Crows Barrowborn

[Tarvam 33]

 

Crashing waves and the spittle of sea-foam were all that the two barrow-borns knew as home. So when the calls of "Godani Jest Wielki; Abresi ahead!", "Land Hoy!", "At last, the motherland" rang from the countless sailors of Uncle Franz's retinue, gripping knots twisted and tightened in the young Siguine's stomach. Anton, on the other hand, could barely contain his joy at the distant flecks of greenery across the long sea. The carrack of Franz-Josef heading ashore, both barrows merely mouthed the word "motherland" as the ship embarked closer and closer to the ports of Oren and countless memories of their sea-faring adventures flooded in nostalgia. 

 

The two barrow-borns were not of Franz-Josef Carrion's stock as he loved to remind them. He was merely Uncle Franjo, a distant yet surrogate father figure whom was the closest thing to family the Barrows had. They knew their lineage quite well nonetheless. Siguine was the royal bastard; the baseborn boy of Ostromir the First of Name, progenitor of Carrion Absolutism and the first Vochnik to sit on the Renatian throne. His pedigree curried some favor with Uncle Franjo; Siguine's bastardy was overlooked in lieu of the royal blood which trickled in the blue inklings sprawled across his pale complexion and every sailor on deck knew his status above his counterpart. Anton was the Barrow's Barrow; the bastard of the legitimized bastard Diedrik Carrion the Second and one of his courtiers. Both were made fatherless only months after their births, and both were sold to Franz-Josef for a hefty sum; Siguine was purchased for two thousand coin while Anton for five thousand.

 

Their formative years were spent nursed by a young sister of the Faith whom Franz-Josef deliberately chose as the milk mother; a woman who would not be tempted nor taken by the myriad of carnal desires which sailors at sea often had. The notion of these boys being fed on milk most holy only added to their mystique on the ship deck. While Siguine was given a strict and thorough education befitting a master theologian, Anton was more neglected. Franz never expected nor valued the boy to be worth his blood as Crow, but as if to put his uncle to shame, Anton quickly learned from the sailing crew the fine art of dueling; the sell-swords on deck from all across the world were in awe of the boy's grasp in combat. An exemplary swordsman and genius academic grew close despite their distant blood as they regarded another as bratya, brothers, with Uncle Franjo guiding them in their perilous voyages in pursuit of ancient Raevir heirlooms long gone.

 

As the ship made dock and fanfare arose on Anthosian soil in return of Franz-Josef, two boys in fine garb were overshadowed by the prince's return. However, perhaps in time they would make a name for themselves, the twin Crows born of the barrows.

 

OOC: Just a post introducing my character and World_Hopper's characters. Normally I would think there would be no need, but since we are related to the royal family I figure it would be good to write up a quick post. In conjecture with Esterlen's post of course.

[Esterlen 4499]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XU32msEFn3c

 

Franz-Josef was many things, but a coward he was not.

 

Thirteen years, it had been, since he had last laid eyes upon Oren. A pathetic excuse for a priest who had made away with two bastard boys and fled the realm to go about his own devices. Father would have laughed at him and called him a coward. His father always knew best, the Old Crow, and he would have said that it was Franz's responsibility to stay and help his nephew rule over men. 'Family is all,' he remembered being told when he quarreled with his older brother. He wasn't afraid, though, all he wanted to do was show his father and his brother that he was worthy of their praise. That he, the boy they had called 'Franjo', was not as weak and bookish as they said he was.

 

He had embarked on this voyage across seas far, known and unknown, to show them that he was just as much a warrior as they were. Not that it mattered anymore though, for Ostromir was a madman, Fyodor a cripple, Milena a traitor and Siegmund had as of late been rendered nothing but a cold corpse. Nevertheless, after his father's death he vowed then and there that he would return one day to claim what was his, at the helm of his ship, bearing the discarded artifacts of his clan and with Ostromir's bastard at his side, who he had made every effort to ensure did not turn out as his father did.

 

They had found what they were looking for. Whether it was sailing from bustling port to port in distant lands, circumnavigating the Autumn Sea, conquering islands and cowing tribesmen in the name of God, Franz and the two Barrows had done it all. Arjen's Hand was the carrack they sailed, named after some long and forgotten Kaedreni knight that was some kin to his mother Helaine, and the ship had docked just off the coast of Old Raev, a land where a myriad of strange, alien peoples had once warred with one another and built up their mud-brick castles, the common people fighting with nothing better than copper and sometimes black iron. Now it was desolate, bereft of any human activity, what little ruins remained overgrown and thick with vines and roots. He had taken his crew, armed and armored, and explored what he could.

 

 

What they saw in the ruins of the city of Khazav left only the three crows and an additional two men in Franz's retinue, the mysterious blonde-haired knight known only as Ser Lothar Jrent and the man-at-arms Joren of Greywyn, alive. To continue in their journey, he was required to buy slaves with what little gold he had to man the carrack. He had, though, succeeded in his mission, recovering the Crown of Black Barbov and 'Svjetlast', the Blade of Kosan the Fox, ancient artifacts that represented to the Raevir of old the right to rule them, ancient artifacts which had, after all, been lost by Franz's father's father's great-father. It is said that after the events in Khazav, his resolve somewhat faltered and he turned to drink - but any who would say that in his presence are like to find themselves short of a tongue, as the boy Siguine would delicately put it.

 

Franz didn't care for their blood. They were lowborn bastards, yes, but they were kin and they were the closest thing to sons he would ever likely have. But most importantly, he had instilled in them his sense of justice. Every man would reap what he had sown come the end, and mercy would make an example of nobody. To be truly just and honorable was to obey every law of man unfailingly, and a good act does not wash out the bad, nor the bad the good. Father, he felt, would be proud of him.

 

The scholarly boy Franjo had died at sea. It was Franz of House Carrion who had sailed home on Arjen's Hand, a brave and calculating warrior, with a sword in one hand and a crown in the other.

 

Soon, he would place that crown atop his head.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.