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The farm was meeting its first star of the night as the sun was descending beyond the horizon. The dark orange began to…
Jorge had never truly given any genuine thought about having a farm, let alone have a family of his own. The once independent…
Jorge had never truly given any genuine thought about having a farm, let alone have a family of his own. The once independent and lonesome fellow rarely had a personal desire of his own save for a healthy sum of coin to get by. A human man was certainly a blessed existence in the heart of the Capital. Even the low-class beggars and homeless thieves had something of a comforting place.
When it came to his own life in the Capital, for as independent as he was, Jorge didn’t really ever have an answer for his skillset. He could’ve become a blacksmith and fashioned gorgeous hues of oranges and reds on a sharp piece of metal. He could’ve been a courier and delivered letters across town. Perhaps he could’ve even started a business in Old Town where many youthful ambitious men found their calling. But not Jorge.
No, Jorge found delight in the angelic beauty of women. Admiring them for their regal hair, their elegant apparel, or just the craftsmanship that the Gods had blessed them with on their figures. To Jorge, it was not like they were a prize to be won, nor a game to score. To him, it was comfort. Like the warmest fire in the depth of winter. If there were anything that would fancy his time and thought, it was beauty. And for the simple man who wanted for nothing, it was beauty that bestowed upon him… a dream.
Enter: Ymira. A harp stringing vixen with the gracious veil of a princess and the voice of a songstress. A goddess of a woman in the middle-class with long golden locks of hair curled by the diameter of a small coin. A smile spoke a thousand words from her compared to the choice of dress she fancied. A modest girl, Ymira never cared to show off her cloth. In the standard expectations of status in a woman, it fell on the fabric, style, and color of their gown. Coupled with the restraining torment of a corset, the female could make for a fine reputation for herself by appearance alone. Ymira was partial to loose fit, however, opting for the relaxing blouse and thinly frilled skirt compared to the art of no longer breathing and sucking in their “repulsive” belly.
Her father, however, was no such supporter of his daughter’s free spirit. The Captain of the Guard was no laughing matter, especially in the Market District. An influential man that commanded a line of nearly fifty men upholding the law and justice in a high traffic breeding ground for desperate thieves, surely, Ymira was safe from any would-be suitor. Her fire, though, was far from extinguished.
Much to his dismay, Ymira was a blossoming flower longing for the sunlight. Her innocent heart was an admirable trait, to say the least, for a rare sight such as she. Much like her, Jorge yearned for the company of another. Little did they know, it was to be on the eve of the New Year Festival, that the pair finally came face-to-face. For the lonely boys at the tavern called “The Gilded Dove” on the very street corner of Dunwood Lane in Old Town, Ymira would sing to them. Her voice was as piercing as any blade into the iron hearts of any bitterly broken and sorrowed patron at the tavern. Her vibrant song hummed into their ears and captured their eyes, even the thought of taking a sip from their goblets was far from their mind. Jorge was no exception as he stared from a beggar’s spot peering through the window. Though muffled, it was like he was in the middle of the crowd, able to hear from the front row her stunning melody. Unbeknownst to the young Jorge, the woman’s blissful song whisked his mind down a spiraling daydream…
This daydream was as real as the dirty unkempt glass his hand was resting on. An orangish-red hue sky blanketing a field of blossoming flowers, clusters of lush green oak trees, and a single structure that sat at the center of the field ascending to the top of a tiny hill. This structure was a house no bigger than a cottage settled on a limestone base, coated in polished hardwood, and topped with a layer of piled hay for its roof. An older Jorge stood on the porch holding an arm around a lucky lady, smiles on their faces and a string of hay clasped within his teeth. A farm. A simple farm for a simple man. Jorge knew what he wanted. Not a dream job, no perfect plan, barely even a status in society. Just a simple and peaceful farm.
Jorge and Ymira were fast lovers. Ymira’s song was more than enough to keep the man’s attention, though her many qualities were surely supplemented to that. For Ymira, it was Jorge’s wit and roguish tendencies to defy her father’s wishes. After a swift toss on his rump out of the house, Jorge and his love would talk and sing to each other for the rest of the night as Jorge rested on the roof near her window. While Ymira tended the market under guard, she admired Jorge from afar as he stirred up trouble to make her laugh at his childish antics.
