The Fiasco at Scala

The Forsaken, part one

1.       Three centuries ago, to the west of the vast ocean between Europe and the Sahara was nestled the island paradise of Scala. This place was a near-perfect Eden, with year-round sunshine, verdant foliage, azure blue waters, and a large central town surrounded by hilly terrain shrouded in grass and flowers. The dirt trackways led into town, chatting couples drank wine and smoked tobacco outside overlooking the central piazza square. To the north of the town was the royal palace, beset in well-kept bushed gardens overlooked by the whitewashed walls and black windows of the estate. In the air was the sound of clopping horse hooves from carriages, the laughter and screams of playing children, and the daily talk of the masses, like songbirds.

The island was ruled by a king and queen of the Salvatore clan, whose ancestors had reigned supreme over the isle for two centuries beforehand. The present queen had died after the birth of her second child, a stern confident brunette who ruled with her husband as an equal on his terms. She adored the color purple, and was always seen wearing something of the like, from stockings to an entire gown at parties. The blue-eyed king continued without his one true love for the next eighteen years until he too succumbed to the passage of time. He too was confident, but also mindful of the wellbeing of his people to ensure he would be loved in this life and the next.

A solitary horn sounded over the land on the day of the royal funeral, with the yellow painted houses of the town waving banners of black in mourning. The king was buried in his golden royal tunic beside his purple-robed wife in the palace gardens under the shade of an oak tree. Present at the ceremony were the prince and princess. The younger man, Vico, was a wiry tall excuse for a son who inherited his father's dark brown hair and his mother's fiery temper. The elder woman by two years, Ilaria, was a smart shining example of a future queen, inheriting her mother's beauty and father's intellect.

Silence fell on the funeral as the black-clad priest read last rights while the burial continued. The standing crowd of hundreds wept and prayed for the dead king, and for the future of the kingdom. With the funeral over with, the priest called onto Ilaria as the next in line to the throne of Scala. Vico could not comprehend what had happened, as he thought he was more entitled to the throne than his sister since he was a man. Now, all he could do was look on as his sister was led away by royal guards armed with muskets back inside to prepare for the coming coronation.