Tales from Florinthus

[Flo]

A collection of stories, legends, vignettes, and moments from the nation of Florinthus and occasionally her neighbors. 

Dates will be occasionally provided, but not always. At times, merely a reference to an era will be included. 

A table of contents will, at a future point, be included in this opening post after a sufficient number of stories have been told.

Happy reading, or not. Who knows how many will see this.

[Flo]

Near the outskirts of Tarleton
The Principality of Tarleton
The Renaissance Period


Edmund lifted his hand to his brow, wiping a thick layer of sweat. The summer heat was getting to him, though the heat of the kilns wasn't helping either. Edmund worked in a coopers workshop, and specifically his role was the layer the cask with pitch, a hot, sticky substance, to ensure it would seal and store wine or other liquids effectively. It was hot, grueling, disgusting work, but it was work nonetheless.

His father had died and the family homestead had been taken by thugs, and so Edmund, the sole provider, was forced to find work near the city to feed his mother and younger sister. Thankfully, he had found favor with a barrel merchant, and thus his lifestyle was made. He despised the work, and would spend all of his free time peeling sticky pitch from seemingly his entire body, but his family was eating.

Barrel and cask making was a large industry in Tarleton due to the large quantities of timber nearby to aid in the production of both the wooden casks and the pitch that sealed them. Once upon a time, there had been tarpits all around (where Tarleton got its namesake) but there were few left that were of any use as they had generally been destroyed or built over. Still, the barrels were used in all sorts of things. The merchant who owned the workshop had connections in the wine industry and that was what most of his barrels ended up being used for. Barrels made with Edmunds help were used all around, including in the high halls of the Prince-Bishop of Tarleton himself.

*Speaking of which...* A trumpet blasted from down the lane near where Edmund was working. That could have meant any noble was passing by with their retinue, but on this particular day, it was the Prince-Bishop himself, along with another high ranking someone or other. Edmund bowed his head as they passed, thankful that he had wiled his brow already. He peered up as they passed and noticed the Prince-Bishop's guest was a foreign religious official, some sort of Pontiff based on the large hat and white and gold robes. Edmund wouldn't have known he was foreign if he hadn't noticed the man speaking a strange language to one of his orderlies.

Edmund didn't know, because he had never been taught, but the man was speaking Lanlian, the language of the empire to the south. He wasn't merely a priest either, but one of the highest ranking officials of the Sentrite Church, on an official visit to the Principality. The position of Prince-Bishop of Tarleton was an odd mixture of nobility and clergy, established when the last noble Prince of Tarleton had died without a century prior. There had been a conflict over who would rule, and the then Bishop of Tarleton had been successful and established himself as a noble ruler over the Principality.

This was at first opposed by religious leaders of the Sentrite Church, and was seen as an abuse of position, but the now Prince-Bishop of Tarleton had assured his superiors that he was acting in good faith and would remember his loyalties to the faith and church. This led to an awkward balance of power in the region.

Nominally, the Prince-Bishop was still a member of the clergy, and was expected to maintain all the roles and trappings of a Bishop. In fact, however, he was more of a noble. Sentrite priests were permitted to marry and sire children, so succession was easily managed. The nobility of Tarleton would not accept becoming total vassals of the Church in Lanlania, so boundaries were established. The taxes and levies of the Principality were not to be given to the Church outright, but were placed under the jurisdiction of a leading member of the local nobility, titled the Lord Protector of Tarleton, who acted as a sort of secular arm of the Prince-Bishop. The Prince-Bishop meanwhile was the true head of the Principality, and generally had final say.

Still, the Church in Lanlania had a close relationship with the Principality, and there were often visits like this one to discuss religious or political matters. This visit, however, was a bit more serious than usual.

The Sentrite Church was alarmed at the recent talks of religious schism. There was a quarrelsome itinerant preacher with the name Daien who had been speaking out against Lanlanian secular influence on the Sentrite Church, and in particular criticizing the political influence on the faith at large.

Lennox Daien, his full name, had not spent much time in Tarleton as it was something of a Sentrite stronghold, but had great influence in the powerful Kingdoms of Balzary and Denil and in fact made semi-permanent residence in Lienes, where he frequented the court of the Balzarian King. This protection made ot difficult for the Church to deal with him, and while the authorities in Lanlania had denounced the Balzarian King there was little they could do... openly, that is. Hence the arrival of an important Sentrite leader to the Principality.

Pity for Edmund, who hardly knew the relevance of the procession moving past him. He had no way of knowing what decisions would be made in the coming days and how they would change the face of the region -- the conflicts that would arise to tear the land apart and shake the various kingdoms, duchies, and indeed, even the principality to their core. If he knew, he would probably flee, because it would be on just one of these conflicts that he would perish only four short years later, in a field many miles from Tarleton.

But that is a story for another time...

[Flo]

Wilmington, Florinthus
Alvan, 1578

Raul lay quietly listening to the gentle snoring of his sons and spouse. They shared a room in the small flat they lived in. It was cramped but comfortable, and certainly better than the repurposed shipping container they had stayed in for over a year when they had first come to Florinthus.

Those had been wild times; It was nearly half a decade ago. The government had declared itself a haven for refugees and found itself harboring hundreds of thousands of refugees in months. Raul and his family had been among them. Most of the refugees had come from Wadiyah and were largely Akhadist, but Raul and his kin had come from Sequoia where they had been experiencing political persecution. Still though, they were all in the same refugee camp, and more than once Raul had been leered at by native Florinthians using words more specifically reserved for Akhadists.

The government was excited about the shipping containers, seeing them as a cost-friendly to house many people quickly, and they did keep the rain out at least, but the reality was they were dingy and unsecure. The doors broke more often than not and Raul could still hear the horrible screams as people were abused. Sexual violence and theft were rampant in those early days. Surely there were police, but they were generally more focused on keeping them in the camps than dealing with what happened within. He had done his best to secure their container with a large beam wedged against the door and it did the job, but he still lay awake some nights wondering if it had all been worth it, similarly to how he was laying now.

There had been an explosion in Wilmington recently. There had been many casualties and the news had been talking about it nonstop. They were on the hunt for the terrorists and there was widespread belief that they were motivated by anti-immigrant and anti-akhadist rhetoric to commit violence.

This was different for Raul. He had always dealt with small things. A comment from a client or co-worker, a dirty look at the market -- just general ignorance. He had gotten used to it and it was mostly rare, anyway. Just a few bad eggs, he had told himself and his kids many times. While this was probably still true, *just a few bad eggs,* the sheer violence these men had resorted to scared Raul in a way he hadn't felt since he had left Sequoia. Here, everything had seemed so quiet and civil. This would have been more expected in Sequoia, where political violence happened more commonly (albeit not generally with explosions). Raul was troubled.

Still, his sons were getting an education -- a real education. His wife was safe in their flat. Raul had work -- decent work with a construction firm, similar to what he did in Sequoia. They were able to live and live well. This was likely still the best decision.

He got up and went into the main room of the flat and switched on the television. The reporters were saying that authorities had caught the suspects. Three men, one was killed while being apprehended. They had holed up in a house where they took a family hostage, though none of them were injured. They showed a clip of the Prime Minister speaking from the day before, and his words echoed in Raul's ears.

"We will not succumb to fear of violence. We will stand steadfast for what is right and do what we must to uphold Florinthia ideals *for all*. These terrorists will not shake our commitment."

Raul certainly hoped that was true.