RuneScape Forum Archive | Rowena (Broken Home backstory)

Laetitia

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Title: Rowena
Summary: A backstory for the quest Broken Home, this is the story of an unlikely friendship set in Senntisten towards the end of the 2nd Age.
Notes: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BROKEN HOME! No content warnings apply.
The auto-censorship doesn't apparently allow us to type the names of canon characters correctly. Hence, Sene*inus

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Six days a week, without one failure in three thousand years of civil service, Sene*inus Aloysius Pamphilius makes his way from his home to his office at the Bureau of Public Sanitation. As his modest abode lies on the bank overlooking the River Salve, and the Bureau has its quarters in a temple in Ceres Street, he has not a small amount of commuting to do.

First he heads up the Embankment Stairs, which connect the freshly-built suburbs to the city proper. Then he continues westwards along the busy lanes of the Merchant’s District until he reaches the Forinthry Canal, the great watery feat of engineering which functions as a thoroughfare between Annakarl and Senntisten. From here on the shortest way to the Bureau would be across the great, statue-lined Victory Bridge and northwards along the western canal bank, all set about with the oldest palaces and temples in Senntisten. However, that is exactly the same route everyone else going to the city centre uses, and that is why at eight in the morning Victory and its surroundings are clogged with a throng -human, demon and vampyre alike –that would flood the Void. And for one with a sense of quaint dignity and a distinct strain of claustrophobia, the diurnal jam of Victory holds nothing but terror. Therefore, he has devised a rather clever route of his own. He continues along the canal past Victory, and on along until the Bridge of the Forgotten Infernals. Here he crosses over, crosses a market square and then backtracks southwards to his workplace. It is a good route.

03-Jan-2015 19:44:16 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 20:07:25 by Laetitia

Laetitia

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Now none of this –for he is always at his desk at ten minutes before the start of the day –would ever be a concern to none but himself, if his special route did not take him to what is known as East Canalside. One of the oldest parts of the town, and by far the worst maintained. For years the maze of ancient houses has been slated to be knocked down and rebuilt, but the fact that they tend to belong to the richest of the Chthonians –who rent out rooms to the city’s poorest humans –has kept the razing from happening.

But in the past few hundred years or so, something even worse has cropped up: the Canalbank shanties.

Every week dozens, if not hundreds of The Empire’s poorest humans flock to Senntisten. They come from the Forinthry plains and the border towns near Lassar, from the fishing villages by The Entrana Sea and the frozen hills of Ghorrock where nothing wants to grow. Travel permit systems and vagrancy laws have lessened the flow, but cannot stop it. They are the people the land won’t support and the army won’t have, people with no skills and nothing to offer The Empire but strong backs and a total lack of pride. There is use for some of them, as the streets don’t pave themselves no more than the barges unload their own cargo, but never for all. And even for those who can find work, there is no housing, no matter how tightly the slumlords pack the miserable rooms of East Canalside.

03-Jan-2015 19:46:43

Laetitia

Posts: 66 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Hence, the shanties. Along the paved bank rises a village of huts so flimsy and miserable they hardly amount to scrapheaps. Yet people live in them, whole families sleeping side by side as tightly as the shacks are built to one another. The women cook outside on open fires and scrub their pots and pans in the canal. Ragged clothes hang drying on lines criss-crossing between the rows of shelters. Packs of children hang about the place, the older ones looking after the littles while their fathers carry bricks at construction sites and their mothers breath in the toxic fumes of the dye factory. Once or twice a year the town guard razes the shanties. The inhabitants scatter and for a month or so the area is empty and clean. Then, little by little, a few always missing, the slum dwellers return to-erect their huts, and resume their miserable lives on the bank.

There are criminals among them, some of whom manage to avoid the guards for a while. There again, hardly a soul among them would be stupid or desperate enough to attack a Chthonian. Even then, most people avoid the eastern end of Infernals’ Bridge for reasons having to do with the sheer sight and smell of the squalor, and with having to look at the utter wretchedness of their fellow beings.

Sene*inus, rarely enough, does not mind. The humans have to live somewhere and they pose him no threat. Besides, for all the stench of the hutment* assaults his many sensitive noses, it is still preferable to the throng of Victory.

03-Jan-2015 19:47:12 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 20:08:05 by Laetitia

Laetitia

Posts: 66 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The bright, crisp morning early in Bennath should be no different. He passes Victory, continues along the canal and turns left to cross over.
It is then that he sees her. She sits on the stone balustrade of the bridge, swinging her bare feet, and stares at him intently. She’s just another one of the slum’s myriad children: stick-thin, bandy-legged, small for whatever age she is. The rags covering her tiny body can hardly be graced by the name of clothes, but they are clean, as is her face. Someone has made an attempt at her hair with a comb. The uniform of those engaged in a last-ditch effort to cling to the lowest rungs of respectability.

