[Flashback] Growing Pains

[Orin Fenix]

16 Spring, 509

The scent of damp earth filtered up to Orin’s nostrils, tinged with the odors of growing herbs. The midday sun beat down on him and his back was drenched with sweat. He’d been outside for so long the back of his neck had probably burned by now but he didn't care. It was one of his rare days off, grudgingly awarded in honor of his birthday, and he was going to make the most of it. The day had bloomed sunny and bright and he had no intention of spending the day cooped up inside. Most boys his age would be out playing with their fellows in their free time and would have a celebration, either massive or intimate depending on their age, the season, and their status in the community. Not Orin though. He didn’t have friends to play with and his father, even if he had time, wouldn’t celebrate the day of Orin’s birth. After all, what should have been a joyous day had ended in a day of grief as had died even as Orin came into the world. No one would ever speak to Orin of her except in the briefest of pleasantries. They’d mention her grace, her kindness, her beauty, but Orin knew they were just being polite. And, usually, avoiding his father’s wrath, which was terrible whenever Orin’s mother was brought up in a negative light.

It took him a long time to realize this, but his father had never really recovered from her death. All Orin knew was that his father was cold and distant, sometimes even cruel to him. It had been that way for as long as Orin could remember. The beatings his father gave him far outstripped the normal beatings children were given to correct their behavior but Orin never realized anything out of the ordinary. He thought the world of his father. Only after seeing the other sons and sometimes daughters with their fathers did he finally get an inkling that his situation was abnormal. However, most of these glimpses into the lives of others occurred at a distance. The other children, without fail, saw Orin as an easy target for teasing and ridicule. Since his father had alienated most of their parents, and yet at the same time did nothing to defend Orin, his peers felt as if they had free reign. The few times Orin fought back, often when his normal placid temper snapped, he was promptly trounced and the blame fell squarely on his shoulders. So he quickly learned to avoid everyone his own age.

All the unkindness that was reaped upon Orin simply served to shattered his already fragile self-esteem. For all that, he didn’t begrudge anyone else in the Outpost. He was too fundamentally good-natured for that, and always blamed himself when others were cruel to him, thinking he deserved it. Mostly, it served to make him want to prove his worth. He dreamed of returning one day when he became rich and famous and his former enemies showering him with affection. He sought their approval in a way that could only be described as zealous. All that brought him here to the herb garden outside his cottage. His father had frowned when he started tending it, calling it unseemly, but it hadn’t been actively forbidden, so Orin persisted. It was one of his few acts of rebellion. He had to be careful to do it when his father was unaware, though. This usually translated into Orin waking up early as his father slept off his hangover from the night before. It was a thin line, but one Orin was managing to navigate. And today, he didn’t have to worry, which was a blessed relief.

[Orin Fenix]

Working in the garden never failed to sooth his nerves and today was no exception. So what if he hadn’t gotten any presents? He had a whole day before his father returned and he was going to take advantage of it to the fullest. Dirt was everywhere. His arms were streaked with it, his sleeves and knees had stained, and it was caked under his fingernails. He had started by weeding, since it had been several days since he had last cleared out the parasites. He didn’t know when the next opportunity to work out here would come and he refused to let any of his plants get strangled or pushed out. There was no need to water anything; the spring rains had come with a vengeance this year, and were doing that job quit admirably. So he moved on to pruning, examining each and every plant for damage as he went, clipping off leaves that showed any signs of discoloring or damage. There were a few leaves that had obviously been gnawed on but overall the plants seemed healthy. He pinched off the offending leaves making sure to dispose of them far away. He was always incredibly careful when it came to his herbs well being. Any bugs that got in could wipe out his entire supply in a heartbeat. It had already happened to him once and he would do everything in his to prevent another catastrophe.

Eventually though, he completed his inspection and he straightened up with a grin of pride. The neat rows of parsley, basil, thyme, sage and rosemary made a pretty picture as they waved in a slight breeze. While they might not be the most exotic or exciting herbs, his meals had improved immeasurably since he had started cautiously incorporating homegrown spices. For all the trouble, it was definitely worth it. Briefly he felt a pang of envy for the more expansive gardens owned by the richest members of town. He would love to have more variety to choose from. But realistically he knew that he didn’t have the time, money or knowledge required to care for the more sensitive or expensive herbs. He would make do with what he had. Shaking his head over his daydreams, he offered up a brief prayer to Caiyha, Makutsi, and Syna, thanking them for the favorable. While he wasn’t much given to religion, he respected the gods and what they did, and he figured a prayer could never hurt. He was respectful of those who had power over him. The gods definitely fell into that category.

