19th of Ymiden, Arc 718
"I want to tell you --"
. . .
"The story of Elena Moore, and Clara Dawidoff. The story of us."
The Rite of Two. Act One; The Birth.
Born on a farm, the two of them, to a place known as Skalden on the southwestern fringes of Oakleigh. A place where the people still call themselves Sheoran, and speak with one so peculiar a tone and dialect. Common, but an uncommon common. One not befitting of the gloriously divine Rynlists, nor their millions of fallaciously learned serfs.
In Skalden, Rynlism was not even followed. They still lingered on a history much older than them - something obscure, perhaps even darkly. Some of them found their faith in the arcane, after the legacy of the fallen Empire. Some found it in spiritual figures unknown. But regardless of the quirks of this spell-bound community, Elena and Clara had been born to it all the same, upon the ever-struggling rural fields, towed and suffered by men with seeds, rakes and hoes.
Growing up, they had both been educated to do the same thing. Farm. And of course, train their beauty, so that they may capture a suitor to ensure both the prosperity of their bloodline, and also, the stability of their health and wealth. To procreate between the sexes was, of course, still much the primary purpose of Rynmere's proletarian caste -- particularly those outside the ducal establishments led by the Seven's ancestry.
To marry another was to ensure the accumulation of wealth, the growth of land and prominence, and more. So of course, the two were instructed in obtaining what they did not yet know they wished for, as they made havoc of the fields and forever embellished their own childish insanity, to the grins and screams of their parents.
"And that's all. No great curveball, no compromising detail. Simple us, simple parents. But only for a few arcs."
"I want to tell you --"
. . .
"The story of Elena Moore, and Clara Dawidoff. The story of us."
The Rite of Two. Act One; The Birth.
Born on a farm, the two of them, to a place known as Skalden on the southwestern fringes of Oakleigh. A place where the people still call themselves Sheoran, and speak with one so peculiar a tone and dialect. Common, but an uncommon common. One not befitting of the gloriously divine Rynlists, nor their millions of fallaciously learned serfs.
In Skalden, Rynlism was not even followed. They still lingered on a history much older than them - something obscure, perhaps even darkly. Some of them found their faith in the arcane, after the legacy of the fallen Empire. Some found it in spiritual figures unknown. But regardless of the quirks of this spell-bound community, Elena and Clara had been born to it all the same, upon the ever-struggling rural fields, towed and suffered by men with seeds, rakes and hoes.
Growing up, they had both been educated to do the same thing. Farm. And of course, train their beauty, so that they may capture a suitor to ensure both the prosperity of their bloodline, and also, the stability of their health and wealth. To procreate between the sexes was, of course, still much the primary purpose of Rynmere's proletarian caste -- particularly those outside the ducal establishments led by the Seven's ancestry.
To marry another was to ensure the accumulation of wealth, the growth of land and prominence, and more. So of course, the two were instructed in obtaining what they did not yet know they wished for, as they made havoc of the fields and forever embellished their own childish insanity, to the grins and screams of their parents.
"And that's all. No great curveball, no compromising detail. Simple us, simple parents. But only for a few arcs."