Arramust Bellason

Volume 1
The Chronicles of Arramust Bellason: Journey to the Landing
(Translated from Original Oirean by the Scribe Ortell Baslmertle, Master Translator)

(Translator’s Note: Because Oire is the poorest and least consequential barony in the Turamzzyrian Empire, little is known of the commoners. Originally I had questioned the historical accuracy of the Ritual of Spring including its’ scandalous activities suggested in this chronicle. However, given High Seer Plausteron’s premonitions regarding the future historical importance of the human Arramust Bellason, I commissioned further research by my best Junior Translators and Human Culture Experts. What was first thought to be more a typical young human male’s adolescent fantasy has been determined to be both accurate and likely to have occurred as has been translated. Of course, I neither condone nor suggest such activities should be widely encouraged or conducted.)

Greetings and I be thanking ye for reading about my life. I be called Arramust Bellason of Oire, disciple of Oleani and her consort Phoen; and Oath Protector of Iodinna. As a Paladin, it be my righteous duty to release the wretched undeads from their torment. As a human, it also be my righteous duty to rid the lands of those decadent “nobles” - mostly human - who’s greed and avarice denies a bountiful life to the poor and starving amongst us. Many from all races of Elanthia are denied their fair share of the fruits and bounties of Elanthia while the few from all races of Elanthia, capture, nae “steal” the riches of our fair land. Such stealing tis a vial plague, a pestilence driven by the arrogance and corruption of power by self-designated “nobles.” It be my righteous duty to release the living from their torment of poverty and chains of oppression.
I was raised by hard working and honest parents in a small and mostly forgotten part of the empire. My parents, Isabella and Girranson, toiled side by side in a modest vineyard outside New Myssar, our capital. They were so deeply in love that Oleani herself would smile from above when she saw them holding hands in the vineyard and singing to each other. My father grew the finest of the grapes that went into ruby-hued Oire port that frequently graces the tables of “nobility” throughout the empire. He was proud of his work even though what the “nobles” paid for their delicacy was nary enough for my father to even buy an ounce of what the hands and hearts of my parents made. Indeed, his use of the land was a mere one season rental with no guarantee of renewal and a high likelihood that if this season’s harvest was nae as good as last years he would lose the land. The “nobles” had no intention of changing life in Oire so they provided little in the way of education or other ways to help the peasants improve our lot in life.
The woman of our little village knew better than the men that their children and their children’s children were destine for a life of hard work and poverty as their reward. The women banded together, pooled together what little surplus existed in the village, and brought in a teacher from New Myssar to teach their children to read and write. Using the scant resources of the village for teaching happened over the objections of my father (and most males in the village). They were convinced one need nae know how to read and write to harvest the bounty of the soil, even though the “nobles” came and took most of the bounty for themselves. He also feared the entire village would be punished for letting their son’s and daughters know what only “nobles” were supposed to know. As a result, my childhood was spent by day in the vineyard with my parents and by night with my books, my classmates and new ideas.
At every harvest, with my mother and me standing in the door of our hovel, my father would kneel - sadly I came to see it as “grovel” - to the “noble” who controlled the lands in our village as he collected our crop. With head bowed and nose to the ground, my father would thank that “noble” profusely for allowing his family to work in the vineyard, and zealously accept the pittance - invariably thrown on the ground - given by the “noble” for our labor. As a final gesture, the “noble” would say my father had earned the right to stay on the land for another year but, if next year’s crop were nae as big, he would lose the vineyard. As she stood in the doorway watching the “noble” steal from my father his work, his heart and his soul, my mother would shake her head, look at me with tears in her eyes and say, “study hard, Arramust, study very hard.” She knew that my father hated to supplicate himself in such a manner, but he had told her it was the only way we had a chance to keep the land. “I do what must be done, me love,” was his words to her. Each year, the tears in my mother’s eyes grew bigger and, each year, my hatred of that “noble” grew.