In the end, there was little that Ymira’s father could do. Even with his desire to detain and arrest Jorge for courting his daughter, no self-respecting lawman as he would openly abuse his position. Without his own knowledge, the two were wed in the gardens just outside the cemetery and the pair fled the Capital together.
Many called Jorge a madman for investing his every crown into a hundred-acre plot of land isolated from any major city. This land was unclaimed in the highlands to the North. A good one hundred or so miles away from the nearest town. This would make a six-day journey to and from that very town. For what purpose could Jorge have wanted to settle a farm so far away from civilization? No one knew but Jorge and his loving wife.
…
Jorge and Ymira’s homestead grew into a perfect patch of heaven. With their love and diligent labor on the fields, the pair eventually turned into a clan of seventeen. Astoundingly, as if blessed by the Gods above, Jorge and Ymira built a home and family the size of a classroom. True to that very statement, Ymira grew to become an exceptional teacher for her gorgeous band of tiny humans running around.
The fifteen children seemed to be more than just a large group of birthings. It was far more different than anyone could believe. If you witnessed it yourself, even you would confess that it couldn’t be possible. The fifteen children consisted of eight boys and seven girls. As if a rigged game of Liar’s Dice, their births happened in an orderly fashion. First twins, then twins, and then twins again! All of which remained constant, first the brother and then the sister a few moments after.
In order of their births, the children were named: Morgan, Elizabeth, Stuart, Helena, Phillip, Katherine, John, Bella, William, Nathaniel, Denise, Thomas, Amelia, Clayton, and Laura. The birthing of twins remained consistent until the fourth pair. Then by a surprising twist of fate, Jorge and Ymira only had a single child. The middle baby at birth seven, the lonely William. Only after William’s birth did the births return to supernatural proportions of odds until their baby boy and girl ended the streak.
As a father of fifteen, Jorge was convinced that he was destined to raise more than just hundreds of crops. But with more children, comes a great deal of aid across the field. As the children grew, so too did the increase of farmhands for Jorge. There seemed to be no end to this perfect dream that Jorge had made a reality for himself with the help of his goddess of a wife forever at his side. What could possibly happen to make this dream come to an end?
…
“Found you!” came the echo of an excited girl’s high-pitched voice.
“No fair Bella!” called out a boy just as loud.
A beautiful yellow hue fell over the sky as a gold shine radiated from the wheat that grew vastly over the field. For a homestead in the Great Highlands, it seemed impossible to achieve such an accomplishment at a high altitude in a less than habitable mountain region. Luck always seemed to be on the side of this simple family on this simple farm.
“I’m gonna get you for that!” a boy angrily threatened as the sound of wheat ruffled to the children running through the fields. This would be followed by a familiar girl’s laughter during her flight from the pursuing sibling.
At this time, staring out the window from inside the house would be a still beautiful vixen. Her long locks of golden hair would be braided from scalp to head resting over her right shoulder as she was cleaning and wooden plates with a wet cloth. This cloth would be cleansed in a small wooden bucket before returning it to the surface of the wooden plate stroking it in an even circle.
A short second later and a door swung open with a younger version of herself came walking in clinging to a large wicker basket full of rough-looking clothes. This girl was the eldest daughter of the farmers. Elizabeth was perhaps the most elegant of the homestead’s family. Jorge was always so keen on naming their children with a different starting letter so as not to become confused and the name Elizabeth had always appealed to him for a beautiful daughter. She was also very much similar in appearance to her mother more so than the others. Her nose was pointed and perky at the tip with a soft pair of cheeks with a weak cheekbone. Her features shined in her smooth skin and the gorgeous set of sky blue eyes which complimented her long and heavily kempt gold hair. Being nineteen, she had already met the end of her growth only being about an inch shorter than her mother, her physique was also noticeable slender for a girl her age.
“Mother…” She addressed before coming in through the doorway. Ymira prided herself on the way that she raised and taught her children to speak the Common language. Always so direct and appropriately pronounced words, “I finished gathering the clothes. May I please go and read?”
“So quickly, dear? I could use some help in here.” Ymira exclaimed peering over her shoulder to see her daughter.
“Mother, please!” the girl insisted raising her arms up with a loud exhale of breath, “I have been working since morning!”
Ymira sighed, “Oh dear… Yes, alright.”
