Irish With A Tan

Your Online Cup of Tea

The Crown Saga: Journalings of Ovilia Skyworthy (Parchment 1)

Image
Born as a slave to a cruel master in the ancient land of Avalonia, Ovilia always felt like she was destined for more. Clever, stubborn and bitterly determined, frustrations mount as nothing ever seems to change. Until the new servant arrives. Strange things begin to happen. Her past is revealed. And Ovilia discovers a powerful secret connecting her to the mysterious book of “Time and Eternity”. Giving Ovilia a mission: Find the book. Change the past. Destroy her master.
 
Come, and hear of an adventure filled with mystery. Where the journey brings with it only more questions. Leading to an answer of hope, that none could anticipate.
This…  is The Crown Saga.
——————————————————————————————————————————

I was given this journal on my eight birthday by one of the other servants. Though I have not made much use of it till now. If Prici, my owner found out about this, I would be in serious trouble. But then again, I’m always in trouble. Last week at her yearily Feast, I added a foul tasting, frog sauce to the main dish. I don’t know why, but I did. I hate Prici! Then again, hate is such a strong word… but not strong enough! Despise? Loath? Abhor! Yes Abhor! I like how that rings true on the lips. Abhooor. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m brilliantly clever and skilled above my male peers (not to mention non slaves), I would have been killed a long time ago. Not to mention the fact that Oneri, my owner’s husband, has more or less regarded me as the daughter he’s never had. I know what that Prici would have me dead. But she fears the law. I’m a Scallovian. Of the Scallovian Reign. I may not be free but at least I’m not an Avalonian. I’ve greater protection. Legally. Though I am a woman and slave. Nevertheless I can out-wit any free man and hunt better than any huntsman. Still, that doesn’t matter. If I can’t earn enough money to buy my freedom, then nothing else matters. I’m sixteen now. I’ve managed to save a lot of Silca to go towards my freedom. It will happen one day! Then I’ll exact my revenge on Prici. She’ll wish that I had never been born. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if she already did. Well, I have finished my introduction to this journal. Soon, one day, others will read this and they will learn about what I’ve experienced. Plays will be written about me. Why? Because I am Ovilia Skyworthy!

