Arrivals from Aiolia, Part 1


  • Non-Participating Baron

    7th of Snow's Birth, 3 SE. Bay of Publius, off the coast of Pompeivitatum

    The waves crashed and crunched against the Magna Onerariis; the coast of Ornthas was only now starting to appear over the horizon after months of travel. The Bay of Publius was a treacherous place, with the reefs and rocks that made up the seabed making mincemeat of all but the sturdiest vessels. On board, a crew of four dozen manned every aspect of the ship, but by far the most important was keeping watch on the cargo, newly developed and shipped from Aiolia, the Ha’adam, or Sentient Golem, were the newest creation of the Eternal. With the immense strength of normal or the Mmuo Ozi golems, and the sentience and intelligence of a man, they were the perfect slave.

    To keep their intellect sharp, the crew of the Magna Onerariis supplied the hundred or so Ha’adam with all manner of books, though neglecting books on sailing as to prevent their cargo with the knowledge to truly escape. Most of the books were about the various Realms of Candarion, ranging from Almuride to Anaetyr. One such Ha’adam vigorously studied as many books on the realm of Martoise as he could get his hands on over the course of the trip, encapsulated by everything from the architecture of their elaborate châteaux and monasteries, to the beauty of their vast lavender fields, to their religion of Ántouism. He had read their holy text of the Sacrésante cover to cover; stories of holy figures such as Saints Amilaus and Saint Jacesteu, the detailed recounts of the Natural Order, by which every follower of Ántou should live in accordance with. It also told of Ántou’s struggle with the chaos that only he keeps at bay. The whole concept fascinated him.

    He had already decided to become a follower of Ántou himself and live in accordance with all his teachings, but with Ornthas on the horizon, he felt an urge to craft an identity for himself, independent of any classification or standard a supervisor might place on him. Looking through the dictionary of the Dántaise language and naming conventions, he had decided on the name of ‘Jean-Jacque Espirt’. In Dántaise, Espirit meant ‘mind’, which Jean-Jacque saw as a play on his own capability of three thought.

    Jean-Jacque Esprit had only just decided on a name for himself when a loud, gruff, human voice called out from the stairs a dozen or so metres away.

    “You maggots better get up and get ready! We’re only a half hour out from Pompeivitatum. If you’re not up on the deck by then, you know what’ll happen”

    Jean put his books back on the shelf he had gotten them from months ago. He doubted he would get the chance to purchase new copies for some time; he had heard that although Ha’adam would have the opportunity to work their own plots of lands to earn money, it was meagre, and left little opportunity for making and substantial coin. Looking out of a small window, he could see the great port of Pompeivitatum loom over the sea named after its founder. Slavery was as entrenched an institution of the lands of House Pompeius as the Nemertingi themselves, and his only real chance at freedom would be through decades of hard work, and even then not guaranteed. Despite the seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against him, he held out hope that one day he would be free.



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