[Origin Story] But it was something... [ PART 2 POSTED 25/1/22 ] ---&RPaward
Posted: Sun Jan 23, 2022 8:52 pm
Ely edit 22 Feb 2022:
1-6 qps, depending on length and quality.
Potential +1 qp: if part of a series: o
Total: 2 qps
*****************************************
PART ONE
But it was something…?
It was a perfect summer’s day in Emond’s Field. Early in the season, the scents and sounds filling the air hinted at the long, hot days ahead. The otherwise peaceful ambience broken only by the foreign sound of a newborn baby’s cries.
The cries sounded from a well-appointed cottage found just off the main thoroughfare of the Old Road, just one such residence surrounded by matching homes in a small neighbourhood that most Red Eagles called home.
This particular cottage was owned by Lady Caela al’Cair, Old Blood of Manetheren and defender of the Two Rivers. Lady al’Cair’s reputation was known by all in the southwest, from the oldest barfly at the Winespring down to each child learning to string their first bow. Long years of campaigning against the Seanchan and driving back Shadowspawn whenever they deigned to show themselves in the Two Rivers and abroad, earned Caela a healthy reputation in her homelands.
The pregnancy had come as no small surprise to Caela, and unplanned to say the least. Her priorities revolved around fighting or drinking or both at the same time. Romance, settling down and raising a family simply wasn’t part of the plan. There was a man from Murandy during the last campaign against the Queen’s Guard who had held Caela’s interest for a longer period than usual, and so she supposed he was the father.
Now stuck with a newborn, a serious impediment to her usual pastimes, Caela promptly consulted with the Women’s Circle, named the child, and placed the infant boy into their care. The Women’s Circle appointed Corin Ayellin as wetnurse, and so the child’s start to life began, a father he’d never know, and a mother who was passingly if not completely, disinterested.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the great Misty Mountains, spinning through their peaks and valleys as it turned to spread out over the Two Rivers. Twisting and turning across fields, forests and farmlands, the winds picked up the flight of an arrow, fired from the bow of a young teenager, driving the projectile at its target before moving on. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
THUNK!
A toothy smile spread across Vannor al’Cair’s face as he squinted against the afternoon sun. The arrow, fired from the long Two Rivers bow he now held in his hands, still quivering in the centre of the practice target he’d set up earlier that morning.
Spinning about to flourish at his captive audience; comprised of half of dozen chickens pecking aimlessly in the dirt, his faithful farmdog Aldazar which happened to double as his best friend, and Mistress Ayellin who had her back to him hanging out the day’s washing.
The boy watched his audience for a moment, waiting until he noticed one of the chickens pause in their pecking to eye him right back. Nodding at the chicken’s acknowledgement, he set the bow down and slumped down beside Aldazar. Surveying his practice battlefield, he absently began to count the dozens of arrows that littered the ground around the target as he scratched the sleepy dog’s ears.
“I had better see all of those picked up and neatly packed before you come in to wash up, Vannor” chided Mistress Ayellin, who had apparently finished hanging out the laundry. “Your mother is due home tonight, and I’m sure you want to show her that you’re now a responsible young adult worthy of joining the Night’s Watch” she added, directing a knowing look at him. Vannor nodded absently and turned back to the practice target, admiring the one arrow affixed proudly in its centre.
Mistress Ayellin, as far as Vannor was concerned, was just as good or better than any mother he could hope for. With his real mother constantly away fighting for the Red Eagles and returning for a week or few days at a time, his wetnurse was all he’d ever really known, but she’d always been good to him and he supposed there was nothing to really complain about. Mistress Ayellin had taught him to read and write and do his numbers, and almost never raised her voice at him or treated him badly.
One of Mistress Ayellin’s best qualities, in Vannor’s opinion, was that she always seemed to know a little bit about everything and was never short of a story. Countless nights were filled with tales of the far away events of great warriors in the Blight fighting hordes of Shadowspawn single handed, or of Legends of Old, tales of the One Power and those that wielded them or great armies that carved out the lands and territories that lined the maps of today.
Some of the stories Mistress Ayellin told of course, were of the Red Eagles and a few even featured his mother. Although he bore no resentment to his mother, the tales told of her deeds just didn’t really match the person he knew and saw, and consequently, those stories were his least favourite.
That wasn’t to say they were all bad, he often asked Mistress Ayellin to recount great battles featuring his idols, the Red Eagles Dougras Aquila or Tarn Nachiman. Stories about the infamous Civil Watch lords Rodger, Takd and Shinobi. It had of course occurred to Vannor in the kind of logic that only teenagers can bend, that if he were to fashion himself into a great warrior like his idols, it may win him the attention of his mother, Caela.
For months now, Vannor had been practicing with the bow, sword and staff in preparation to apply for the Night’s Watch of Manetheren. The Night’s Watch were a local defence militia charged with taking care of the Two Rivers when the main force, the Red Eagles, were abroad. It was common knowledge that the Red Eagles recruited their members from the Night Watch, and so every boy and girl that dreamed of standing amongst their number tried their hand at gaining entry to the Night’s Watch.
As Vannor gathered the last of the arrows littering the farmyard and returning them to his quiver, his thoughts were ended by the sound of an approaching horse. By the familiar way that the various custom straps, attachments and trinkets that adorned Caela al’Cair’s warhorse jingled as it moved, he knew his mother was home.
