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An Orphan's Tale
The Orphanage
Journal Entry: (Date Unknown)
The Priests have giving me parchments to write, not everybody gets presents. The Monastery does not have much money; we farm, herd and make things to sell in the markets of distant lands that is how we’re able to buy things we need. I’ve never had the privilege to see a town or a market place. I’ve tried running away countless numbers of times, only to wonder back to the place from where I left. I think the forest plays tricks on me, like it doesn’t want me to leave.
From the age of three until I was sixteen, I lived in the orphanage in the country of Zäharök a few miles southwest of the city of Dahömar. Within a few day travels into the Gaithian forest is where an old temple used to be. It has carving of terrible Gods, hieroglyphics of evil deeds; I don’t dare imagine what happened in and around my bedroom. Later it got converted into an orphanage and the dark priest of old left the now silent edifice abandoned. I am sitting right now in the steps of the building feeling nostalgic at the scenery here and somehow I feel a sense of connection to these horrible scenes. Nature as always has taken over what is left unmanaged. Moss grows on the roof and tees have taken residence on top of our home.
I don’t know what to write about. I have no family or home. I live in this Orphanage surrounded by forests. Sometimes I think that the trees are watching me, if not the trees then something else is out there. I’m afraid of the Forests; I’ve heard there are elves in the deepest parts of the woods. I never seen any, I’ve only seen mankind.
The only people that I’ve seen are Old Priests and Priestesses that take care of me and the other kids. We’re all orphans brought here by parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, runaways from slave owners and some with darker pasts. I dare not ask them anything. I can see in their eyes a hurt that runs deep and I know I cannot soothe it away.
I do not judge the one I have not seen with my bare eyes. That is what I tell myself when I begin to wonder about my parents. I don’t know if they were in danger, if they were poor, or sick. There is nothing the priests know about my past, they said that one day I just walked into the Monastery covered in blood and not my own blood. They’re also said that they’re seen shadowy figures moving about the forest. In the morning after everything settled the head Elder was going to track my trail to the place of origin. I don’t remember those days because I was very young at the time. From what I’ve gathered from older kids and other not so quiet priests is that the Head Elder came back silent, never mentioned my condition or what he’d seen. Head Elder Fanner died last winter taking my past to the netherworld. I will never know what land I’m from, I will never know who my people are or my real name. Master Fanner gave me the name Lorik Pelanwood. I don’t know why, it must be a place from where I came; Pelanwood is a section of woods northeast of our location.
However, we are isolated in the world, no contact with the world beyond the forest borders. The only hope we do have of leaving is if the priests find us work in a village. Some just grow old and leave. The only way to leave that I’ve seen is to grow to a certain age. I think the priests have secured our safety by placing magic all around us, preventing us to leave before we’re ready. The other escape is in the Library. There are thousands upon thousands of Codex’s, parchments, scrolls, maps, with every subject imaginable.
However it is my curiosity for the things unknown that lead me into loads of trouble.
The Priests have giving me parchments to write, not everybody gets presents. The Monastery does not have much money; we farm, herd and make things to sell in the markets of distant lands that is how we’re able to buy things we need. I’ve never had the privilege to see a town or a market place. I’ve tried running away countless numbers of times, only to wonder back to the place from where I left. I think the forest plays tricks on me, like it doesn’t want me to leave.
From the age of three until I was sixteen, I lived in the orphanage in the country of Zäharök a few miles southwest of the city of Dahömar. Within a few day travels into the Gaithian forest is where an old temple used to be. It has carving of terrible Gods, hieroglyphics of evil deeds; I don’t dare imagine what happened in and around my bedroom. Later it got converted into an orphanage and the dark priest of old left the now silent edifice abandoned. I am sitting right now in the steps of the building feeling nostalgic at the scenery here and somehow I feel a sense of connection to these horrible scenes. Nature as always has taken over what is left unmanaged. Moss grows on the roof and tees have taken residence on top of our home.
I don’t know what to write about. I have no family or home. I live in this Orphanage surrounded by forests. Sometimes I think that the trees are watching me, if not the trees then something else is out there. I’m afraid of the Forests; I’ve heard there are elves in the deepest parts of the woods. I never seen any, I’ve only seen mankind.
The only people that I’ve seen are Old Priests and Priestesses that take care of me and the other kids. We’re all orphans brought here by parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, runaways from slave owners and some with darker pasts. I dare not ask them anything. I can see in their eyes a hurt that runs deep and I know I cannot soothe it away.
I do not judge the one I have not seen with my bare eyes. That is what I tell myself when I begin to wonder about my parents. I don’t know if they were in danger, if they were poor, or sick. There is nothing the priests know about my past, they said that one day I just walked into the Monastery covered in blood and not my own blood. They’re also said that they’re seen shadowy figures moving about the forest. In the morning after everything settled the head Elder was going to track my trail to the place of origin. I don’t remember those days because I was very young at the time. From what I’ve gathered from older kids and other not so quiet priests is that the Head Elder came back silent, never mentioned my condition or what he’d seen. Head Elder Fanner died last winter taking my past to the netherworld. I will never know what land I’m from, I will never know who my people are or my real name. Master Fanner gave me the name Lorik Pelanwood. I don’t know why, it must be a place from where I came; Pelanwood is a section of woods northeast of our location.
However, we are isolated in the world, no contact with the world beyond the forest borders. The only hope we do have of leaving is if the priests find us work in a village. Some just grow old and leave. The only way to leave that I’ve seen is to grow to a certain age. I think the priests have secured our safety by placing magic all around us, preventing us to leave before we’re ready. The other escape is in the Library. There are thousands upon thousands of Codex’s, parchments, scrolls, maps, with every subject imaginable.
However it is my curiosity for the things unknown that lead me into loads of trouble.