6th Juner Montaz
Pardon the horrible hand-writing. I was rushed. Prici was going to be home soon. I didn’t have time. Oh no, I just wrote her name with a capital letter! How could I? I didn’t want to grace those five abominable letters, when written together, with a capital. I hate her. I abhor her very breath. Enough about her. Today I heard from Pilsip that a new servant was going to join the household. There are many here. Too many! Over 50. He (yes a boy, as always), is supposed to be brilliant. There’s nothing he cannot do, (apparently). Sounds like an arrogant slave will soon brace us. I believe that it’s Prici’s ploy to replace me. So that maybe she can do away with me without Oneri caring. How evil of her. Her wickedness knows no bounds. I don’t care, no-one has been able to do better than me in anything, ever. Why should he be a challenge? I don’t care. Prici’s plan will not work! Not on me it will not! Aargh! Foreshock! I’ve written her dreaded name in capitals. Oh that woman!
7th Juner  Tuetaz
I like changing my handwriting. I don’t have one I like. It’s an annoying habit of mine. Today was interesting. Oh I’m being modest. The Archers Guild (a group of which Oneri is a part of) were hosting “The Yearly Dance of Champions”. It’s a three day event. The best archers from around the world come here, to my very own backyard and challenge each other. To see which of them will be champion. Oneri offers the winner many great prizes. Including any slave of their choosing. Good thing for me that I’m usually indoors and away from the main event. I wouldn’t want to be taken by some random weird man. However, this year was different. Prici (oh a capital!) prici insisted that I serve the horses and bring food to the competitors this year. The garden was full of people each so wonderfully decorated with the most envious of garments. The pompous fools!
 They look down on me because I’m a servant (I prefer servant to slave). Looking out of the window on the second floor of my owner house you could see it all. Below me were stands full of wine. The guests could drink to their pleasure. I managed to steal a bottle and hide it. They won’t miss it. Why would they? There were also many tents all over the grass. The garden is very wide and extremely long, rectangular in shape. The first half, the one nearest to me is where all the tents are. Merchants have paid much money to sell here. Not only that but there was much to entertain the pompous guests. The flaming knife throwers are scary. Having red feathers around their necks, while wearing flowing red robes and long coned shaped coverings on their feet they were ugly. Really. Adults, with feathers on their necks, throwing knives, alight with fire. I wonder were their parents failed. However, that wasn’t the best part of the day. I was serving a plate of roasted sheep eyes (I don’t approve of that dish), I had to carry them in a basket whilst walking by different tents. All these dignitaries love the rotten eyeballs.
One person in particular was particularly odd. He had the sharpest, pointy beard that I’ve ever seen. A long sort of face. A bit of his black hair could be seen underneath a blue cone shaped hat. He had on a long decorated shirt, which went a little below his waist. The back of his shirt extended down into two long triangular points, almost brushing off the floor. There was an awkward gleam in his eye. I didn’t like the way he stared. But when he saw me, I knew he noticed. Well, I am fair. No use in denying truth. If I were a free girl (sorry) woman, I would have been given to marriage by now. Not that I would want to be. Anyhow, who would have sent me to be married? I have no parents that I know of. Anyways, there’s no pity on my part. I wouldn’t want to be married off. On top of that, this man seems peculiar. I’ve tried to avoid him. I would do everything I could to make sure that where he was, I was not. Yet, either he really likes his salted, roasted, sheep eyeballs. Or he was trying to speak to me. Sadly, I couldn’t avoid him. The odd-looking man, possibly in his twenties, came over asking for the “pleasant things” he called them. How anyone can eat that” there must be something wrong with them. I made sure not to avoid eye contact. I just stared at the “pleasant things” rather than his face.
He had a very strong scent about him. The overwhelming aroma of frankincense, he was obviously wealthy… and way too much absorbed with his appearance to shower himself with that much scent, as a man. Like I said earlier, either he really likes his salted, roasted sheep eyeballs or he was trying to speak to me. Obviously shy, he said nothing. But every time I tried to move away, he would say,
“I must try another one”. After three times of him asking, I had enough. What was his game? So I snarkly told him,“Save some for the others, cut your greed!” He laughed a little. Either to mock me or because he was nervous.
“I do not think, this any way to treat your guest,” he replied.
“I do not own this house, neither am I hosting this event. You are not my guest.” I tried to walk away. He was persistent.
“There are others who are serving your ‘pleasant things.’ Go and pester them.”
“Am I pestering you?”
“Oh no, “ I said snidely “I enjoy talking to pompous individuals here, but I guess you’ll have to suffice.”
“Oh, I insist that your attitude changes.”
“Do you wish pain on yourself?”
“Woman, I’ve come from afar and have fought the mightiest of men, do you think I fear you or your vain remarks?”
“Hand me a bow or a sword and you will!” There, was that awkward gleam again. He put the back of his hand against my hair and started to sway it back and forth. So without any reservation, I bit him.
“Oh you daft, daft-