[Orin Fenix]

Moving into the cottage, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Unlike the fresh outdoors, the cottage held a faint, but unpleasant smell, a product of two men, one of whom never cleaned, living together. There was grime in the corners that seemed to fight back every time Orin tried to get rid of it. The table and the hearth, as well as the pots and pans above it, were the only bright spots. The bed was a rumpled mess and there were small bits of trash littered over much of the floor. It was a pitiful sight, all told. He sighed, massaging his back as his muscles protested spending the morning hunched over. He knew objectively he should clean, but it was he refused to spend his only day of freedom in performing such a distasteful task. He’d clean tomorrow, as part of his chores, placing the activity firmly where it belonged. Sparing one last glance at the broom sitting neglected and forlorn in the corner, he shook his head and went to fetch a bucket of water and soap.

Scrubbing vigorously, he did his best to clean up. He made a valiant effort at removing the dirt from his clothes but it stubbornly remained. Not particularly worried, as this set of clothes was worn and covered with small stains already, he went to dump the dirty water and refill the bucket. Whistling tunelessly, he turned to the small pantry where the meager supplies were kept. Pulling out carrots, onions, and cabbage, he set it all on the table. He poured water into a pot and set it over the hearth to boil. He grabbed his favorite knife. Smiling fondly at it, he turned and starting peeling and dicing the vegetables, being careful to keep his fingers firmly away from the knife. He’d had his fair share of cut fingers and was doing his best to avoid any more. Of course, his success varied, and he cursed as the knife slipped as he was peeling and sliced his left index finger. Sucking it to stop it from bleeding on the table, he went to the chest in the corner. Rummaging about, he finally found a bit of bandage and wrapped the finger tightly. His father would never miss it.

Resuming his position at the head of the table where his pile of vegetables awaited, he redoubled his efforts. He was making a simple vegetable stew. He spared a forlorn wish for some meat. Without it, he knew his concoction would be rather tasteless. Unfortunately his father’s alcohol consumption was eating away at their meager income and their diet was getting unfortunately limited. That was part of the reason Orin had started the herb garden. At least this way he could always be sure to have a way to add a little bit of flavor to every dish he made.

As his mind turned inevitably towards spices and their combinations, he ran through a quick mental inventory. Unfortunately, his supplies were running rather low. He’d had a fairly sizeable store over the winter, but the majority had been used up and his plants weren’t mature enough, nor did he have time, to prepare more. However, he thought he still had enough sage and thyme to spice up the soup a little. He’d double check when he was done dicing.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin was so intent on his work that he never heard the door of the cottage opening and closing behind him. What he did hear though, was his father’s voice ringing out in accusation behind him. What in the name of all the gods do you think you're doing boy? Orin cried out as his knife dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter on the floor underneath the table. His father had some conservative ideas about what was proper for men and women and for him cooking fell solidly in the realm of women's work. His father had tried time and time again to beat the urge to cook out of him, but Orin had remained stubbornly resilient in this one aspect of his life. Everything else he would cave on but he refused to capitulate on this. Partially it was because he found the realm of taste fascinating, how minor additions or subtractions could create such extreme differences, and how the possibilities seemed endless. Mostly though, it was because food, in his mind, had a magical ability to bring people together. Small suppers, large festivals, and everything in between they all centered on people coming together and sharing a meal. It was the only time Orin felt a part of something greater these days. So he'd defied his father.

As he turned to his father this time though, he felt his stomach drop. His father was swaying and reeked of the cheap ale they served at the tavern. His father had sun-bleached hair, tanned skin, and a heavily muscled body, all products of the work he did as a farmer. Orin had never seen him this drunk before, and shrank back in fear. There were two spots of color high in his father's cheeks, which only appeared when he was angry. Orin retreated until his back hit the table. His father advanced towards him and stabbed a finger directly into his sternum with surprising force. "I told you to stop you ungrateful brat." The smell of booze permeated his breath and Orin could see his chest rising and falling in suppressed rage. "Your mother", his father started, then belched loudly. The stink intensified, though Orin hadn't thought it was possible. Your mother would be ashamed if she could see you now. How dare you sully her sacrifice with your, your, your disrespect and stupidity.

