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A good book, a better look [Open]

Started by The Duke, August 26, 2015, 06:25:50 PM

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The Duke

It had been some time since Roric had been to Ketra. He had taken holiday to be with Keyara his young sister now not so young. 16 now, he could barely believe it and from the looks of things it seemed she was to be wed to a handsome captain, a fine match by his judgement and why wouldn't it be as he had of course organized it. It was always nice to see his plans come to fruition, but the personal must always take second place to the work of the people so quick as he came he left to return to Adela a land burning with warrior's pride and the breath of dragons. While it seemed the peaceful isolationists of Thanatos had little in common with these rugged people, Roric was here to ensure that their commonalities outshine their differences.

As it was he was a day early thanks to fair winds on the voyage from Thanatos. As he was not expected by the local leaders for a day, he decided to take some rare time for himself. While for others this meant relaxation, frolicking, or even lolly gagging, Roric instead turned his eyes on a much more attractive sounding use of time. An afternoon by a fire curled up with a good book.

All of them were good of course, books that was, but people too in a way. People like books were full of stories, but people's stories were forever changing in telling and retelling, often it was more fascinating to read people, but it was an exhaustive process as well. Roric was interested in a simpler time at the moment so he slowly ambled toward an establishment he'd walked into many times before, The Keep.

A quaint establishment off the beaten path, Roric was sure to stomp out his boats before entering as Miriam the cleaning woman always appreciated that. It was important to show goodwill to all, even the lowliest, one for simple moral purpose and two because serving folk are the most vicious with their rumors. It is not the sword of heroes or the proclamation of kings that make a noble, nay more often than not it is the whispers of servants that decide their fate.

Once inside Roric ordered a simple drink made from crushed mountain flower and pure spring water. Taking small sips the ambassador instead drank deeply from the pages of Highgarden Tales: A Land to be Won. It detailed a forgotten adventure during a war many years ago. Still despite it's years of separation Roric felt an instant connection with Kateran the leader of her small band of adventurers. Her struggles collected in journal entries dotted throughout the narrative left the diplomat pining for more. Her doubts and fears in leadership and relationships were ones he felt as well. To read is to seek kinship with the dead, that's what his father told him once. Sipping slowly by a lively fire and looking over the rows and rows of books Roric grinned and thought,

Let's make some friends

Dreamwolf

He had been bought. Sold to a noble of some kind. Sorrel had never been outside of Connlaoth, but, he didn't feel any awe or anxiety over it. A master was a master. This one had given him a sweet of some kind. one that had lasted almost a whole day before it finally melted into a burst of sugary ecstasy that tasted of some fruit he had never had before. His first day in his new home he had been shown the library where he was to keep the shelves clean of dust and put any books he found in a pile to be placed back on the shelves. Unlike many slaves Sorrel had no inclination to try and read the books. Slaves don't need to read, was something his first three masters had pounded into his skull, sometimes literally.

Today, for the first time in the two days he had been there, there was someone in the library. Seeking to please, as he always did, Sorrel approached. "Refresh your drink, Master? Perhaps something from the kitchens to eat?" Sorrel kept his body bent almost in half his gaze on the unknown nobles feet.




(Hope you don't mind throwing my slave character in, he needs some exorcise lol)

The Duke

The plain was the color of fire and smelled of savage dreams torn asunder. For all the horrors I have witnessed in life none will equal in measure the dells of the Aberac after that bloody day...

Roric's hand was nearly stayed by that partial clipping. One of the tragedies of nonfiction is that those 'characters' which die were real people, not heroes or villains or smattering symbols. Lost in those fields were hopes, desires, desperation, innocence and guilt alike. The ambassador's hand reached for his drink but he found his hand quavering as his own thoughts turned to the eternal cog that plagued the machinations of all men's minds. War.

It was a looming shadow upon the relatively quiet plains of this world, but ever was it a sentinel, awaiting the slightest opportunity to bring insurrection and chaos to bear. A hundred years of peace could be undone in one bloody day. That is comedy and tragedy and it is the inevitable condition of life it seemed. Roric could say otherwise, but he was not one to lie, at least not to himself.