His chest swelling with anticipation, a nervous energy flooded through him. Tonight he would seek approval from his mother to apply for the Night’s Watch. It was a far cry from the Red Eagles, but it was something.
1-6 qps, depending on length and quality.
Potential +1 qp: if part of a series: o
Total: 2 qps
*****************************************
PART ONE
But it was something…?
It was a perfect summer’s day in Emond’s Field. Early in the season, the scents and sounds filling the air hinted at the long, hot days ahead. The otherwise peaceful ambience broken only by the foreign sound of a newborn baby’s cries.
The cries sounded from a well-appointed cottage found just off the main thoroughfare of the Old Road, just one such residence surrounded by matching homes in a small neighbourhood that most Red Eagles called home.
This particular cottage was owned by Lady Caela al’Cair, Old Blood of Manetheren and defender of the Two Rivers. Lady al’Cair’s reputation was known by all in the southwest, from the oldest barfly at the Winespring down to each child learning to string their first bow. Long years of campaigning against the Seanchan and driving back Shadowspawn whenever they deigned to show themselves in the Two Rivers and abroad, earned Caela a healthy reputation in her homelands.
The pregnancy had come as no small surprise to Caela, and unplanned to say the least. Her priorities revolved around fighting or drinking or both at the same time. Romance, settling down and raising a family simply wasn’t part of the plan. There was a man from Murandy during the last campaign against the Queen’s Guard who had held Caela’s interest for a longer period than usual, and so she supposed he was the father.
Now stuck with a newborn, a serious impediment to her usual pastimes, Caela promptly consulted with the Women’s Circle, named the child, and placed the infant boy into their care. The Women’s Circle appointed Corin Ayellin as wetnurse, and so the child’s start to life began, a father he’d never know, and a mother who was passingly if not completely, disinterested.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the great Misty Mountains, spinning through their peaks and valleys as it turned to spread out over the Two Rivers. Twisting and turning across fields, forests and farmlands, the winds picked up the flight of an arrow, fired from the bow of a young teenager, driving the projectile at its target before moving on. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
THUNK!
A toothy smile spread across Vannor al’Cair’s face as he squinted against the afternoon sun. The arrow, fired from the long Two Rivers bow he now held in his hands, still quivering in the centre of the practice target he’d set up earlier that morning.
Spinning about to flourish at his captive audience; comprised of half of dozen chickens pecking aimlessly in the dirt, his faithful farmdog Aldazar which happened to double as his best friend, and Mistress Ayellin who had her back to him hanging out the day’s washing.
The boy watched his audience for a moment, waiting until he noticed one of the chickens pause in their pecking to eye him right back. Nodding at the chicken’s acknowledgement, he set the bow down and slumped down beside Aldazar. Surveying his practice battlefield, he absently began to count the dozens of arrows that littered the ground around the target as he scratched the sleepy dog’s ears.
“I had better see all of those picked up and neatly packed before you come in to wash up, Vannor” chided Mistress Ayellin, who had apparently finished hanging out the laundry. “Your mother is due home tonight, and I’m sure you want to show her that you’re now a responsible young adult worthy of joining the Night’s Watch” she added, directing a knowing look at him. Vannor nodded absently and turned back to the practice target, admiring the one arrow affixed proudly in its centre.
Mistress Ayellin, as far as Vannor was concerned, was just as good or better than any mother he could hope for. With his real mother constantly away fighting for the Red Eagles and returning for a week or few days at a time, his wetnurse was all he’d ever really known, but she’d always been good to him and he supposed there was nothing to really complain about. Mistress Ayellin had taught him to read and write and do his numbers, and almost never raised her voice at him or treated him badly.
One of Mistress Ayellin’s best qualities, in Vannor’s opinion, was that she always seemed to know a little bit about everything and was never short of a story. Countless nights were filled with tales of the far away events of great warriors in the Blight fighting hordes of Shadowspawn single handed, or of Legends of Old, tales of the One Power and those that wielded them or great armies that carved out the lands and territories that lined the maps of today.
Some of the stories Mistress Ayellin told of course, were of the Red Eagles and a few even featured his mother. Although he bore no resentment to his mother, the tales told of her deeds just didn’t really match the person he knew and saw, and consequently, those stories were his least favourite.
That wasn’t to say they were all bad, he often asked Mistress Ayellin to recount great battles featuring his idols, the Red Eagles Dougras Aquila or Tarn Nachiman. Stories about the infamous Civil Watch lords Rodger, Takd and Shinobi. It had of course occurred to Vannor in the kind of logic that only teenagers can bend, that if he were to fashion himself into a great warrior like his idols, it may win him the attention of his mother, Caela.
For months now, Vannor had been practicing with the bow, sword and staff in preparation to apply for the Night’s Watch of Manetheren. The Night’s Watch were a local defence militia charged with taking care of the Two Rivers when the main force, the Red Eagles, were abroad. It was common knowledge that the Red Eagles recruited their members from the Night Watch, and so every boy and girl that dreamed of standing amongst their number tried their hand at gaining entry to the Night’s Watch.
As Vannor gathered the last of the arrows littering the farmyard and returning them to his quiver, his thoughts were ended by the sound of an approaching horse. By the familiar way that the various custom straps, attachments and trinkets that adorned Caela al’Cair’s warhorse jingled as it moved, he knew his mother was home.
His chest swelling with anticipation, a nervous energy flooded through him. Tonight he would seek approval from his mother to apply for the Night’s Watch. It was a far cry from the Red Eagles, but it was something.
