Sagas, Short story, Weekend

A march.

Never has there been before or since that dream of mine, a face or life worth following to the hells of oblivion and beyond. Continue reading “A march.”

Lore, Sagas

The walls.

The walls sang along with echoes as the folk would sing, to hope and joy the darkness had always been driven away. Names lay carved into the walls and their foundations, along the sides of every house and inscribed inside the waters of the fountains. Names of those lost in times before, of those who laid the stone and those who wrought it from the quarries and carved it into shape. Continue reading “The walls.”

Lore, Sagas

Beating the drum.

There’s something primordial about it, the banging of the drum. As thunder wrought down from Gods and spirits to shake both the heavens and the earth. All else between reverberates with it blunt majesty, as the drummers play and spur on all those about. It sits in the ear, each beat, as the next comes to take its place. And a deafening silence remains when the drummers stop playing their beat. Continue reading “Beating the drum.”

Lore, Sagas, Short story

To our proud conqueror.

You rode here among an army greater in number than our total and wrought destruction without warning. Ours was but a city on your path to glory unquestioned, a name that would call from the past with a fury as thunder echoes in a valley, where even the stones will shudder at the sound. We heard you all first, marching down our small and dusty road. The stomping of countless feet, the rattle of countless weapons. It continued on even as your men took their positions. Continue reading “To our proud conqueror.”

Lore, Sagas, Short story

The wilds.

The wild men of the woods are always looked down upon and left in the great nowhere of deep forests far from the lives of villagers. And even further from city dwellers. They are the criminals cast out and banished from communal life. Effectively sentenced to death in these parts of the world. The forest is not an easy place to live alone at the best of times, let alone the harsher seasons. Continue reading “The wilds.”