So lost in thought he nearly missed the question coming from the serving boy. Feeling his appetite was quite lost the ambassador shook his head with a smile,

"I thank you, but my hunger for knowledge, food, and drink have all been sated." 

Lifting himself slowly the man looked to the servant and saw the two shared this room alone. Looking about at shelves meticulously dusted and kept pristine and organized he said with some bemusement,

"This work must be a dream, to be surrounded by so many wondorous tales," he looked to the fellow and grinned, "Tell me, do you have a favorite?"

Allowing the lad to speak, Roric walked about the shelves returning the book in his possession and beginning the hunt for some other tome gleaming with the kind of title to hook him into another lost hour.

Dreamwolf

Sorrel didn't raise his head as he answered the question. "I do not have a favorite, Master. I Cannot read, I am not a slave who tends to matters of the household that require such knowledge. I exist solely to Serve, Master." Sorrel felt slightly uncomfortable in the situation and prayed for someone to come along and take the attention away from him. Sorrel did not like it when people actually asked him questions. He much preferred getting orders, they were simple, you did what you were told and you did not have to think for yourself.

The Duke

Hearing the words Roric couldn't feel anything but disappointment. To be cut off from the wonders of the written word due to ignorance was one thing, but to be willfully ignorant due to some servile complex, that wasn't something the ambassador had come across before.

Even as a youth whenever Roric came across an indentured servant or any other untouchable he went out of his way to put books into their lives. It drove his father mad to catch butcher's boys and prostitute daughters toting family tomes, but Roric would take a hundred whippings to see the looks on those inspired faces. He saw many regularly now that they were all grown, while most found their parents trades as the height of their travels a few had aspired to more. Reading had opened them up to dream and in doing so it gave them the ambition to aim higher.

Hearing the slave's final words Roric pondered a response. Finding one swiftly as always he snapped and said,

"But reading is practical for a servant such as yourself. Tell me, if your master or mistress wanted you to gather a large collection of things they would no doubt give you a list. Wouldn't you need to read that list to best serve them?"

He sensed this fellow saw serving as his only purpose. It was a sad state of affairs, but it was an opening and the prolific literary tutor would take any opening he could get. Thrusting a book at the lad he said with a smile,

"I could help you gain that skill, a skill you could use to better perform your duties."

Dreamwolf

Sorrel was appalled. In Connlaoth he had been told it was blasphemy to teach a slave to read. He had never been given a list before though. It was a valid point. Sorrel was uneducated, not stupid. He saw the merit in what this noble spoke, but his life as a slave made it unthinkable for him. He looked at the book, studied the whorls and loops on the cover. He noticed that the shapes on this book differed from the shapes he had seen on the books in his last master's home.

"Master makes a valid point. However, isn't teaching slaves to read an affront to the Great God? I would not want Master to garner the Great One's wrath for the likes of me." Unfortunately for Sorrel though, the seed had been planted, he was now curious as to how powerful written word was that it could make a slave into a treasured servant who was given Lists of all things.

The Duke

Roric at first was taken aback by the slaves response. He saw the look of surprise and the faintest outlines of fear and disgust. At this moment the ambassador realized this slave like many was not from this land. His skin was a big tell, but his actions sealed it. What this meant to Roric's efforts he did not know, but he was ever prepared to improvise and if he failed, he could always get over it by trimming his hedges. Seriously those things were crazy therapeutic.

When he heard the fellows protesting questions Roric's eyebrows scrunched as he tried to imagine what great god was so insecure it could not have its creation reading. As the lad spoke those he realized the problem was also the solution. Ignorance was a sharp shield, it protected you so long as you did not question it. Taking advantage of the slave's naivete Roric spoke candidly,

"Worry not about the Great Gods wrath. His word along with the great masters of old are all locked within books like the one you hold right now. To learn more about them and understand their needs and desires is not only a great show of service, but of piety as well."

Roric mentally patted himself on the back for that one, perhaps after his life as an ambassador he might spend eternity as one of those pesky demonic lawyers.

"I will not press you young...young...lad," the ambassador said realizing he didn't know the slave's name, "But if you desire this skill do not hesitate to ask for Roric Mela."