Hearing his father's slurred accusation, an uncharacteristic rage filled Orin as something finally snapped in him. Ashamed of me? And who are you to have any right to be talking! You're the biggest stain on this village and a drunkard and I hate you! You've never supported me or anything I did and I bet if mother was alive she'd want nothing to do with you! Clamping his mouth shut, Orin shook with barely contained fury, and, if he was being honest, more than a touch of fear. His father seemed flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open as he gazed at Orin in shock. It was the first time Orin had shown any sort of independent streak and they both hung suspended with surprise, not sure how to respond.

Eventually his father recovered, and he did so in a most spectacular fashion. He backhanded Orin so hard that he saw stars. When his vision finally cleared he found he was sprawled on the floor. He could taste blood in his mouth although he was still too dazed to figure out if it was from a split lip or a bitten tongue. He tried to struggle to his feet. His father, however, would have nothing of it. Orin felt his father's boot connect savagely with his side, knocking Orin's breath out and leaving him in excruciating pain. He curled up into a ball, but his fair grabbed his hair and yanked him to his feet, slamming him into the wall in the process. "You monster!" his father screamed, flecks of spit spraying over Orin's face, how dare you talk about her like that! You know nothing about here you spiteful child! His father punctuated the rant with blows, raining them down upon Orin. At first Orin fought back, slamming his fists into his father's gut and even scratching at him when that proved ineffective. Soon though he was reduced to defending himself as best he could, wrapping his arms around his head. His father was soon incoherent and continued brutalizing Orin. Finally, he dragged Orin out, picked him up, and slung him outside.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin lay crumpled on the ground, sobbing pathetically. The door slammed shut and he was left blessedly alone. He hurt everywhere and he couldn't do anything but lie there and cry. Eventually though, a little strength flowed back into his limbs. He and his father lived on the outskirts of Mithryn, and since most people still were at work, there was no one nearby to see his plight. Orin dragged himself to the water barrel, levering himself up with his arms, though it caused a lance of pain to shoot through his abdomen. He was bleeding from several cuts and he did his best to wash the blood off. At least the cut on my finger will have company he thought wildly. He felt oddly detached from the world as if this was a dream, or nightmare rather, happening to someone else entirely. When he had done as much as possible to clean his wounds, he forced himself to stand, and shuffled to the shed, every step a torment. He almost passed out once he made it there, falling to the ground as his legs gave out under him and jarring many of his bruises. He found he was too numb to care much, and he just lay there, tears running down his face. He had no idea how long he spent crying, but the next thing he knew, there was scorching heat ahead of him.

Waking from a lethargy, he saw with shock that the cottage was engulfed in flames, with no sign of his father. He started screaming and adrenalin forced his battered limbs to cooperate briefly. He still couldn't do more than hobble but the pain was briefly ignored. Neighbors started pouring out in shock, gaping at the fire. Order was quickly resumed and someone shouted to get buckets. Orin saw and heard none of this, screaming for his father. Hands grasped him and pulled him back as he tried to plunge into flames. He struggled but his body betrayed him and he was guided to the ground careful, someone gasping as they realized how injured he was. They yelled at someone to get a healer. Orin simply rocked back and forth, saying, over and over again, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, it's all my fault, please dad, please. It was like a mantra and he clung to it with desperate need as the battle against the fire raged in front of him. It turned out to be a losing battle, though they did prevent the fire from spreading. As he watched in horror, the roof finally gave out and collapsed. As everyone rushed back with screams, he closed his eyes, finally giving into despair. Eventually the fire burnt itself out. He felt someone press a cup of something steaming in front of him. When he made no move to drink someone pinched his nose and shoved the brew down his throat. He choked it down, the foul taste not even registering. His last thought before sleep claimed him was at least he'll be with her now.

[Estrellir Konrath]

ORIN FENIX

Skills
Gardening +2
Cooking +1
Medicine +1

Lores
Birthdays: No reason for joy
The secret herb garden
Cooking with few ingredients
Standing up to a drunk father
Watching home burn to the ground

COMMENTS

Thank you for a lovely read! Orin really was a poor kid. You could feel his love for gardening and cooking though. There wasn’t much to give in terms of xp, but I hope the lores make up for that. If you've any questions or concerns, by all means PM me!