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Prologue 1:
The Birth of The Rose
The third moon was slowly rising in the southern sky as the
sun leisurely cast the last vestiges of bright orange and yellow hues along the
western horizon. Another day was coming to a gentle end in the
peaceful little utopia of Dobbin’s Hollow, and while many residents were
settling down for the night, some still had business to attend to. “Boy, come on in here for a moment.” A tired, weathered man in the midst of his
life was stretching and yawning slightly. “Father?” The young pre-teen
boy who came easing into the room didn’t seem to have any of the same tiredness
as his father. An excited glint bounced
restlessly in Flinx’s eyes, as he asked, “Did you need me?” “Boy,” Flinx’s father spit tobacco nonchalantly into the old
vase sitting near his feet, “here, this is for you. The festival is starting tomorrow, and you’re
going to need you some coin to spend, and the bag here’s your schooling
gift. You’ll be attending classes once
the festival is over, and your Ma and I was hoping this would make a nice
present for you to help you follow your dream in life.” “Ooh!” Rushing over, Flinx’s face lit with excitement as he took the new leather herbalist’s satchel
from his father. Opening it, it was
instantly obvious that it had been custom crafted with him in mind. Leather pockets divided the inside of satchel
into several dozen individual pockets, and each snapped shut individually to
keep the herbs and spices inside of intermingling or intermixing. The pockets were empty now, of course, but Flinx was used to wandering the foothills near the town and seeking the many local
herbs which grew in abundance around Dobbin’s Hollow. “Why all the engravings of roses on the outside though,” he had
to ask, a little puzzled. They were
beautiful, of course, but still seemed kind of girlish in some ways, in Flinx’s young mind. “It’s because yours is going to be The Class of The Rose at
the academy,” his father informed him proudly.
“The last class was The Class of The Thorn, and they all turned out just
a little…” Pausing, Flinx’s father
shrugged slightly, uncertain what would be the proper term to use to describe
the last class of students to graduate the academy – even if they were quite a
bit odder than most, they were still Towners and there wasn’t any reason to
speak ill about them. “The Class of the Thorn just didn’t quite live up to
expectations,” Flinx’s father informed him, diplomatically, after a moment’s
thought. “The Headmistress thought a new
name, focused in a new direction, might help you guys find a better path to
adulthood, and give you something to take pride in. The Class of The Rose is new, so whatever
legacy it carries is up to you and your fellow classmates to create.” “I understand, Father!”
Beaming proudly at his gift, Flinx hugged his father and promised, “Don’t
worry. We’ll make The Class of The Rose something
worthwhile. I promise!”
All across town, several other children were repeating this
same scene in various other households in Dobbin’s Hollow.