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A Long Hard Rain - The Story of Autumn of Fallon - Completed: 8/14
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<blockquote data-quote="el-remmen" data-source="post: 2963558" data-attributes="member: 11"><p><span style="font-size: 18px">Part Two: Winter</span></p><p></p><p>My husband's name was Eric Storm and he was the youngest son of the second brother of the head of House Storm. He had some made up position on the small plantation, organizing the overseers who watched and whipped the slaves. Speaking of slaves, I had never seen so many in my life. </p><p></p><p>When I first arrived at the plantation, I thought the slaves to be happy. Their dark skin glowed healthily with the sweat of hard work and their voices rang out in beautiful song as they sowed and reaped and dug and carted. It would not be until much later that I would learn that these were songs of sadness and oppression, mixed with the longing for freedom. The songs were a mix of common and slave slang which I learned arose from their original language. Where these dark-skinned people came from I did not know, but I could see in the eyes of even those born into slavery that they were far from home. (1)</p><p></p><p>Eric was cruel to the slaves and not very nice to their overseers either. He would come into the small cottage that had been constructed for us upon our wedding on the edge of his father's property, calling out a list of profanities and curses at the slaves and their overseers and everyone else he could think of, including me. He had been quiet on the days leading up to our wedding and even on our wedding night he was gentle and loving and whispered his dreams of having his own land and not having to live under the shadow of his well-respected father and his two older brothers (Reginald and Narllion) into my ear. He seemed so vulnerable and even pathetic that night holding me close to him, promising me that he would make a good husband and supply me with everything that I would ever need, that my heart went out to him and I mistook pity for love. I felt joy in the fact that he reached out to me with words that I was certain he had never spoken to anyone else before. It was for that reason that I was so surprised the first time he struck me.</p><p></p><p>Eric had just returned from the field and was in a particularly foul mood. It was early yet and I had just put a small hen to boil for supper and was sitting by the window using the last of the afternoon light to sketch with a piece of charcoal. I had an idea for a large vase in the style of urns used for the dead that were cremated, but that could be used to pot the small trees common to the roadsides of the area.</p><p></p><p>"Where is dinner?" he asked roughly. I looked up at him and saw that he was holding a bloody rag to his cheek. His face was dirty and sweaty. I stood quickly to help him.</p><p></p><p>"What happened?" I cried, reaching for the rag. With only one hand he shoved me back so hard I fell to the ground.</p><p></p><p>"Get away!" he yelled. "Where is dinner? I work hard all day in those goblin-turd fields and all I ask is for you to have dinner ready when I get back. Can't you do that'? Or are you too stupid, you ungrateful wench?"</p><p></p><p>I was stunned. I slowly got up and went into the kitchen to get something prepared for him to eat just while the hen was done cooking. Nervous, I was shaking and clattering the plates and goblets that I brought to the table.</p><p></p><p>"What, in Set's name, is this?!?" I heard him cry from the entry room. He came stomping in with my sketch half-crumpled in his hand.</p><p></p><p>"A sketch," I said, meekly.</p><p></p><p>"I know what it is, " he said and smacked my across the mouth with the closed fist that held the small paper. I dropped a plate and it shattered.</p><p></p><p>"This is why my dinner is late?" He was almost foaming now. His anger was so unfocused and powerful. "You don't need to waste your time with this craftsman filth! " He continued. "All that should concern you are my needs and the needs of this house and the family we are going to make. I will give you everything you need, so don't waste your time with this. The silver I earn will buy us pots or vases or whatever we need. You really are an ungrateful ugly bitch. She gets dragged out of a life that would have ended in the gutter to this…" He gestured with his arms. “And she’s too stupid to see it…”</p><p></p><p>He struck me even harder this time and I fell. My hands embedded in the shards of plate on the floor. I felt blood pouring from my nose.</p><p></p><p>"Get up!" he roared and kicked me with even greater fury.</p><p></p><p>"Get up! " he kicked me again. "And pick up that plate before I break another over your stupid head. Can't you do anything right? Get up!"</p><p></p><p>He kicked me several times and then I struggled up to my hands and knees and scooped up the shards. I practically crawled into the kitchen. Eric walked out of the house to use the pump to wash up. I cried as I finished the hen and set the table. I did not take the time to clean my bloody face. I could feel the bruises welling up on my side and back from his kicks.