Elizabeth shifted her pleading manner to a happy smile as she grasped both hands together in excitement, “Oh thank you, mother! Thank you!”
“Hum… You’re welcome, dear. But could you have Morgan gather up the children for class, please? I feel bad for starting class so late but I just couldn’t find time with all the chores.”
“Okay, mother!” Elizabeth spun in delight before lifting her skirt and dashing out the door. Ymira could hear her calling out for her twin brother from inside as she shook her head with a half-cocked smile shrugging to herself.
Meanwhile…
Out in the fields, the children were all gathered as they had stopped playing hide and seek near the creek at the bottom of the hill. Underneath a tall lone oak tree would the children be hanging on a wooden fence. The little ones were casually dangling with their hands gripped on the railing or holding themselves up by their crossed armed that rested their heads. The bigger children stood directly up or leaned against the fence as though they had outgrown the nature of being kids. This line of children would stare outward towards the tree where the eldest brother of the lot was facing toward the second oldest.
“Are you sure you want another go at it?” spoke the oldest brother. Morgan was very handsome at nineteen. Smooth pale skin with a sharp jaw and a cute but nose. Similar to his twin Elizabeth, Morgan had blonde hair like his mother, though it was far dirtier than his female counterpart. He too had a pair of pretty blue eyes that were a slightly darker shade than his sister’s. Not to mention his physique. His broad shoulders revealed the history of a long teenage life of working the fields with his father. Morgan smiled at his brother as he opened his arms bowing in a mocking way, “You won’t hit me, Stuart.”
“We’ll see about that!” replied the determined younger sibling. Stuart had a much thicker accent than his older brother. Though they all came from the same parents, the children were never identical to each other. Stuart was freckled in comparison to the smooth and pale-skinned face of his older brother. Compared to Morgan’s short and straight dirty blonde hair, the second son possessed darker hair. More brown and curly in comparison as well as muddy brown pupils. The second son by appearance would naturally be overlooked by the firstborn.
“Kick his tush, Duart!” Called out the adorable six-year-old Denise who wasn’t quite grasping her “Ss” or “Ts” yet. This became a trending joke for poor Stuart who’s name was warped by his younger innocent sister calling him a wretchedly hated name while the rest of the household was filled with hysterical laughter.
Morgan mocked with a cocky smirk holding out a long wooden sword, finely crafted of hard oak wood, “Yeah, Duart! Give it your all!”
“Agh!” Cried out the seventeen-year-old as he charged at his brother. Tightening his grip on his very own wooden sword, Stuart came thrusting forward as a chuckling Morgan casually sidestepped out of the way with a cleverly placed swing knocking at Stuart’s practice sword making the hardwood vibrate sending unpleasant friction to the seventeen-year-old boy’s hands.
Stuart grit his teeth some before hastily spinning back around and taking a stance as he had been shown how to before. Morgan waltzed in a circular pattern, he and his brother creating a perfect line of footsteps meeting each other in a ring shape. Morgan bowed to his brother once again, informing Stuart that his older sibling was ready. Before continuing, Stuart would sigh in anguish as his shoulders gave out and let the practice sword’s tip pop onto the sandy ground, a dust cloud lightly following.
“Why are you so cruel, Morgan! Do you have to make it so har-” but Stuart’s attempted question was immediately interrupted.
“Yes! Your opponent will never hold back. A brigand won’t hesitate to cripple you and take our wagon. Or even kidnap one of our sisters? You wouldn’t want to let your family down like that, would you? Much like that scenario, I cannot give you a handicap.” Morgan explained.
Stuart sighed, “But I’m seventeen, Dad won’t let me be armed on the trip until I’m eighteen.”
Morgan continued, “Every day, boys a year younger than you from the seven kingdoms are knighted and matured into men. Father merely expects you to enjoy another two years in childhood before you are truly a man. It’s a lot of responsibility and I assure you. You will be surprised at how many people you may find on the road to Poul.”
Stuart sighed heavier this time as he glared at the ground. Silenced fell the boy a moment while he thought to himself about what his brother was telling him. He’d told him this many times before. Ever since he started learning swordplay at thirteen. Morgan held up a hand to his forehead, brushing a few strands of hair clinging to his sweaty face aside as he approached Stuart. A split second later, he would smile and lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder urging the young Stuart to glance up at him.
“If you think I’m strict, you should know that Father’s teaching is far harsher,” he said.
