There's over a metre of snow outside my house, so what else is there to do but write? And shovel...
The Old Man and the Slave
It was a cool Laurian summer's morning. The wheat cast long shadows as the sun rose in the east. Gregor set down his scythe for a moment and watched the old Laurian farmer. He was working quickly, harvesting the wheat faster than Gregor could. His back was even more hunched than usual, with the weight of the crop pushing down on him. Paulo was his name, he was around fifty years old, around being the main word, for he had lost count of the exact number long ago. He had four sons and two daughters. One daughter was married to a nearby farmer while the other had died of the pox when she was a young child. As for the sons, they had left for the army long ago. The old man did not know if they were alive or dead. His wife had died while giving birth to the surviving daughter, a good fourteen years ago. Now, Gregor was the only one left at the farm. He had come to care for the old man, the man who owned him.
Gregor was born in the Imperial State. He was the son of a farmer, not unlike the man who he now served. His village lay on a contested island on the Iller River. When word came that the Laurians were marching towards them, Gregor had joined the militia. He was fifteen. An inexperienced colonel had led the Kaiserlichers. He was the son of a General, and had been guaranteed the position. The Laurians were led by a renowned knight, who had fought in Haelmar and Bermian. The colonel told Gregor and the other men to get in a line and fire. It was his only order. The Laurians came from three directions, Gregor and the others didn't know which group to shoot at. The battle was a disaster. The pikes and blades of the Laurians tore through the line of Kaiserlichers. Gregor had dropped his gun, and tried to run away. A Herruelo rode him down and clubbed him on the head with the butt of his arquebus. Gregor woke up to find himself in a chain of prisoners.
They were marched to Tihr and crammed into a galleon. They spent three weeks crossing the Obello Sea. In the dark hold of the ship, the men told stories of the fate of prisoners taken by the Laurians. One man firmly believed that prisoners were forced to fight to the death for the entertainment of Laurian lords. Over a dozen off them died en route, and were thrown overboard. When they finally reached a port town in Lauria, they were put into a walled enclosure, and stripped naked. By that point, they had ceased talking. The next day they were paraded in front of a crowd and auctioned off. That was the day Paulo bought Gregor, and his new life began. He had been lucky.
Paulo sat by the well and took a long drink from the bucket. His whole body ached, and although it was not hot, he was drenched with sweat. Gregor had told him that the weather in Obello was much cooler than in Calradia. The old man wondered how much more. Surely not as much as the southern lands. He had heard that snow never fell in the southern lands, and great lizards roamed all year long, never disappearing into the earth like in Lauria.
He felt small. The farthest he had travelled was to the capital once, when the Queen was crowned. It had taken five days to walk there. He still remembered the great walls of stone, the maze of streets and alleys, the throngs of people standing outside the gates, as the Queen spoke to the people from atop the walls. It was amazing. The Queen was no beauty, but he had been unable to take his eyes off of her.
Of course, she was the reason his sons were gone. Her wars had stolen away the youth of Lauria. Parents saw most, if not all of their sons leave their humble homes in search of glory and adventure. Some would return, gloating about how they had served the Queen, but never wanting to actually describe the battles. A neighbour's boy had burst into tears at the sound of a bucket falling into an empty well. Others would never come back, their fate remaining a mystery. Had they found glory, or an early grave? Most people relied on slaves, now that children could not be counted on for help. Slaves tilled the fields, built the buildings, and carried the trade goods. The wars ensured a plentiful source, but a foreigner who arrived unable to speak Laurian was nothing like a son. Most of them, at least.
Paulo looked at Gregor, hard at work in the field. He had gotten the village priest to write out a will. Gregor would be set free and become the owner of the farm. He had considered freeing Gregor countless times. However, he was too afraid. What if he left, trying to return to the State? No, it could wait until his death. The man was treated well, like a son. He
was the same age as Paulo's youngest. He can wait, Paulo thought to himself. It won’t be much longer, anyways.
Edit: Paulo is Portuguese... Oh well, the Laurians aren't acutally Spanish.
(speaking of which, i love all the lore piece here on the thread, keep them coming)