But for all her sad state, -and for all the humans say about Chthonians, most of it being true -she stares at him without a trace of fear. She neither speaks nor moves as he passes by, nor does she conceal her curiosity. Halfway up the bridge, he concentrates his sight on the eyes of his retreating side. The child has jumped off its seat and stands there, head tilted to one side, still staring.

The following morning he has already forgotten the encounter, when they meet again. Same place. Same seat. Again, he looks back. She stands at the same spot and waves.

On the third day, she waves at him as he passes by.

03-Jan-2015 19:49:26 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 19:52:05 by Laetitia

Laetitia

Posts: 66 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The fourth day is different. She sits at her usual place, but is idle no more. A basket of white flowers rests at her feet, and she proffers them towards passers-by. A woman walking past stops to buy one, smiles at something the girl says and walks away pinning her purchase on her dress. As he approaches the bridge, a clear voice calls out: “Spring flowers! Spring lilies, mister, buy one for your lady!” As a rule, he never buys from street vendors. But the child’s bright voice and smile, together with the absurdity of the image of a Chthonian buying flowers for his mate (or let us admit, the idea of the sworn bachelor Seneci**** having one) seal the deal. He exchanges a copper coin for a flower, and her call “Lord Zaros’ blessings on you!” follows him to the office.

The episode repeats, and a small mound of wilted lilies piles up on the corner of his desk. Hydrophilius from Provincial Aqueducts remarks on his failing standards of cleanliness.

A month passes. Sometimes the girl has flowers, sometimes lucky charms. Once or twice he sees her holding some gentlehuman’s horse. But she always seems to be in good spirits, and always has at least a wave for him. He hears a fragment of conversation shouted between her and a smaller boy standing on the bank below the bridge. “Rowena! Mother needs you!” “Tell her fifteen minutes!” (Selling violets.)

Late in Pentember, he greets her by name. Without a pause to wonder how a Chthonian knows it, she asks for his. Now they are acquaintances.

Fentuary. They have proceeded from greetings to asking about each other’s well-being as well. In addition to herself, she always reports on her mother, her little brother and the baby. He keeps her updated on the progress of his report concerning the maintenance of cloacas in Lassar.

03-Jan-2015 19:49:59

Laetitia

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”No flowers today?” He asks. Forced to idleness, she has abandoned her post to walk beside him across the bridge. ”Couldn’t find any.” But her face lights up, and she talks readily, as always. “But I’ll go up Picus Street and ask Sarah if she’s got an errand for me. She’s the scullery maid in the big white house near the market. You know, the one with the big griffin statues.” It suddenly dawns on him that the child is speaking about the palace of the Archbishop of Senntisten, the third most powerful dignitary of the church after the Maximus and the Council of Cardinals. The palace itself is one of the oldest and most distinguished landmarks of Senntisten. It has never really occurred to him that it employs a scullery maid, or that the maid should have a name, or the occasional need for an errand runner. Or just how his world and Rowena’s might overlap.

Septober. Rowena has found nothing to sell, but taking a message from a blacksmith’s apprentice to his sweetheart has earned her a coin, and she eyes the market stalls as only the perpetually hungry can. Today, she has realized there is a connection between Seneci**** and her father. “That was when we still lived in Forinthry. Oswin was just a baby then, so mother hadn’t yet had the baby. You know the big aqueduct from Lassar to Paddewwa? Well, father was working on that as a stonemason and he fell down seven storeys worth of scaffolding and died.” As her words sink in, the child suddenly sprints aside and ducks under a market table. She emerges seconds later, the spiral of a discarded apple peel in hand. “Yeah”, she continues, devouring her prize as she speaks: “He was working on the big one and we had a house in our village.

03-Jan-2015 19:50:21 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 19:50:47 by Laetitia

Laetitia

Posts: 66 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Then father died and ma couldn't pay her tithes no more so we came here.” And as she speaks, Sene*inus –who has no illusions about the working conditions on the aqueducts –can't help but hear the pride in her voice. Mentally, he re-runs the death-tolls and the costs of that particular project, familiar to him only as figures in a ledger. Mentally, he sees the whole event: Her father the empire-builder, falling off the platform in the autumn rains; one two, many levels, then ground and nothing. The work goes on.

She has not a clue but she carries the memory in herself (a body sinking in the mud, the relentless rain beating on its cooling skin) as a signpost, an anchor.
It would be heartless to correct her.

***

From time to time, Seneci**** considers the possibility of charity. He tries to think of some way to help her, but every possibility he thinks of would fail. He could buy her a new set of clothes, and teach her that her rags are inadequate. He could buy her shoes, and teach her that she needs them. Even with his modest salary he could easily rent her family a room –which they would in turn sublet, and use the money to buy food.
He could try and make some thoughtless gesture, and she’d think he pities her, that he condescends to her as Sarah’s mistress does when she donates her old clothes to her servants. As all mortals know, there’s things you can** get back.