The “nobles” think they hae a way to pacify the population. Every male Oirean, upon reaching puberty, is eligible to fully participate in Oire's greatest celebration - the Ritual of Spring. No male has ever not participated the first season they are eligible. Every Oirean female, even though eligible with puberty, decides fer ‘erself when she will participate. To honor Oleani, each spring we ‘old a three day feast of pleasure. We share our bodies and our souls freely and frequently with each other. Children who are products of the Ritual of Spring be considered Oleani’s sons and daughters. Some say I am such a child.
I remember the first day of my first ritual. I was in my 12th or 13th year. Even though my older friends ‘ad told me what lay ahead, I felt awkward and unsure of myself. My parents simply said to “enjoy” as they disappeared into the revelry. I was sitting in the center of town watching the debauchery all around me. As I had been forewarned, my innards were alive with a hunger I dinnae understand. It was then that a girl, Iodinna, who I knew from school and who had once healed a bad cut I had. She was several years older than me and the older boys always commanded her attention. Nonetheless, she was often the main character in my idle fantasies. She giggled as only a female kin, and kissed me. Waves of euphoria shot through me and I think I might hae momentarily melted as I awkwardly returned her kiss. She pouted, smiled ever so seductively and whispered in my ear, “This is my third ritual. When I took your pain years ago I knew you were unusual, Arramust, now I can give in another way.” With that, she took my hand and led me to a quieter part of the village. The pleasures I felt for are still hard for me to explain. My senses came alive as I morphed from child to a young man. As we were lying together after, both temporarily exhausted, she pecked my cheek and said, “So explore the other girls and maybe I will see ye again before the festival ends.”
Indeed, for the next two and a half days, I sampled many more women, some young and some older, some I sought and some that sought me. Each one was good, but nae as good as that first time with Iodinna. I thought that was because that was my first experience. But, on the last day of the Ritual, she came up behind me, put her arms around me and pulled me close to her. That same spark returned. We made love many more times that festival, and every time was a “first time.”
For the next several years, we became close friends, often studying together and talking about the oppression of our parents at the hands of the “nobles” and her passion/gift to heal. We would be together for the start and end of the Ritual of Spring but would still share our bodies with others. It was in my 18th year and Iodinna’s 20th year that we finally spent the entire Ritual of Spring with each other. Our fathers noted this as a sign that it was time for us to marry and follow the steps of our parents. They announced our forthcoming betrothal. By now, I had read almost all the Elanthian classics and I had become quite versed in political theory and new notions of the “rights of livingkind.” I nor Iodinna had any intention of being a subservient and docile farmer and wife happily exploited by the “nobles.” As our fathers became more excited about the wedding, our mother’s became less so.
Perhaps our mothers knew this day was coming. They sent our fathers to New Myssar on an overnight errand to fetch supplies for the wedding. They then ushered Iodinna and me to the Temple to Oleani where Iodinna’s mother was a priestess. From the vault of the temple, they took down several dusty cloth wraps that covered two aged and tattered journals. The one my mother handed to me read, The Chronicles of the D’Egalitarian Brothers: the Opening of New Trade Routes. It was the story of two of my ancestors - one a paladin, the other a ranger – who left Oire many generations before in search of fame and fortune. I could only make out a fragment of the title handed to Iodinna but it seemed to be about an ancestor of hers who was gifted in the healing arts and had left Oire to help the sick. In the silence of the temple and with Oleani’s spirit to guide us, for the next several hours we read of the wonders of life beyond Oire, of strange and new lands, and of the exploits of our ancestors. There were: maps; notes about the weaknesses of the dangerous living and dead beyond our little world; recipes and herbs for healing; and notes about the different customs of the many races of Elanthia. When we were done reading our mothers said, “We knew many years ago you two were meant for more than our drab lives. Arramust, take your passion and your ancestor’s magic sword to release the living and the dead from their torment. Iodinna, take the healing gift of your ancestor and help those in pain. We hae been preparing ye for this day. We want you two to follow your ancestors and seek your fortune.”
My mother took from the vault a claidhmore, as black as the darkest night itself. She said, “Arramust, this belonged to your ancestor who said in his journal that one day, a young lad and descendant of his with special talents and dreams would come along. This sword will know who that lad be and will bond to the lad.” He wrote, “Ah’h entrust this sword to the women of my family to ‘old and protect until that day arrives. With the lad will be a young lassie with talents to heal and channel the gift of the lad for good.” She continued, “three times, the women of the village have thought that lad and lassie had arrived and three times the sword has failed to respond. You will be the fourth.”
