Post by Brian on Aug 11, 2018 7:05:31 GMT -6
In ages past when the glens were green, the hills were kissed by warm breezes off the sea, when huts were homes, axes and claymores the tools of the day, when the red hair of the clans shone in the early morn sun against the bright greens all 'round, there came a queen of beauty. Her skin silken smooth, her eyes deepest darkest mysterious brown, her flowing hair, waist long it was, her presence as she stepped forth among the populace of the clan did give all men cause to halt their labours. A captivating beauty was she, yet most knew a woman such as this, with her station in life, indeed lay beyond their reach.
Her daily walks were legendary among the clans, each seeking favour, for 'twas believed fortune of great things would come to those who could be graced with the merest of touches from the lovely vision. Better yet would be to have her speak unto one, for her voice surpassed her beauty, soft and gentle it was, as well her kindness to all within the realm was well known. Entire clan wars had been set aside, not merely delayed, but ground to a halt in her presence. All hands remaining stayed long after her departure, for such was the magic of the effects she had had on all.
It came to pass, during a late spring storm, when skies were black, thunder blasted echoing off the hills, through the glens, lightening flashing in all its ferocity, bringing terror to all, that the black riders of the north, evil men under an evil master, did set forth to take the queen captive. Their intent was to force the surrender of the lands from the king. Yet after the brief incursion, though they knew it not, the dark riders from afar had slain the king, leaving no real champion to speak nor to attend to the affairs of the poor lady.
The warriors of the clans, fought amongst themselves, each wishing to claim the crown for himself, or at least the right to set forth to battle the forces of evil whom had wrought such a horrible turn of events upon the good people. Yet such would take many long days to accomplish. So it happened that a single common man, took it upon himself to enter the house of the former king, borrow the armour that lay within, as well as the swiftest most powerful steed in the land. Attired in his former master's war gear, did this fellow of stout heart set out to rescue his queen, while men who should've known better failed in seeing the true objective, continued to fight amongst themselves.
After many days of riding, the man who's name could not be revealed, appeared at the dark lord's manor, where upon he did slay all manner of beast and false men in battle working his way to the inner most chambers. He had but a single objective in his heart and mind. Facing the dark one at last, though weary 'n' wounded, the queen's self-appointed champion would not back down.
Worn as he was, finding deep within some inner strength, did this most uncommon of common men, turn to meet his black souled foe. The battle raged as the evil lord of the north struck with his tremendous magical might, only to find that magic such as his, tainted with the evil of his ways, was no match for a pure heart. With a roar that shook the very foundations of his home, the lord seized ancient weapons to do battle, believing where his magic failed, this exhausted intruder would fall, for he had no strength here at the end.
Yet as pure as the heart was the certainty of the sword. The dark one failed yet one last time, hearing the final words in his death throes, the battle cry of the clan he'd believed had been eradicated. As the clan's enemies lay slain all 'round, at last the sword fell from a hand too tired to maintain it's grip. Grievous wounds from several nips, slashes and bites into flesh taking their toll, the lone warrior collapsed.
When he awoke once more it was to discover that his wounds had been cleaned, tended to by no less personage than the queen herself. Three days had passed, though still feeling the effects of inflicted battle ravages, he'd delay no longer. Unto the main door they came, where the steed of steeds awaited. Mounting the mighty beast, together they began the journey home.
Brian Paul Sullivan © 2001
Her daily walks were legendary among the clans, each seeking favour, for 'twas believed fortune of great things would come to those who could be graced with the merest of touches from the lovely vision. Better yet would be to have her speak unto one, for her voice surpassed her beauty, soft and gentle it was, as well her kindness to all within the realm was well known. Entire clan wars had been set aside, not merely delayed, but ground to a halt in her presence. All hands remaining stayed long after her departure, for such was the magic of the effects she had had on all.
It came to pass, during a late spring storm, when skies were black, thunder blasted echoing off the hills, through the glens, lightening flashing in all its ferocity, bringing terror to all, that the black riders of the north, evil men under an evil master, did set forth to take the queen captive. Their intent was to force the surrender of the lands from the king. Yet after the brief incursion, though they knew it not, the dark riders from afar had slain the king, leaving no real champion to speak nor to attend to the affairs of the poor lady.
The warriors of the clans, fought amongst themselves, each wishing to claim the crown for himself, or at least the right to set forth to battle the forces of evil whom had wrought such a horrible turn of events upon the good people. Yet such would take many long days to accomplish. So it happened that a single common man, took it upon himself to enter the house of the former king, borrow the armour that lay within, as well as the swiftest most powerful steed in the land. Attired in his former master's war gear, did this fellow of stout heart set out to rescue his queen, while men who should've known better failed in seeing the true objective, continued to fight amongst themselves.
After many days of riding, the man who's name could not be revealed, appeared at the dark lord's manor, where upon he did slay all manner of beast and false men in battle working his way to the inner most chambers. He had but a single objective in his heart and mind. Facing the dark one at last, though weary 'n' wounded, the queen's self-appointed champion would not back down.
Worn as he was, finding deep within some inner strength, did this most uncommon of common men, turn to meet his black souled foe. The battle raged as the evil lord of the north struck with his tremendous magical might, only to find that magic such as his, tainted with the evil of his ways, was no match for a pure heart. With a roar that shook the very foundations of his home, the lord seized ancient weapons to do battle, believing where his magic failed, this exhausted intruder would fall, for he had no strength here at the end.
Yet as pure as the heart was the certainty of the sword. The dark one failed yet one last time, hearing the final words in his death throes, the battle cry of the clan he'd believed had been eradicated. As the clan's enemies lay slain all 'round, at last the sword fell from a hand too tired to maintain it's grip. Grievous wounds from several nips, slashes and bites into flesh taking their toll, the lone warrior collapsed.
When he awoke once more it was to discover that his wounds had been cleaned, tended to by no less personage than the queen herself. Three days had passed, though still feeling the effects of inflicted battle ravages, he'd delay no longer. Unto the main door they came, where the steed of steeds awaited. Mounting the mighty beast, together they began the journey home.
Brian Paul Sullivan © 2001