03-Jan-2015 19:51:30 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 20:08:37 by Laetitia

Laetitia

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A week later he’s in the process of exiting the Bureau with his supervisor Atroxius when a voice cries out his name. "Sen!" She dodges and ducks her way through the traffic to him, while Atroxius stares at his most trusted and predictable underling being addressed by a human street urchin. “Sen, there’s a spy at Eternal Fires this evening! You wanna come?” As a rule, he doesn’t attend executions, no matter who it is. But his boss’ reaction to the whole situation –leave alone the pet name, does it. “Of course, my dear”, he says, taking pleasure in it. And as atrocious Atroxius stares ahead with every prying eye bulging out of his bulk with indignity, the two head up the street.

Towards the North-West of the city the street become wider, the houses grander. While Sene*inus reflects on his subtle victory over the tyrant, Rowena takes everything out of the great flagstones. Hopping and skipping in an occult pattern she sings:

In the Holy city of Senntisten
On the Shadowed Throne
Lord Zaros keeps guard over us
From Evening to the Morn’
In the Holy city of Senntisten
Though you cannot see
The Lord he keeps watch over you
And he watches o’er me.

“May the Void have my soul, but watch us He does and the Praetorians too”, wonders Sene*inus, and feels slightly, but not insurmountably guilty about such treacherous thoughts.

Somewhere in their incredibly adaptable collective consciousness the humans have come upon the idea that Zaros is their protector. Never mind that it was Him who brought in the demons and the vampyres who prey on them in the first place; it only matters that it was Zaros who instilled the laws that humans were to be regarded as citizens rather than food.

03-Jan-2015 19:53:43 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 20:09:19 by Laetitia

Laetitia

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That blinding optimism keeps her, and yet keeps all her kind in their misery. But who, what coldblooded soul, could ever dispute her faith when it’s all that she has? According to the teachings of his Lord, all beings should strive to rise above their created condition. In that sense, Rowena is a better Zarosian than he is.

As he muses and Rowena skips, they eventually arrive at the Square of Eternal Fires. Located in the North-West of the city, the square is lined with temples of the better sort, and hosts a spice market seven days a week. Yet it is known for two entirely different things, one at each end of its paved quadrangle. To the East stand the petrified remains of the many-headed Loarnab, terrifying even in death. Four great braziers burn around the statue at all times, for even dead gods leave echoes behind, and none truly knows what might become of such things uncontained. Hooded priests come four times a day to bless the fires, keeping the city safe.

At the western end stand the scaffolds where enemies of the Empire are executed. An altar, a beheading block and a row of gibbets, where any day at least one corpse will hang. Drains dark with blood run towards a cloaca grill, an apt symbol for the fate of the condemned. The statue stands at one end, the gallows at the other, and the comparison is lost on no-one.

03-Jan-2015 19:54:03

Laetitia

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Today, a Saradominist spy (Rowena briefs him) is slated to die at six, and though such an occasion is hardly unique, there is at least an inkling of carnival spirit in the air. Rowena, of course, knows the best seats, and wastes no time in securing the two of them a stone bench near the gallows. *Wait here”, she orders, and disappears among the stalls. Sene*inus finds himself amid a crowd of mostly humans, feeling somewhat out-of-place. For all the grandeur around, the spectators look hardly more fortunate than her. Around him vendors hustle their ware, human housewives haggle over the price of red pepper and hang-arounds wait for something to happen. It is an alien environment, but not an entirely uncomfortable one. Suddenly Rowena reappears by his side, a paper cone of roasted chestnuts in one hand.

“’Ey say ‘e was cap’erd near ‘e ‘Allowvale bordher”, she explains through a mouthful of steaming chestnut. “Trying to sneak into Kharyrll” –phew, she spits a shard of shell into the ditch. “They say he was sent personally by Queen Efaritay herself to spy on our defences.” Sene*inus* doesn’t ask who They are. Content with the explanation, he looks on as the fearsome ripper demon sharpens its claws upon the scaffold. “They had a whole Tribune last year, you know. No-one knew what they did him in for, but it was grand. Half Senntisten was here and I had to fight like an Avernic to get seats for **win and me.” He nods. He remembers the occasion (and the damn-near riot that occurred) all too clearly.

Darkness begins to fall, and as the excitement condenses. Rowena the executions-expert roll-calls beheadings past. Suddenly, the trumpets sound, and two figures appear on stage: First the spy, a bound, ragged scarecrow whose miserable figure says everything Zarosians need to know about their enemies. Second, a berobed human Pontiff, who makes his entrance to a mixed reaction. The latter rolls out a great parchment scroll, reading out to the gathered faithful:

03-Jan-2015 19:54:36 - Last edited on 03-Jan-2015 20:09:44 by Laetitia

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Rowena (Broken Home backstory)