The bloody and insane pack of hunters approached their targets in the throes of lunacy. The carnage stains the very earth forever red, as the ripping and gnashing of flesh and bones blossom in a torrent to match the fury of the storm. The wind wails and the baby is silenced, as the last vestiges of his life he might have is changed.
The child wakes to the sound of vomiting as a monk passing by spies upon the scene. The baby cries aloud again. There in the sunlight the visual remained, a mocking of the strength the child's parents once had, splattered red across the carpet of the forest floor. The monk was at a loss for works as his stomach heaved yet again, as he wondered at the child's survival.
As the monk tumbled forward he gazed upon the child's figure. The child was a beautiful healthy baby in his opinion. He unwrapped the child's clothing for a closer look and found a single pendant in the cloth.
“Well, wonders never cease,” the monk stated while suppressing another upheaval of his stomach. The lines on the pendant were ornate, and looked to be by the hand of an elf, as the lines curved gently and naturally, beyond the work of most men. Yet the lines were not of vines, nor was the child elven by looks. The lines looked to be an insignia of power and intelligence, and the chain looked as though it was made by men, as the style, while beautifully wrought, matched not the intricacy of the elven craftsman who made the cover. It was entrancing to the monk’s eyes, in contrast to his own plain brown robes.
“Well, little one, I guess we should get you out of here,” the monk spoke as his sad eyes touched the unnamed child. “Won't my Brothers be surprised to see me carrying a child into the monastery?” The monk chuckled a little to himself. He quickly stopped as he turned around to retch out his stomach again. Wiping his mouth, the monk looked upwards toward the sky with a quick prayer, and looked down at the child.
“I'll get you out of here little one, and hopefully before I empty the remainder of my stomach,” The monk said grimly. The monk set out into the forest, and the baby slept again.
*** *** ***
The sun set and rose, and another day dawned as the baby came to. In front of the baby lied an abbey, and a shoulder. The abbey moved ever closer, and the monk from before carried him onward. The child stayed silent, though slightly perturbed by the visual. The baby cried alerting the carrier to its needs.
“Well now, child, what is your problem,” The monk spoke, “I can't do anything for you until we get inside the abbey.” The monk examined the child carefully to examine the problem. “Besides, I don't know babies. Being a monk, you know, kind of stops you from those things,” the monk sighed as he continued to approach the abbey, “And why in the name of Havarath am I speaking to a child who doesn't understand me.” The Abbey doors loomed closer as he stopped, and then yelled, “Brother Alan here, with an orphaned babe and an orphaned stomach.”
“Brother Alan? You're here,” a voice from behind the door questioned, “Wait one moment, I'll get the doors for you.” There was a scuffling about as the doors creaked open, revealing a balding man in service of Havarath. His robes were the color of grain, a light shimmering brown, nearly tan, slashed with a streak of white. “Caring for babes are you now, Brother Alan? I thought you were more the type to try to make them.”
“Very funny Brother Cant. But it is rather hard to not notice a baby in a . . . ” Brother Alan turned quickly as his bile came up again from the mere memory. “A scene as horrifying as that was.” The baby’s silence spoke volumes that Alan did not, as if the horror of the scene had scarred even the child itself.
“I see Brother Alan . . . I see,” Cant moved backwards and sympathetically said, “Hurry, get inside, there have been rumors of a group of slavers in the area.” Cant pondered for a long moment as Alan slowly moved passed. “Are you sure it wasn’t them that created that scene?”
“Brother Cant . . .” Alan quietly turned and spoke, “If those were slavers . . . may any god help the souls of those who were captured. The carnage at that scene . . . I believe no slaver could even conceive of doing that to anyone. They wouldn’t be in business long, anyway.” Alan turned toward the Abbey Father’s doors. He sighed, and braced himself before knocking on the doors.
“Yes, Brother Alan? Something to do with the baby on your back perhaps,” A man in a robe that looked like flowing fields of grain ever shifting in the winds came up to the two from behind. The man held a cane, and looked like it was made for both walking and whacking. “Come on then, let us get food for the child and for you, because you look like you need it.”
“Thank you Father, thank you,” Brother Alan beseeched as the baby was nearly thrown off of the backside of Brother Alan from his vigorous bowing.
“Besides, Brother Alan, I could never trust you with a child, considering the state you’ve left most small things after you’ve touched them,” The Father bellowed a laugh.