Stuart huffed in disbelieve, “Yeah right. For all I know, you got it easy. Dad never let us watch.”
“Father would’ve rather none of you see him beat your big brother into the dust,” Morgan smirked as the two boys locked eye contact.
“He-” Stuart’s jaw slacked open in a sudden surprise at the comment which left him halting his reply.
Morgan chuckled, “Father hit back. And they were no welts from a paddle…”
“It-it stung?” Stuart could only hesitate with his assumed reaction.
“Like a flog…”
“Ow…” Stuart reacted in a silent utterance that Morgan could only hear.
“Yeah… But don’t let that upset you. Father meant well with all of my lessons. That’s why when you began your training, he trusted me to guide you better than he would with me.”
Stuart would silently nod to Morgan who kissed his forehead and took the practice sword away from him. The oldest brother would peer up at the hill to their home seeing his familiar sister running down the way to unite with them. Morgan thought to himself silently wrapping an arm over Stuart’s shoulders and the pair would walk together towards their siblings at the fence line.
The kids who were watching started to clap and applaud to their older brothers. Their adorable smiles and cheering would make Morgan’s kind-hearted smile return while a sincerely embarrassed Stuart preferred to fill his sights with the tall wheat that surrounded them. Finally, Elizabeth arrived, Morgan greeting her before the others.
“Elizabeth, does Mother need me?” He questioned.
“No, not you specifically. Mother wishes for everyone to attend class now.” She replied stirring a hefty “AWWW” from the displeased little ones, “Come now, you all couldn’t have assumed that she would just let you off without class today.”
“And I need to collect everyone…” Morgan answered.
Elizabeth nodded, “Yes.”
“I suppose you also want me to watch over the babies as well.” Morgan assumed with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course! I mean, after all, it is your turn.”
“I admit, I hadn’t realized that.” Morgan rebuttaled.
Elizabeth tilted her head while crossing her arms over her chest as the two locked begrudging eyes, “Are you implying that I would lie?”
“Not at all, Lizzy. Not at all.” He smirked as Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
“You always call me Lizzy when you are sarcastic. Why can’t you call me that for a kinder reason?” the girl probed.
Morgan shook his head while ruffling Stuart’s hair with his hand, “It’s just how I am. I wouldn’t dishonor your proper name in such a statement now, would I? And I love my siblings the way they were named by Mother and Father.”
“Okay, whatever…” She replied growing impatient and waving her hands before correcting Morgan, “Now hurry up! The children, and then the babes.”
“Of course. I’ll go and find William, and then relieve Helena of her duties.” Morgan turned his attention to the other children crowding around the taller older siblings as he smiled genuinely to them all and gestured toward the house, “Come on everyone. Mother’s waiting.”
Thanks to the urgency of the oldest son, the crowding siblings would follow with Elizabeth back up to the house contrary to Morgan’s shifting direction as he proceeded towards the large barn across the way from the house. This barn was large, built from the ground up all the same as the house they lived in by Jorge’s own hands. Morgan arrived at the entrance to the wooded barn slowly operating the latch from its hook and pulling it wide open. Stepping inside, the male stood silently in the now open doorway before finally stepping inside.
From the entrance, Morgan could make out the inside of the barn quite well. Lit up by the sunlight for the most part while sections of the barn remained dim. The smell of filth suddenly assaulted his nose as he crunched his face and blew out his nose a spell before hiding it under his curled fingers. Yup, that’s Boomer, the family’s mother pig, and her younglings. They named her Boomer for her talent of giving birth to many litters of pigs which served to feed the farm family.
Certainly a far cry from their prized milk cow, Bertha, who only ever managed to give birth to three calves and couldn’t successfully have anymore. Bertha was nearing the end of her milking days. When that day arrived, the family will retire Bertha while her daughters provided from then on. But these farm animals were not his intended target of visitation. The person he was there to find was located at the second-floor scaffolding where reserve hay was kept. Coming further into the barn, Morgan couldn’t help but crack a joyous smile at the funny sounds he was hearing from the top of the ladder. It was the voice of a young boy making sounds on his own and having a yelling match with an invisible challenger.
