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oropherion
Planetoid
- Joined
- Nov 21, 2021
Saturday, 29th September 18xx,
Ciocanesti, Romania
It was a gloomy day with thick gray clouds blotting the sky and distant rumbling that warned of a potential storm. It was seasonably cold, a brisk wind whistling through the valley forcing the villagers to bundle up and light warm fires. Such fires could be spotted through the windows of the old thatched cottages, but the Romanian's were seasoned people and the cold didn't stop them from going about their daily lives. Coin could not be made if one remained housed up and there was plenty of laborious work to be done to maintain their village. They were mostly a quiet, stoic lot, deeply religious and deeply set in their traditions. Ciocanesti was nestled at the base of a mountain within a beautiful valley with an estimated number of at least 1,000 people whom lived there. Overlooking the small village upon a hill was a large, imposing gothic-style church with an attached monastery for the nuns that resided there. All villagers attended mass on Sunday, filling up the church with its loud organs playing hymns alongside a small choir, listening to the scriptures bespoken of by the priest. Each member of the church was well known among the masses, in and outside of the church alike. It was seeped with a long, dark and somewhat bloody history, but despite the wars and the plagues, the church had remained in tact and been in service for hundreds of years.
Sister Florenta Niculaie stepped from the monastery doors with a wicker basket hooked over her right arm and a written list of items she needed to retrieve from the market. It wasn't typical that she, or any of the other nuns, left the church except on certain occasions. With Sister Ramona recovering from pneumonia and a lot of the other Sisters busy with their tasks around the church, Florenta, whom was the youngest of the bunch, was given this task. At eighteen, Florenta had decided to take her vow as a nun and at twenty-one years presently, she had felt it had been the right decision. After all, she had been abandoned as a child by her parents and raised by the church. It was only right that she gave back by serving them, and most especially, their Savior.
Florenta shivered underneath her habit and tugged at her veil to shield more of her exposed face from the wind as she followed along the stone pathway towards the gate. The basket swung back and forth on her arm as she walked. It was a good couple miles from the church to the village so she could only pray the distance would warm her up as she took in the sights around her. While it was a mostly quiet village, there were always those who needed aid from the church. Whether it was just a need for a listening ear, or for the priest to help absolve them of their sin, or guidance in making the righteous and morally outstanding choice, and so forth. A lot of sick and dying came through their doors, seeking comfort for what time remained of them, and others were just lost folk with no path. Florenta had seen them all over the years, was fascinated by the stories she overheard, especially those that traveled beyond and from other villages. In her twenty-one years, she had never stepped foot outside of Ciocanesti, and had dreamed that maybe one day her devotion and missive in life would draw her out to serve people beyond all the familiar faces she knew too well.
She hummed a soft hymn as she walked, fingering the list in her pocket as if constantly reminding herself of her task as she finally breached the village streets. People were tilling around their homes or bustling around through the streets, running errands and fulfilling work-related tasks. Many shops were still open, bustling with noise as people perused and purchased their goods. The aroma of baked bread and sweets filled the air from one of the bakeries making Florenta's stomach rumble in interest. She hushed her stomach as she pressed on towards the village square where the larger market was set up. As she passed through, the people would pause and bow at the shoulders as they greeted her with, "Hello Sister," to which she would return with a smile and a bob of her head. She had become quite popular among the villagers, especially the young men. Florenta was beautiful and young, skin soft and pale, with large round eyes the color of moss, and rich black hair that would typically reach the lower portion of her back, but remained hidden beneath her veil. Many men had pleaded for her heart and hand, to give up her vows for them, to which she had simply giggled and hushed them, sending them off with a prayer of forgiveness for their audacity.
Since it was her first time in the village on her own in a long while, Florenta took her time as she reached the market. Delicate fingers picked up fruits and bags of grain, eyeing their quality before dumping them in her basket. She made small talk with the stall owners, sharing short laughs, and always maintaining her professionalism. She listened to the updates on their lives, of their complaints and frustrations, mainly towards the Romanian government. She reminded them that as long as they were loyal to the Lord and served him, then they were as rich as they could ever be. She was wandering towards a craft shop when she felt something draw her attention away from her destination. She paused in the middle of the street, her basket heavy and weighing on her arm, as she scanned her surroundings. It was like her eyes were magnetized immediately to this tall and brooding form of a young man standing near an alleyway. He was young, handsome, and something in his eyes made her take pause, feel a shiver run down her spine, and draw a small silent gasp from her plump lips. Their eyes met and caught for a few long seconds and for a strange reason, she felt heat rise to her round cheeks, giving her pallor some color as she stared. Her lips curled into a friendly smile and her head bowed just a tad to acknowledge his presence, but her feet remained still.
It was like a spell had been cast and she was rooted to the spot, but then someone passed between them and broke it. Florenta inhaled sharply as she realized she had been holding her breathe, as if expecting something to happen and was anticipating it. Feeling ridiculous and seeing the man was no longer standing in the spot, she hummed and shook her head as she turned and finally walked into the store to finish the remainder of her shopping. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and every now and then she'd look up and look around, as if she was being watched. She couldn't understand this strange feeling that one would describe as paranoia, but she didn't feel afraid? She actually felt calm, content. It was strange and she kept looking to see if she'd see him again, even after she piled everything up at the counter and exchanged coin, adding to her purchases in her basket before finally moving to step outside of the shop.
