Book of Organisations

4 articles in category Book of Organisations / Subscribe

Tthey walked for two lunar cycles, stopping at every village and township along the way. Everywhere they went, they were welcomed with open arms by the villagers, who loved the blind old man. Though Saw’ah did not speak a word of their language initially, through listening to Sam’uel’s stories around the campfire and being tutored by the man during the day as they walked, Saw’ah soon learned to speak it well. In fact, his knowledge of his new language and his ability to express himself in it was soon much better than in his native tongue, which he had only learned to speak in the guttural form, having grown up around the roughest sorts and not expected to answer his mistress with anything but, “yes, mistress”.

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The once-slave and now-champion swore his fealty to Duke Usifan. He is one of the Grand Flock. And this is the highlight of his life.

Tthe whip cracked through the air, startling all those in its vicinity, though the one it was intended for did not so much as pause in his flight. “Stop, slave,” a harsh and brittle voice yelled, alerting all those in the market to the fact that a scrawny, malnourished boy was committing the worst crime imaginable, that of attempting to flee his master and righteous punishment.

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6 years later…..

Sso who is Usifan if you don’t mean the present heir to the duchy?” Asked the orphan quizzically, his voice crackling in a sign he had eventually embarked on the path to manhood. His lips were lined with soft fuzz, though of course he couldn’t see it. The teacher answered patiently: “Tales say the original Usifan was one of the sons of the banished Qin “Mann”.”

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 Tthe flock of children crowded around the blind storyteller, peppering him with one question after another. Their parents stood behind them, indulgent smiles on their faces as they watched their sons and daughters’ faces light up with joy and wonder as old Sam’uel regaled them with tales of the high and mighty, the low and infamous, and the wicked yet alluring. They had listened to the same tales as youngsters at the feet of Sam’uel, when his hair was as black as coal and he still had most of his teeth.

His mane was now more salt than pepper and he had but five of his teeth left, yet he could still spin a tale that would entrance the hearts of young and old. No one could sit in his presence and not be beguiled by the words that fell from his lips in a soft, deep timbre. That he had returned to the village after six years was a cause for celebration. The villagers had not had many visitors since the war began, being too close to the border, and they had feared that Sam’uel had died. But now that he was here, the headman had called for a celebration and the entire village had set out a feast, with their finest casks of ale cracked open and relished by all.

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