“Those toys were an accident,” Brother Alan voiced in indignation.
“One which shouldn’t be repeated again,” The Father responded seriously, “More so when a life hangs in the balance.”
“I understand Father,” Alan sighed in defeat. A neophyte of the Order of Havarath scurried in front of the pair and the child. Another neophyte stopped in his tracks and approached the group.
“Father William, I came to tell you that the preparations are going ahead of schedule and we should be ready for tomorrow morning,” The neophyte hurriedly delivered sounding winded as he waited for response. The neophytes clothing was dirt brown, with a sash of green tying together his clothing, which seemed to be coming undone.
“You had better tie that together Neophyte . . . Cornwall was it? Anyway, we want our neophytes in their neophyte clothing, not newborn clothing,” Father William laughed again, as was quickly becoming his penchant reaction.
“Yes, Father, I will do so, Father,” Neophyte Cornwall blushed, and scurried away. As he tried to tie together his clothing he clashed into another neophyte running down the halls. Father William sighed and shook his head.
“What’s going on tomorrow morning, Father,” Alan asked, concern in his eyes, and in his stomach as it growled.
“Well, Brother Alan, the King is visiting tomorrow from his hunt, and shall be receiving his meal here. He has had his fair share of noise at home, what with the two children and another on the way. He doesn’t have as much opportunities at quiet time at home nowadays,” Father Alan responded.
“Hunts are quiet,” Brother Alan questioned, and the baby yawned.
“The quiet he’s looking for is probably not the one you’re thinking of. Not that he doesn’t love his wife and children . . . he does, nearly to much. Heck, the King loves children so much the wife has to make sure she sends someone along so he doesn’t empty out orphanages,” The Father sighed, “Who knows the affairs of the crown? Let’s get something to eat first.”
The hallway was filled with more and more neophytes, brothers, and elder brothers as they moved nearer to the core. The baby watched his surroundings as he passed by a multitude of the colors of the earth and her crops. Smells of grain and meat filled the air with an enticing scent. And a door to a small dining room cracked open, revealing but a few of the Order of Havarath inside. Two members near the entrance to the kitchen peered out, and ducked back inside, where pots clanged and food was prepared. A neophyte ran out of the kitchen, looking surprised to see Father William inside the dining area.
“Boy, prepare two meals and some milk and gruel for a baby,” Father William barked out at the surprised neophyte, who rushed back into the kitchen to deliver the order. Father William motioned to a table and took a seat, as Brother Alan held the child and sat down. “So, Brother Alan, I see you finally managed to sow your oats.”
“Father,” Brother Alan choked out in exasperation, “how can you even assume that?”
“I’ve seen your drawings you did as a neophyte, Brother Alan, need I say more,” Father William said flatly.
“Father, that was a good five years ago, besides, I’ve only been gone for six months, and I last left the Abbey a year before that. Few women want a man of Havarath’s order. They think they sow their seeds like their plants, far and wide,” Brother Alan replied, exasperated.
“Then how did the child come about, Brother Alan,” Father William asked.
“I found the child in a scene of . . . well to be sure Father, I cannot truly describe the horror without losing the contents of my stomach. The carnage was but a day from these abbey doors. I’m unsure on how the child survived, but I found the child in swaddling clothes and a pendent around his neck which I have in my pack,” Brother Alan explained slowly, as the facts ran through his head. A neophyte came with food and the milk for the baby, as the baby peered slowly at the neophyte. The neophyte looked to have been put off by the child, and walked back confused. Brother Alan reached into his pack and pulled out the pendent and began speaking, “But whoever his parents were, they were of some status to own this pendant. I’ve never seen something like it.”
Father William peered at the pendant, nearly looking entranced by its beauty. The Father replied, “I have not seen anything like it either Brother Alan. We might as well get the baby fed then, and ponder about the situation tomorrow. Keep the pendant with the child’s other items.” And with that the table fell silent as Father William began to eat.
]Brother Alan responded, “As you wish, Father.” And followed suit. The baby eagerly took food and drink, until he could no more.
“Oh, by the way Brother Alan, take care of the child,” Father William spoke, before leaving an exasperated Brother Alan with a baby he had to take care of. Alan took this opportunity to sigh and pick up the baby, and headed off to change the child’s clothing and take care of its’ problems.
*** *** ***