Stepping Into The Fold|Darkthrone, New Morilanta
Mar 6, 2011 1:46:19 GMT -5
Post by Kender Bard on Mar 6, 2011 1:46:19 GMT -5
The children of Grandisle had been weeded. It had been a gradual process. Many of the remaining children hadn't even really noticed after a while. A child was around one day and then suddenly not there for breakfast the next. There wasn't a pattern that their young minds could grasp. In truth, some of them were found 'undesirable' and simply removed while others had actually been quite promising and had been given away to middle class families looking for part slave, part investment.
The original group had been narrowed down to six children in this way. Their routine was unvarying. Each morning they woke from their pallets of straw to eat a plain breakast of mashed oats. Then the children were herded to the temple where they were given lessons. These lessons touched on a few things necessary to all young children fortunate enough to be schooled--letters, sums, and the such. But the emphasis was on the Morilanta culture. Some of it was quite frank and a little shocking in its cruelty, but other parts had been given a special spin. They were reasonable, they made sense.
After this, the six (who were all favored in some way) were allowed to roam the temple at their pleasure. By night time, they were gathered up again to be taken back to their shack. Once or twice a child ran away during their free time, never to be seen again. The remaining children were told in rather grisly detail what fate awaited these runaways. Slavery by the poor, at the best.
"You are clothed, fed, and, most importantly, kept safe in my care," Melissa would tell them. "So be thankful. You could have ended up in the slave auctions and then Forces only know where you'd be now. Dead, probably."
And so the days went. This morning was greeted a little differently. As the children ate, their caretaker announced, "We'll be moving into much nicer quarters soon. Isn't that grand?"
The original group had been narrowed down to six children in this way. Their routine was unvarying. Each morning they woke from their pallets of straw to eat a plain breakast of mashed oats. Then the children were herded to the temple where they were given lessons. These lessons touched on a few things necessary to all young children fortunate enough to be schooled--letters, sums, and the such. But the emphasis was on the Morilanta culture. Some of it was quite frank and a little shocking in its cruelty, but other parts had been given a special spin. They were reasonable, they made sense.
After this, the six (who were all favored in some way) were allowed to roam the temple at their pleasure. By night time, they were gathered up again to be taken back to their shack. Once or twice a child ran away during their free time, never to be seen again. The remaining children were told in rather grisly detail what fate awaited these runaways. Slavery by the poor, at the best.
"You are clothed, fed, and, most importantly, kept safe in my care," Melissa would tell them. "So be thankful. You could have ended up in the slave auctions and then Forces only know where you'd be now. Dead, probably."
And so the days went. This morning was greeted a little differently. As the children ate, their caretaker announced, "We'll be moving into much nicer quarters soon. Isn't that grand?"