Roric took another book now lazily sifting through the pages. It detailed law records long since changed, but their precedents and collected testimonies were fascinating enough in their own way. Walking about the shelves for awhile listening to the whispers of a thousand tales untold in his mind the ambassador smiled and breathed in the sweet scent of aged paper. Nothing else like it he thought clutching the work tightly before putting it back. 

Dreamwolf

Sorrel took some time to think over what the noble had said. If the great Masters who preached read books, and the knowledge of the Gods was in them, surely they couldn't be all bad. But, what if he was sold to a new master, one who did not want slaves to read? He could be beaten...or worse, sold to the mines. But if he could better serve his current master perhaps they would not be so ready to sell him. And what of books that told stories of ancient heroes? He could learn of them and be able to tell the stories to others who could not read. If books contained all the Knowledge of the Great Masters he could learn so many things. He could help others and, if he learned enough, he could possibly get a position as a teacher of noble children. Teacher's could earn money even if they were slaves because their knowledge was needed. He could do so much if he only learned to read.

Sorrel looked at the master, the man was browsing a book with strange symbols that the slave knew to be numbers. He could do some numbers, his third master had taught him enough to be able to go to market to buy things like parchment and ink without being cheated. Master Malgor had also taught him how to ride a horse and use a staff to help fight bandits that sometimes attack the merchants caravan.

"Master Roric Mela. Could you...could you teach me to read please?" Sorrel did not dare to look up. He had been tormented by other nobles who had told him he could do things but when he tried he had been beaten simply for fun.

The Duke

Continuing to waltz upon the shoulders of giants, Roric only kept a light recognition of the slave boy. Bouncing from tome to tome he became man, woman, warrior, poet, painting, bird, all within breaths and excitable gasps. To walk upon the pages, to step in the spaces between the lines, the pauses, the lingering. In another life Roric might have been a humble bookseller, though he'd most likely go out of business as he'd be too sore to lose one of his books.

He was deep within a cave watching a young prisoner scrawl her tired thoughts onto a lessening parchment supply when he heard the words. Drawn immediately up from the well of imagination he had so willingly submerged himself in, the ambassador looked upon the downcast boy with a smile. He was young and willing, in all his years the half Thanati had found these to be the only requirements for the teaching of just about anything.

Clasping his book shut the red haired man walked about the shelves at first appearing as if he did not notice the young boy speaking. His eyes searched and soon found precisely what he was looking for, or at least something that vaguely matched the description. Turning about he sat upon a comfy chair with a cushioned stool that looked upon the veranda. Butterflies fluttered upon yellow and red flowers as the ambassador gave a light beckoning wave to the young boy,

"Come sit with me, I'll read to you for awhile."

Here in this idyllic quiet, this rare stillness, there were teachable moments to be found, but they must be chipped from the stones of narrative and forged with the delicate finery of an open mind and endless imagination.

Clearing his throat Roric began tracing his finger along the words as he slowly read,

"Daniel looked out upon the quiet valley, mists traveled slowly across the green..."

Roric spoke on, the images forming. A young boy running from cruelty clutching a letter. He sought his sister, who was in the hands of one far worse than his former masters. Minutes slid away as the tale deepened, bravery, joy, kindness, fear, all sloping and forming a brilliant story arc that ultimately was about the unquenchable flame of hope. After an hour of this the teacher found a particularly easy passage and gently drew Sorrel's hand forward tracing his finger under the letters,

"Try to read now...as much as you can. Do your best that's all I ask"

Dreamwolf

Sorrel was quick to learn, a trait he knew many Masters found essential. He watched the finger move under the squiggles and listened intently to the words that came from the Master's mouth. He knew that matching the sounds to the squiggles was the secret, although he had not been told so, he simply knew it. When asked he looked at the passage in question. He saw many symbols that looked like words he had already seen and heard. He carefully, slowly, and most of all willingly, made the sounds that he knew matched the squiggles.

"Daniel moved slowly be-ba-beekanang to the horse. The boy saw that the horse was afraid of the sweeft river waters and de-debtermand he would have to lead (like the metal) the horse across. Impatentlee he pulled the horses lead and forced the horse into the water." The boy looked at the Master. "Did I do well?"


(The first struggled word is beckoned the second is Swift and the third is Determined The fourth I think is easy but its impatiently. Cant have him getting it all right on his first try now can we?)

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