“HAH! Hyah! Oof! Take that! And that! And this too! I beseech you foul beast! Be gone from this land and never return! Lest you taste the sting of my blessed sword!” It was William… The nine-year-old middle child. Befuddling to everyone, especially Jorge and Ymira, William was an only child. He never had a twin sibling like all his others. This proved to make him more reclusive to the rest of his family as he preferred his own company.
Morgan slowly ascended the ladder, careful not to make a sound before hovering over the ledge and peering in at his little brother swinging a stick at the air and ducking down before holding up the stick in a parry motion as though to block an incoming invisible attack. Morgan deciphered that his brother was winning the fight but only by a landslide. Morgan was a handsome young boy with well-tended short wavy dark brown hair that spiraled to the right much like Morgan’s dirty blonde hair. William had Ymira’s sky blue eyes while keeping Jorge’s strong chin. But it was mostly his mother’s features that she claimed would make him a lady killer in his young adult years. He had pale smooth cheeks that were visibly soiled with dirt from obvious play.
“You can do it! Just remember the power of love and you’ll defeat the beast!” Morgan cheered obnoxiously bursting from the silence. His brother nearly leaped to the Barn’s ceiling, he’d been so frightened as William spun around to look and see the young man chuckling under his breath at him.
“Morgan!” William addressed his sibling with a whiny linger of his voice before dropping the stick and sitting down.
“Hey, no no no. Don’t stop now! The demon will slaughter so many innocents! They need their hero to defeat it!” Morgan insisted as he took another step up the ladder.
“Ha ha ha… Very funny, Morgan. Stop mocking me!” William grumbled as he hid his face in his arms that clung to the bent legs he had sitting down.
“Come now, you know you aren’t the first boy to play fight with a stick and some imaginary monsters don’t you?”
“… Well… Yeah. But this is different.” William exclaimed.
“And how is it different, young William?” Morgan would lean his head to the side where he rested his chin on a hand that was supported by its elbow.
“I-I… I don’t know! You’re just stupid!”
“Ouch! Such harsh and evil words coming from Sir William the White. And here I had though you were destined to rescue us all from the awesome terror of the deadly Gurgler!” He said in a dramatic voice while holding out a hand with curled fingers as if to cling to something laid out before him.
William turned toward his brother with curious eyes, “… The Gurgler? What is that?”
The older brother hid a smirk as he played along, “What? You don’t know about the legend of the horrifying Gurgler?” he paused until William silently shook his head frantically in response, “Well, it is very important that you not tell your brothers and sisters about it. Only Father and I know about it.”
“You do?” William, now wide-eyed grew interested as Morgan urged him forward with a waving hand.
“Come on, I’ll tell you along the way.” Morgan winked and started descending the ladder.
“Okay!” Replied the boy as he smiled happily and came down too. Once outside the barn, Morgan and William were heading back to the house now hand in hand with William practically begging to know the secret, “Come on! Come on! Tell me please!”
“Don’t worry, I will. You’re going to pull my arm out of its socket.” Giggled the older brother before starting to talk, “Now, the Gurgler is a monster that spins webs from its elongated fingers. It has large bulging eyes with a round hole for a mouth but no nose and no ears.”
“Eww! No way”
“Oh yes! It walks hunched over like a bear with stray fur that prickled along it’s back and shoulders. Its limbs were as long as tree branches though you wouldn’t know as long as it remained condensed as it was. Its eyes were deep as open holes yet bright as lanterns so it could see in the dark. The webs it spins are thought streams that connect to your mind through your ear giving you nightmares as you sleep. But more than that. It plagues you with an illness leaving you bedridden after it feasted off your dreams giving you a gurgling voice and cough much like the Gurgler itself has when it stalks prey.”
“Is that all true, Morgan?” Questioned the boy.
“Of course it’s true. Because I slew the beast when I was your age when it attacked Father in his sleep.”
William gasped, “It attacked Father!”
“Oh aye! But don’t bring it up to him. He’d feel too embarrassed to talk of a creature besting him. You know how it is.” Morgan winked as William nodded.
Finally, the two arrived at the house where they came walking into the large central living room where the other children gathered. Morgan silently tapped William’s back and lightly pushed him towards the others who were sitting down on the floor facing toward their mother Ymira grasping a book in hand. Morgan’s sights laid on Elizabeth in the corner, her nose buried into the large hardcover book resting in her lap wide open and turned to her place in it.
“Alright children, let’s begin!” Ymira said opening her book.
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