Ciocanesti, Romania
It was a gloomy day with thick gray clouds blotting the sky and distant rumbling that warned of a potential storm. It was seasonably cold, a brisk wind whistling through the valley forcing the villagers to bundle up and light warm fires. Such fires could be spotted through the windows of the old thatched cottages, but the Romanian's were seasoned people and the cold didn't stop them from going about their daily lives. Coin could not be made if one remained housed up and there was plenty of laborious work to be done to maintain their village. They were mostly a quiet, stoic lot, deeply religious and deeply set in their traditions. Ciocanesti was nestled at the base of a mountain within a beautiful valley with an estimated number of at least 1,000 people whom lived there. Overlooking the small village upon a hill was a large, imposing gothic-style church with an attached monastery for the nuns that resided there. All villagers attended mass on Sunday, filling up the church with its loud organs playing hymns alongside a small choir, listening to the scriptures bespoken of by the priest. Each member of the church was well known among the masses, in and outside of the church alike. It was seeped with a long, dark and somewhat bloody history, but despite the wars and the plagues, the church had remained in tact and been in service for hundreds of years.
Sister Florenta Niculaie stepped from the monastery doors with a wicker basket hooked over her right arm and a written list of items she needed to retrieve from the market. It wasn't typical that she, or any of the other nuns, left the church except on certain occasions. With Sister Ramona recovering from pneumonia and a lot of the other Sisters busy with their tasks around the church, Florenta, whom was the youngest of the bunch, was given this task. At eighteen, Florenta had decided to take her vow as a nun and at twenty-one years presently, she had felt it had been the right decision. After all, she had been abandoned as a child by her parents and raised by the church. It was only right that she gave back by serving them, and most especially, their Savior.
Florenta shivered underneath her habit and tugged at her veil to shield more of her exposed face from the wind as she followed along the stone pathway towards the gate. The basket swung back and forth on her arm as she walked. It was a good couple miles from the church to the village so she could only pray the distance would warm her up as she took in the sights around her. While it was a mostly quiet village, there were always those who needed aid from the church. Whether it was just a need for a listening ear, or for the priest to help absolve them of their sin, or guidance in making the righteous and morally outstanding choice, and so forth. A lot of sick and dying came through their doors, seeking comfort for what time remained of them, and others were just lost folk with no path. Florenta had seen them all over the years, was fascinated by the stories she overheard, especially those that traveled beyond and from other villages. In her twenty-one years, she had never stepped foot outside of Ciocanesti, and had dreamed that maybe one day her devotion and missive in life would draw her out to serve people beyond all the familiar faces she knew too well.
She hummed a soft hymn as she walked, fingering the list in her pocket as if constantly reminding herself of her task as she finally breached the village streets. People were tilling around their homes or bustling around through the streets, running errands and fulfilling work-related tasks. Many shops were still open, bustling with noise as people perused and purchased their goods. The aroma of baked bread and sweets filled the air from one of the bakeries making Florenta's stomach rumble in interest. She hushed her stomach as she pressed on towards the village square where the larger market was set up. As she passed through, the people would pause and bow at the shoulders as they greeted her with, "Hello Sister," to which she would return with a smile and a bob of her head. She had become quite popular among the villagers, especially the young men. Florenta was beautiful and young, skin soft and pale, with large round eyes the color of moss, and rich black hair that would typically reach the lower portion of her back, but remained hidden beneath her veil. Many men had pleaded for her heart and hand, to give up her vows for them, to which she had simply giggled and hushed them, sending them off with a prayer of forgiveness for their audacity.
Since it was her first time in the village on her own in a long while, Florenta took her time as she reached the market. Delicate fingers picked up fruits and bags of grain, eyeing their quality before dumping them in her basket. She made small talk with the stall owners, sharing short laughs, and always maintaining her professionalism. She listened to the updates on their lives, of their complaints and frustrations, mainly towards the Romanian government. She reminded them that as long as they were loyal to the Lord and served him, then they were as rich as they could ever be. She was wandering towards a craft shop when she felt something draw her attention away from her destination. She paused in the middle of the street, her basket heavy and weighing on her arm, as she scanned her surroundings. It was like her eyes were magnetized immediately to this tall and brooding form of a young man standing near an alleyway. He was young, handsome, and something in his eyes made her take pause, feel a shiver run down her spine, and draw a small silent gasp from her plump lips. Their eyes met and caught for a few long seconds and for a strange reason, she felt heat rise to her round cheeks, giving her pallor some color as she stared. Her lips curled into a friendly smile and her head bowed just a tad to acknowledge his presence, but her feet remained still.
It was like a spell had been cast and she was rooted to the spot, but then someone passed between them and broke it. Florenta inhaled sharply as she realized she had been holding her breathe, as if expecting something to happen and was anticipating it. Feeling ridiculous and seeing the man was no longer standing in the spot, she hummed and shook her head as she turned and finally walked into the store to finish the remainder of her shopping. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and every now and then she'd look up and look around, as if she was being watched. She couldn't understand this strange feeling that one would describe as paranoia, but she didn't feel afraid? She actually felt calm, content. It was strange and she kept looking to see if she'd see him again, even after she piled everything up at the counter and exchanged coin, adding to her purchases in her basket before finally moving to step outside of the shop.