomew's punishment, both for poor performance and attitude. She'd regularly lash out, or skip lessons entirely, spending time out in the city exploring and playing with other children, getting in scraps and returning to the Cathedral bruised and dirty. On these days she'd receive the worst punishments, which only stung worse with the bruises she'd gain during the day, and the young girl over time grew to truly hate her instructor.

Geneviève was oblivious to her friends' struggles for the first few years of this, too engrossed was she in her own studies to notice that they were not performing well. Their occasional bad moods she attributed to a distaste for their instructor – which was part of it, true – and nothing more. It wasn't until the pair attempted to run away that she realized the extent of their struggle.

It was towards the end of the fourth year of Brother Bartholomew's lessons, a cool and quiet night in the beginning of the fall. The siblings slept out while the others slept, Geneviève noticed from her window as they were led out of the building by a robed man. Thinking her friends had been kidnapped, she quickly rushed to inform the nearest Sister she found, who informed the guards. Hours later the pair were returned to the Cathedral – safe again, Geneviève thought – and the robed man was taken into custody. The next day her friends expressed their frustration with her at being caught.

“He must have seen us leaving,” Natalia exclaimed, exasperated.

“How could he have? We made sure he was asleep,” Antonio responded.

“What do you mean?” Geneviève asked, confused by the conversation. Had they meant to leave?

“We were trying to get away from this place,” Natalia sighed. “We didn't want to tell you since you seem so happy here, but we aren't happy. The Clergy isn't for us.”

Shocked, Geneviève realized what she had done. In her attempt to protect her friends she had instead prevented their escape, and she couldn't help but to feel directly responsible for their current misery. “I hadn't realized,” she said, not wanting to admit her guilt in their return. “I just thought you hated Brother Bartholomew.”

“Well, we do,” said Antonio. “But we hate this life, these lessons, all of it. This is not the life we wanted. No one asked us if we wanted to be part of the Church,” he continued, the annoyance visible in his eyes.

“Maybe I can help you get away,” Geneviève said, trying to make up for her mistake the night before. “I could make sure no one sees you this time, you could get away for sure.”

“We asked a man to help us, he is in prison now,” Natalia said. “He was my friend.”

With their every word only serving to make her feel worse, Geneviève said something she didn't expect to say. “I want to come with you.”

“But you love it here. Why do you want to leave?” said Antonio.

Why do I want to leave? I don't know. “I know the city, I've studied its maps often. I can help you get away if I come with you. Please, does it matter why? I want to help, so just let me.”

The trio sat in silence for awhile, the siblings looking to one another, and at Geneviève, before eventually agreeing that it would make sense for them to stick together and all run away. For the next few weeks they planned in secret, Geneviève using her knowledge of both the city and the Cathedral itself to plot a route and time frame that would result in the least chance of them being caught. Though less than a month passed, it felt to them like an eternity as their anticipation welled up.
User avatar
Fialova
Magical Liopleurodon
Posts: 4745
Registered for: 11 years 2 months
Location: The Great North
Contact:

Re: The First of Twelve

Post by Fialova »

Well into the fall the leaves had already transformed and were beginning to gather on the ground, the nights had grown colder, and the time had come for the three friends to leave the Cathedral. Unbeknownst to them, however, Brother Bartholomew had caught wind of their planned escape and had made preparations of his own. After all, try as they might to be sneaky, they were still only adolescents, and the elderly Bartholomew knew all of their tricks. The guard would be expecting a trio of children roaming the streets at night, and had adjusted their patrols accordingly.\\

So, oblivious to the machinations of their cruel tutor, the friends proceeded with their escape plan. They utilized barely-used corridors of the Cathedral to slip past the few Sisters and Brothers roaming its halls, making their way out a side entrance of the complex that existed purely as a means to access one rather secluded part of the gardens surrounding the building. They made their way past the trees and bushes to the nearest street and, spotting no signs of the local guard, quickly made their way to the first side alley they intended traverse. The dark of night made it difficult to see, but Geneviève reasoned that it was better than being in the open where then they ran the risk of being seen. However, an alley also made it easier to become trapped, a possibility that she had not accounted for but which she would soon realize she should have.

As they reached the end of the alleyway a light became visible in the distance, which they knew were the torches of a guard patrol. Having planned for this, the children ducked behind a nearby cart and began to wait for the patrol to pass. But the light grew brighter, and brighter still, before it became clear that it was no longer in the street, but in the alley itself. “What is going on? You said they don't patrol this part.” Natalia said, quietly but with the annoyance clear in her voice.

“They don't,” Geneviève said, confused. “At least... not normally. Something is wrong.” She motioned for her friends to make their way underneath the cart, but there was little room and none of them wanted to lay in the muck underneath. So they cowered behind the cart, hoping beyond hope that the guards would pass by without noticing them. They did not.

Once more, the Arenport Cathedral's wards were escorted back to their home – their prison – dejected and defeated. This time, however, it was clear what their intent had been. There was no co-conspirator to appear as a kidnapper, and Bartholomew was already well aware of their plot to escape, and ready to beat that desire out of the children. And so, over the next few days, he did. Or at least he tried to. Any slip up, no matter how small, resulted in lashes now. A single letter out of place, a single word out of line, and the cruel old man was happy to show is dominance.

Natalia had been sick of the punishments before the first attempt to escape, and Bartholomew's new methods only made her hatred grow. It continued to grow, that is, until she slit his throat on the fifth day after their capture. She had acquired the knife from her friend, the one who'd been arrested. He had been showing her how to use it when she spent her days in the city, and though it was only meant to be used in self defense initially, Natalia could bear no more of the cruelty she faced each day, and decided to put a stop to it.

That night, after the deed was done, she quickly made her way to the rooms of the other two. “We have to go,” she said to them, her urgency made apparent by the bloody knife she bore in her hand. Antonio did not question her, Geneviève did.

“What did you do?” the girl exclaimed, as she saw the serious looks on her friends faces.

“Only what needed to be done,” said Natalia, showing no remorse in her eyes, or even any feeling at all. “Now come on, we need to go. Now. Before they find out.”

She knew that the bloody knife could only mean one thing, but Geneviève refused to believe it. However, she knew they were right and, now more reluctantly than before, she took to the streets with her friends. This time the guards did not have Bartholomew's warning, and so were on their normal patrol routes, allowing the trio to make use of their earlier plan, but with the adjustment that instead of simply fleeing to another part of town and making new lives for themselves, they would leave Arenport entirely. After all, murder would not be quite so easily forgiven as running away.
Post Reply