</p><p></p><p>As much as I had felt my parents had resented me they had never beat me, nor had I ever seen my father raise his hand to my mother, but I figured that I must have done something wrong. I needed to be more attentive to his needs. I needed to know when he was going and coming and what kind of mood he was in. I was his wife, that was my job. I guessed that if I failed in that duty I deserved his wrath. What a fool I was!!</p><p></p><p>Eric was completely different after dinner. I was washing up in the kitchen when he came behind me and put his arms gently around my waist to caress me. I cringed and he squeezed more tightly.</p><p></p><p>"I'm sorry," he said and kissed my cheek. "My work is hard and I really need you to do what I ask. I don't want to have to hurt you. I have really come to love you."</p><p></p><p>I was not in the mood for his advances, but his sudden tender way blinded me to wrath he had displayed before and allowed him to pull me off to our wedding bed. I lay there wondering if I was supposed to enjoy this, too. When he was done he got up, got dressed and rode into town to drink with his friends. I finished cleaning up and went to bed.</p><p></p><p>I awoke to the feeling of a pressure on top of me. Eric was back and reeking of foul spirits and trying to force my legs apart. I instinctively locked them.</p><p></p><p>"Come on, Autumn," he pleaded.</p><p></p><p>"I'm sorry, husband" I told him quietly. "But I am tired and not in the mood. Once was enough."</p><p></p><p>I did not see his fist coming in the darkness, but I could feel the heat of my lip swelling up.</p><p></p><p>"I am your husband. You have no more right to refuse me anything," he said and forced my legs apart. I struggled and he struck me again. I began to cry.</p><p></p><p>"Stop that whimpering," he said and slapped me a little more lightly. I quieted down and waited for him to be done. Again, I began to think he was right, that I was wrong to want to refuse my husband anything or to fail to foresee his desires and needs. I was weeping inwardly not because of his blows or his forced coupling, but because I felt as if I were a bad wife. He was right, I thought. I was ungrateful.</p><p>------------------------------------</p><p><strong>Notes:</strong></p><p></p><p>(1) There are two classes of slaves in the Black Islands Barony. There are indentured servants who have certain rights and may buy their way out of servitude (though this rarely happens), and whose children are born free (but are often sold by their parents out as soon as they are born to help pay for the cost of raising them), and there is the race of slaves who are descended from captives from the Hellish Isles to the far south.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="el-remmen, post: 2963558, member: 11"] [SIZE=5]Part Two: Winter[/SIZE] My husband's name was Eric Storm and he was the youngest son of the second brother of the head of House Storm. He had some made up position on the small plantation, organizing the overseers who watched and whipped the slaves. Speaking of slaves, I had never seen so many in my life. When I first arrived at the plantation, I thought the slaves to be happy. Their dark skin glowed healthily with the sweat of hard work and their voices rang out in beautiful song as they sowed and reaped and dug and carted. It would not be until much later that I would learn that these were songs of sadness and oppression, mixed with the longing for freedom. The songs were a mix of common and slave slang which I learned arose from their original language. Where these dark-skinned people came from I did not know, but I could see in the eyes of even those born into slavery that they were far from home. (1) Eric was cruel to the slaves and not very nice to their overseers either. He would come into the small cottage that had been constructed for us upon our wedding on the edge of his father's property, calling out a list of profanities and curses at the slaves and their overseers and everyone else he could think of, including me. He had been quiet on the days leading up to our wedding and even on our wedding night he was gentle and loving and whispered his dreams of having his own land and not having to live under the shadow of his well-respected father and his two older brothers (Reginald and Narllion) into my ear. He seemed so vulnerable and even pathetic that night holding me close to him, promising me that he would make a good husband and supply me with everything that I would ever need, that my heart went out to him and I mistook pity for love. I felt joy in the fact that he reached out to me with words that I was certain he had never spoken to anyone else before. It was for that reason that I was so surprised the first time he struck me. Eric had just returned from the field and was in a particularly foul mood. It was early yet and I had just put a small hen to boil for supper and was sitting by the window using the last of the afternoon light to sketch with a piece of