|Beyond our Mountain Home|
Composed by
Amory Edgar Kreiburg.
My time in Anglia was as I had dreamed it would be, the warm air, the gentle breeze forcing the vibrant, golden wheat-filled fields to sway like sunkissed waves against the pitted and uneven gravel roads that connected small farms, hamlets and the larger; more robust towns within the foreign lured landscape. What must've seemed an eternity at the time was in reality only a three hour ride through the countryside, tall golden stalks, towering windmills, stray cattle and large orchards being the only thing to catch my eye during my travels.
Watching the heat beat down onto the coachman of my carriage, I ordered him to pull over not seven villages into our journey and I watched as he dragged himself to a nearby water pump to quench his thirst and cool himself down before we were to set out again. I observed the horses, their bits and mouths covered with foam. Releasing them from the carriage, I led them to a trough to drink; to which they obliged. I roamed the streets of the small village after seeing to it that the coachman would look after the horses in my absence and I soon stumbled across a small chapel, a worn and small building; but holy all the same.
I watched as the villagers partook in afternoon mass and joined the desolate crowd at the back of the hall, I had until that very moment; never entered such a small place of worship. The room was practically barren, only seven or so people had gathered for the congregation with the exclusion of its host; an elderly Reverend that struggled on his feet. I watched as he shook and unsteadily swayed back and forth, I observed his pained expression and overheard him stumbling over his own words as he fought on for both his religion and the faithful that had gathered to hear him speak.
Following the conclusion of the Reverend's sermon I raced back to the carriage, having the coachman prepare the horses before we set out on the road again; now destined for the city of Axford and the Kade Citadel. When we arrived, much of the day had passed; the beating sun was almost setting over the imposing, mountainous walls that surrounded the capital. We rode alongside the Axell River, crossing from the south bank by Ceomar Castle to the north bank and into the centre of the city to view Liliane's Column. Riding eastwards towards the Kade Citadel, I passed various humble homes and admired the ingenious architecture and design that had birthed the sprawling cityscape of Axford.
When I finally arrived outside the walls of the Citadel the coachman halted the carriage, allowing me to admire what I now consider to be the most astonishing, incredible feat of architecture I have and will ever witness in my lifetime. Beyond the tall walls engulfed in low-hanging Kade banners I could see the towers and residences that hosted the Imperial Family. Upon passing one of the smaller side gates to the Citadel I even saw one of the many vibrant and flamboyant gardens exclusive to the Imperial family and their guests, a sight I thought most picturesque.
I spent near ten minutes admiring the ironwork of the gates, of which I was chased away from by a member of the Imperial Guard upon having stated I had no business in the citadel and was simply curious. I took the hint swiftly and without question, slinking off back to the carriage that awaited me; requesting the coachman find an inn for the evening suitable for the both of us, that I might see the nightlife within the city. Predictably enough, the bar below our room was filled with the working class; the majority of which sipped from tall mugs of cider and swigged happily from large flagons of ale. In truth, I knew not what I had expected.
I was most pleased that even beyond the boundaries of culture, life remained much the same as it did in my humble homeland beneath the mountains; to have witnessed such a consistently level and featureless landscape and coming to terms with the lifestyle adopted due to the topography was a joy I will not easily forget, a joy I hope this documentation of my travels in Anglia will share for generations to come.
May the Spirit guide us all,
Sir Amory Edgar Kreiburg.
Sir Amory Edgar Kreiburg.