As I took that sword from my mother the sword handle wrapped around my hand. It started to glow and the glow entered my body before it disappeared. The weight of the sword seemed to vanish as I waved it a few times through the air. It was as if the sword knew what to do – that it would act to protect me. Then our mothers knowingly looked at each other with tears of elation in their eyes.
Iodinna’s mother then raised her hands and said, “Oleani, as has been foreseen, please bless this eternal bond between Aramust and Iodinna and may the two of them together heal the lands.” As she finished her words, a warm, gentle breeze swirled around the four of us and a melodic voice whispered, “So shall it be, go now, my children, Phoen and I will watch over and protect you in your journeys.” With those words, the breeze vanished. I took Iodinna’s hands, looked into her eyes, and kissed her for the first time as my consort.
Iodinna’s mother said, “Go now, we will take care of your fathers. It will take time, but they will eventually understand. Just be gone before they return.” With maps in hand, Iodinna and I left our village for good. I had one stop to make before we left Oire. The “noble” that stole my father’s labor and his dignity always did a daily ride with another “noble” to check on their holdings.
Over Iodinna’s objections, we went to an isolated spot along that route where we knew they would pass and waited. I stood in the middle of the road with my sword raised as they approached.
“Well, look what we hae here, a peasant who thinks he be a knight,” one chortled as they pulled up and stopped before me.
“Now, do not hurt yourself swinging that sword. Be gone, farm boy, and take the wench with you before we decide to use her for a little fun while we make you watch,” laughingly said the “noble” whom I was after.
“May that be the young rabble-rouser that’s been rumored to be spreading lies about how we nobles mistreat the poor,” said the first.
Slowly and deliberately I said, “nae this time nor anytime in the future will I bow before the likes of you. Ye shall pay for your years of theft of our pride and dignity.”
“Apparently, we hae found the rabble-rouser. Turns out he’s nothing more than an insolent farm boy. Best we rid the lands of this trouble-maker,” said the second.
“Then we can reward ourselves for our good deed by enjoying that wench of his,” laughed the first.
They jumped from their horses, drew their swords and foolishly attacked. As I remembered the tears in my mothers eyes as she watched her husband humiliated by these fools, my first swing sliced the head of the one “noble” cleanly off while parrying the attack of the “noble” I was after. His next swing harmlessly struck my sword and with a quick flick I sent his sword flying away from him. I smiled as I saw fear on his face as the point of my sword pushed against his throat. He dropped to his knees in front of me and pleaded with tears in his eyes for me to spare is life. He defecated as he pathetically groveled before me. My second swing released all my anger and his head too rolled away from his body.
As blood dripped from my blade, I look over at Iodinna. Never before I had seen such an expression of bewilderment and disbelief on her face. She instinctively raised her hands in the manner she uses to heal and I knew she was going to try to desperately heal the “nobles.” I ran to her, took her arms on mine and said, “no, it had to be, me love …… it had to be.” Slowly, her shaking died down and she looked back at me and said, “Yes, love, I understand, you are right.”
We buried the bodies where they would never be found, mounted the horses and, with aide of our maps, travelled to Brisker’s Cove, then up to Phannus and finally into Solhaven. In Solhaven, we sold the horses to hire a guide who took us to Wehnimer’s Landing. My ancestor’s journal had an entry about a very young priest by the name of Elbromo whom my ancestor had helped. The entry said, “Took this young priest who calls ‘imself, Elbromo and ‘is consort Dailathas to ‘unt roa’ters outsideVarunar Castle. Lad was nae too quick on ‘is feet and a lil’ slow with the sword, but still learning and a good soul. Said iff’n ah’h ever needed ‘elp to let ‘im know.” We were nae sure we would find him, but if he were still alive, he would be old and wise and maybe could help us. It took a while to find Elbromo but we did find him. Remembering my ancestor, he took us underwing and brought us into House Onoir.