charcoal. I had an idea for a large vase in the style of urns used for the dead that were cremated, but that could be used to pot the small trees common to the roadsides of the area. "Where is dinner?" he asked roughly. I looked up at him and saw that he was holding a bloody rag to his cheek. His face was dirty and sweaty. I stood quickly to help him. "What happened?" I cried, reaching for the rag. With only one hand he shoved me back so hard I fell to the ground. "Get away!" he yelled. "Where is dinner? I work hard all day in those goblin-turd fields and all I ask is for you to have dinner ready when I get back. Can't you do that'? Or are you too stupid, you ungrateful wench?" I was stunned. I slowly got up and went into the kitchen to get something prepared for him to eat just while the hen was done cooking. Nervous, I was shaking and clattering the plates and goblets that I brought to the table. "What, in Set's name, is this?!?" I heard him cry from the entry room. He came stomping in with my sketch half-crumpled in his hand. "A sketch," I said, meekly. "I know what it is, " he said and smacked my across the mouth with the closed fist that held the small paper. I dropped a plate and it shattered. "This is why my dinner is late?" He was almost foaming now. His anger was so unfocused and powerful. "You don't need to waste your time with this craftsman filth! " He continued. "All that should concern you are my needs and the needs of this house and the family we are going to make. I will give you everything you need, so don't waste your time with this. The silver I earn will buy us pots or vases or whatever we need. You really are an ungrateful ugly bitch. She gets dragged out of a life that would have ended in the gutter to this…" He gestured with his arms. “And she’s too stupid to see it…” He struck me even harder this time and I fell. My hands embedded in the shards of plate on the floor. I felt blood pouring from my nose. "Get up!" he roared and kicked me with even greater fury. "Get up! " he kicked me again. "And pick up that plate before I break another over your stupid head. Can't you do anything right? Get up!" He kicked me several times and then I struggled up to my hands and knees and scooped up the shards. I practically crawled into the kitchen. Eric walked out of the house to use the pump to wash up. I cried as I finished the hen and set the table. I did not take the time to clean my bloody face. I could feel the bruises welling up on my side and back from his kicks. As much as I had felt my parents had resented me they had never beat me, nor had I ever seen my father raise his hand to my mother, but I figured that I must have done something wrong. I needed to be more attentive to his needs. I needed to know when he was going and coming and what kind of mood he was in. I was his wife, that was my job. I guessed that if I failed in that duty I deserved his wrath. What a fool I was!! Eric was completely different after dinner. I was washing up in the kitchen when he came behind me and put his arms gently around my waist to caress me. I cringed and he squeezed more tightly. "I'm sorry," he said and kissed my cheek. "My work is hard and I really need you to do what I ask. I don't want to have to hurt you. I have really come to love you." I was not in the mood for his advances, but his sudden tender way blinded me to wrath he had displayed before and allowed him to pull me off to our wedding bed. I lay there wondering if I was supposed to enjoy this, too. When he was done he got up, got dressed and rode into town to drink with his friends. I finished cleaning up and went to bed. I awoke to the feeling of a pressure on top of me. Eric was back and reeking of foul spirits and trying to force my legs apart. I instinctively locked them. "Come on, Autumn," he pleaded. "I'm sorry, husband" I told him quietly. "But I am tired and not in the mood. Once was enough." I did not see his fist coming in the darkness, but I could feel the heat of my lip swelling up. "I am your husband. You have no more right to refuse me anything," he said and forced my legs apart. I struggled and he struck me again. I began to cry. "Stop that whimpering," he said and slapped me a little more lightly. I quieted down and waited for him to be done. Again, I began to think he was right, that I was wrong to want to refuse my husband anything or to fail to foresee his desires and needs. I was weeping inwardly not because of his blows or his forced coupling, but because I felt as if I were a bad wife. He was right, I thought. I was ungrateful. ------------------------------------ [b]Notes:[/b] (1) There are two classes of slaves in the Black Islands Barony. There are indentured servants who have certain rights and may buy their way out of servitude (though this rarely happens), and whose children are born free (but are often sold by their parents out as soon as they are born to help pay for the cost of raising them), and there is the race of slaves who are descended from captives from the Hellish Isles to the far south. [/QUOTE]
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