“Coner! There you are!” Oneri arrived just in time. Another moment of this man and surely I would have hurt him or better… killed. I wish I could. But then I’d never be able to buy my freedom. No murderer could ever become a free citizen, under Scallovian law. And I wasn’t going to throw away my freedom, well, chance of freedom. Oneri reintroduced me to Coner. Surprisingly, Coner made no mention of the recent incident. And gladly so. Any chance Prici could take to make me miserable, she would.
“Ovilia would make a great addition to the Guild,” said Oneri to Coner, “If she were free,” he added. Not to try and insult me. Oneri was simply stating the truth. The stupidly obvious truth. Coner obviously found this funny, for he almost choked on his sheep-eyeball. Oh sigh! Almost. His laughter was exaggerated. As if to try and hurt me. I do not know what he expected. I did not care what he thought.
“I could out skill you in archery any time!” I snapped at him. Why did I retaliate? I mean why should I care?
“I’m sure you could… and that, after much practice, and with me dead of course,” he jeered.
“I’ll see to it,” I replied. Oneri found it all to amusing.
“You know something,” said Coner, “that would not be a bad idea.” Oneri was confused. So was I. It wasn’t clear where he was going. And by the sound of his voice, I wouldn’t like it either.
“You should allow Ovilia to enter the championship. This will test her out for the Guild… if ever she gained her freedom. And who knows, a young, charming, benefactor might even select her as his choice servant and free her.” It was obvious by the look on Oneri’s face that he didn’t like the sound of it. If Coner won, he would choose me as his prize. The horrid fool! I believed that Oneri realized this and immediately shook his head, laughing nervously, saying no. All the yet, Oneri added that he would like to watch me compete, to see how I “would fare.” What?!
8th Juner  Wentaz
Yesterday, the guests had arrived, people from all over came to introduce themselves and look at the competition. I had the great displeasure of meeting Coner, again. And it was no better today. Prici, once again, made sure that I would be outside, in full view of the guests. Oh how they love to stuff themselves. Except for the Avalonians. Well, a few of them. The “loyalists” they were called. These stuck to old out of date traditions of their people. They do not like Scallovians. Well, no one would like being ruled by a superior race. Good thing too that there are no superior races to Scavollians. Yet what does that matter to me? I’m a slave, a little less than a dog, yet more than an Avalonian. They don’t eat anything sheep related. How bizarre. I’ll never understand them. Speaking of Avalonians, the new slave, he is Avalonian. They are so stubborn. Oh how they nerve me. Most of them stay together, ignoring all other slaves. Maybe I should clear up a bit of the confusion. There are hired servants, for certain matters, servants who live with their masters, then slaves. However a Scavllovian slave gets better treatment than other ones. Or so the law says. Even still, as far as prici is concerned, I am but a slave. Oh, I loathe her. Two full moons ago, I was made to sleep outside, for not washing her robes to the impossible standard she required. Oneri stood silent, doing nothing about it! I need to be free! Free of this life. And prici will pay!
I suppose that this new servant, will have to learn all on his own the horrid nature of living here. He is quite bizarre, way too gleeful for a slave. And very healthy in appearance. He probably won’t last a week. As I was working in the main courts, handing food, I would often see the guests laughing as he tended to them. He even received a few bronze coins! They thanked him for his service. A slave! Not even a servant. Oh I despise him already. I will buy freedom one day. And I can’t have Another taking precious money away from me. I see prici all over this. Her plan to keep me forever. That wicked owl!
9th Juner  Thurtaz
Today was the strangest of all days. I don’t really know what to make of it. Things are getting far too weird around here. Again I was out among the guests, except this time, I was to clean their feet. Oh I hate this task above all others. Tell me to clean the waste that their livestock have left but do not ask me to wash their feet. However, I had not so much as filled the bucket with water and that new slave, the Avalonian, greeted me by the well.
“Step out of my way,” I shouted. He just smiled and reached for the bucket.
“What do you want!” I declared loudly, hitting away his hands.
“I’ve come to take your burden,” he said smiling, bending to pick up the bucket.
“My burden,” I replied, “is just that, MINE!”
“Not anymore,” he answered, “I’ve asked to do it instead.” At first I didn’t understand this. Then I thought: Of course! Does he take me for a fool? Am I only a child that I wouldn’t take notice? Foreshock! This was obviously prici’s play. To make me of no use. To make me appear to be a sluggard for the purpose of justifying her ill treatment of me. She’ll probably force me to a diet of bread and water. I believe she wants to then work me to death. Owl! Stork! Stork-Owl!
“Oh you would only want that!” He looked at me, with a face of no understanding. As if he didn’t know, this deceiver.
“You want to make me appear the sluggard.”
“What makes you think that?”
“No one chooses the least of all jobs. Why would you do that?”
“This least of all jobs is of great importance. If their feet are dirty and smell, who will want to come to such an event?” Worm! He thinks I’m so easily led by speculation and words.
“At least,” he added ,“let me wash their feet and you will carry the water and dry them with towels.” Now, I would really be a fool if I resisted this opportunity. As long as it appeared that I was working just as hard as he. “Fine.” That was all I said. Though he didn’t answer my question, “Why would you do that?”
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Information

This entry was posted on October 31, 2013 by in Fantasy, Short Stories, The Crown Saga and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Navigation

%d bloggers like this: