Yn Noviomagus
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1 Hot Year 2 The Every Woman 3 Butterfly of Flame 4 The Consort’s Boy 5 The Moon of the Angel 6 Wind in the Time
1 Hot Year
It breaks the days with winds warm wiring stalks for summer grasses and mornings as warm as the midday where the trees could fall clear and shade rarifying air, a many men one more than ten aside this forest in the drying meadow surround a monster of the old world before the roads and the cities, that which wears sleeves and vest of leather and bands of knives, whose feet have claws and face long with sign of tail, bands of scarred gold over fur and scars old, as they challenge. The sun is high and the dog of war is surrounded and panting scrambling to count the proud warriors whose boots are like cloven heels with teeth and talon cleats, their leather is neatly hung with pockets none, and all their weapons in hand more valuable than any bounty should they lose would not be had, and with one an empty bag in fact for placing the creature’s head, but the weather is unbearable and their leathers are unwearable beneath the furnace sun, and some of them stand panting as mangy beast begins to run, some hold to the trees between the fighting in the light and the shadows of respite, others cling to the bark of trees with the tearing of nails from the ground by their knees, and the beast but fights them one by one. As if duty bound they challenge the snarling thing, taunting and flaunting their halberds and arrows fly like sparrows adding danger to the dance becoming undone as the creature fights them one by one, a singing growl as the beast makes leap to take a man from his feet and feasting fashion drinks from lashes inflicted his blood for water in the summer heat as dusty road settles around him, the fret of sweat and timeless threat the heroes are prepared to fight untimely rite, they make forward and give circle of swords and daggers and stare at the unsightly dog of hell, as the creature’s heart swells within his chest they stab and strike and pierce and wrest, but for all their mights the beast still fights with focus undetermined quickly learning to bleed before bowing and knows before kneeling to wound their hands and not their dodgy heads. The man of armor certain to strike the beast with deathly swing gives equal focus and fights with armor and sword like hand and thought, the beast is quick and flees toward their trap and turns back even quicker, running behind the warrior king and fighting him again, barking and snapping and slashing like a man, two remaining men spear him, and he leaps off the warrior king clawing his side and finds their staring faces are forces all driven by victory and emotion in rapid breath. The creature has two of them pushed against the trap and to save themselves they trigger it, but insomuch they trap only the warrior king, bleeding and raging unable to test the boundaries of a ghostly prison, the beast smiles and throws a warrior once proud now pained into the boundary of the wall of light, and killing the other makes a matter of feeding on men the way only monsters feast.
2 The Everywoman
While walking in the woods a woman in a hood to shield herself from the sunlight finds herself being found, but without running her fears aground moves into hiding behind the biggest near tree in the darkest shade despite the noontime glow, it is part of the unknown why this woman would be practicing formidable skills, but with her back to the tree draws long sight on short work to her tracker, a man with a twisted eye and wandering back who walks like the ground is a swaying ship, wandering on the road toward the next with a lantern rattling at his hip, over him she sees a watery blue glimmery wall surrounding the great warrior, in lay to watch his wound and stays to prove his worth, but for this the greatest archer in all the worlds is deep in thought. This focus is pierced by blinding light from the old man’s lantern, as he growls he had turned into a bearlocke, whose hackles raise hairs into a coat of fur to make a big bushy beard, his lantern grows bright and his skin glows like a sunset despite the brightly day given and the nightly sway of clouds and evening lurking to her left and the warrior for now on the right, and for the cost of her attention, her focus had been the distraction needed for the man to become half of a bear in the light of the magic lantern. As the bear-man lands his front paw into the dirt the ground rumbles and echoes deep like an ocean, for this she announces that she is the greatest archer in all the worlds, and for that she would like to ride the man made bear, and for this he promises that he should rip and tear her for him not being a saddle creature of the woods, and for this she walks quickerly around him looking at his goods, for this he has his robe and the lantern, his sandals, and a pouch of rings open like a plot of leather holding enough rings for every finger on a squirrel-monkey and doubts her little feet could even run uphill. She wastes time to scoff and runs swift oft with less sound than the bear-man’s groans as she steps and steps onto his back, the bear roars and rolls his eyes now red with growing rage at this stage to wistful play she raises knee to his head like mighty mountain top, making the mightiful bear bark a grunt and throw his arm into the air, and her into the air with it, her hood displaced and her cape in waves behind her as she falls she shoots and arrow, which glides from her hand into his as intended, it would be a moment for the pain before the grief as the mighty bear would groan confusion wondering how long it would take to mend it, and raging howls and curses from the pain as not to pretend it, allowing the archer woman’s smile at the trouble to become a laff at the not so subtle profanities and the irony of the alacrity instead of practicality of tending to his simple and troublesome wounds. For this her focus spots the rings, and for something with her thinks proudly, but the distance soon sings loudly from the kennel of light with the warrior king a song of screams of man and tunes of magic. She scampers in a scarper for the cuestion and then farther seeking proof of burden or truth for learning what magic lies in wait, for the warrior king is laying and his allies still alive are praying for a magic to break the ghost wall around them, where she sees the werewolf working not to see the archer lurking, and she uses a whistle only the beast can hear.
3 Butterfly of Flame
The beast taunts the warrior in the walls and by night sees the ghost prison walls glow, the wolf-man for each meal becomes more like a man and looks at the prisoners of the trap they had meant for him, still barking at them the grunts are becoming more like that of men and less like beast, but still without purpose or distinction of never having spoken to the likes of men of the worlds, and the warrior king taunts back with the plentied promises of pain each worse than the last promise to slay the breath before. The archer with watch sees the beast poke and prod and slash at the magical boundary, a power attack of beastly strength moves one of the magic stones only an inch, but she sees it like it moves a mile with her renowned eyes meant for targets and fletchers, causing her invoke the most of many impartial plans involving her whistle, distracting the beast to turn and before a second signal runs into the woods away from the barrier’s glow, leaving the warriors to hurry in making weapons from their armor, a leather from the leg into a bite guard, a leather from a vest into a head guard, a leather from a shoulder as a fist guard. She pulls a magic arrow with a butterfly engraving on it, as she draws it the cord makes a noise, as she hears it she also sees the werewolf walking only six feet from her in the darkness and with the still of night she watches without moving her eyes or blinking her eyelids, and when a drop of moonlight falls she launches the magic butterfly arrow, where a red fire burns stuck into a tree, with mighty howl at the river moon the werewolf opens his arms before climbing across the earth fast as ravens at the fire. With faster feet than glance the great archeress runs to the magic boundary and sees what it is, telling them her station and her status as they beg her to stay away from the magical apparatus with their firsts words, whispering unheard by the werewolf they ask her to summon the legion of their castle to this very locale, and in the best help of all she agrees, but the night is still young and the werewolf in full run scares her away into the forest, almost running into the terrible dog’s trap. The beast follows her and runs past where she is climbing into a tree and when the werewolf passes she escapes the other direction.
4 The Consort’s Boy
Without fire the greatest archer in all the worlds carefully stepped thru the forest of night and if not for the full moon there would be no light at all, with the blu moon’s glow very careful of the sounds and her clever eyes looking for other eyes as not a running step could be taken, but for this the dawn glow where the land hungers for light she breaks her fast of slow moving night with tiny eggs and with the sound of birds the foxes waking in the hillsides that on this new day reminds her the way into town and scurries like a stranger exhausted at dawn in the waking world where cubs and chicks are in their bid. She walks up to the city wall by joining other travelers and traders slow to dart her quick eyes and quick to walk along them, seeing the many guards she turns back and hides in a wagon that is leaving, only to put on her hood in the day and leap into an entering wagon to be hidden and safe, when the wagon stops the guards make quick to look carefully and directly for her soon finding her there in a pile of pelts between bear and buck, and it would seem her luck has ended as the guards hoister her up and toss her into the drying morning road. What brings her back, is their question and what chance had she of staying was their orders to her, with her explanations none of the guards seems to entertain her more than plying and defiant, when their jokes were waiting to be told even further a very serious guard with a very serious title and a stubborn and stiff looking shirt with many symboled patches speaks the law, telling her so loudly that the rules were highest most that no passerby can hear themselves speak, and during his breaths the spiritful archer can barely hear herself over the sound of commerce. His lumbering guards mock rudely with deep voices to mimic their chieftain of the gate, and with her feeling late she turns, just as the gatekeeper reminds her, the ban will not be lifted unless she is gifted and enters the gates with an unwed groom, and by that she leaves in a huff and a puff with a piece of bread stolen from a sleeping guard whom the gatekeeper kicks awake. She waits by the roofs with no walls watching with her skilled eyes, a tracking wait of hunting she draws her bow without arrow getting barked at by barkers of concern or contempt, a patience that flies much slower than arrows, and rests her arms and soon her eyelids weigh heavily, when suddenly the sound of boys wrestling wakes her. She runs to them and pulls them apart and scolds one of them, and in between each word she tells the knave errant of the troubles the warrior king and his trouble within a ring of light from the werewolf and the night, an honest boy he asks her why she hasn’t climbed the walls to tell the king’s queen, making due to tell him she would go if she could tell her, for the boy is some cousin of some sort to the queen, and the worlds greatest archer is banned from the city of the king because she is banned from the warrior king by the queen’s mother, and for this the honest boy asks why she hasn’t told the guards, and the greatest archer in the world gave the boy a gold coin and one of her arrows, demanding the story be told to the queen and promising all the boys coins if the message is sent, they put their minds together and chase themselves to the city wall, right thru the gates, and straightly up into the city toward the royal court.
5 The Moon of the Angel
>>after brushing her hair and being suited by her sisters...
Attending the court to discuss country topics, the cadre of young cousins push aside as many people as they can bringing her the news, the king is dead, the king is dead! They scream unlike the others, and none can speak and breaths are gasps, like breaking glass the queen’s heart drops and guards move close to beat them, the king is caught of wolf and man, from one, a giant wolf like Fenrir is hunting him, another, that’s why the king has gone out to look for the wolf, yet another, because the king has gone a hunting, even another still, as stories of news are oft to do, as the queen in standing in her leather crown speaks silently to a mistress, who is the oldest, she demands of them, tell a lie and be drown with rats, as the guards pull their shoulders apart to stand them up, the eldest tells, he shot this arrow and missed and a mercenary witch brought it and the telling and a doubloon me, and as a guard took the doubloon the children all scattered like rats from a ship. The king’s queen she orders her guards to run out and hunt the terrible beast, pointing to the window and screaming with sharp strings of her voice to bring back the king dead or alive, and to burn the creature without a grave, and runs into the warroom to plan for herself, her leathers over cotton spreads like feathers fast to her window and shining table of blackoak stained with pitch and gold lace beneath clear lacquer designed like thousands of a single stitch, and begins to speak a magic of the oldest words from the oldest worlds from the pages made from the oldest fallen trees. She gathers all her magic pieces of stones and threes while incense rises and the golden hum of the sunset protects the horizon, with each word the falling sun becomes quiet, words over ashes and spells over ink and blood, with each whisper an echo of smoking moonlight leaves the shadows of sunset for the moon to breathe in gasps, brightening and resting as her magic summons succor to the lunar deities, while below her fingers her trinkets glow, a ring of power, a cup of remedy, and a dagger of dreams, to which she swipes and takes all three with her very quickly. Immediately the young queen finds the great archeress hiding from the evening, surprising her beside the fireplace of the shanty public house, foreign to the commons and the light, the archer grabs her own knife and kneels with staring eyes, and answers to the queen, he was found and halfway felled by unholy wolf-man, the queen aks, was it your fault, no, the archer replies and stands, the queen demands, we will find him and raise him and you will have protection by the law again, for this the archeress bows her brow and leads them serious straight away.
/6
Follows queen her archer, tracking every moving tree for sign of swinging tree or falling branch that might be the beast, she makes quick to note the archer fires far and still wears armor, and just that far as a far flung arrow would travel is the light of the ghost prison, the walls of which are glowing with her worrying. The queen approaches and the beast leaps out to kill them, the archeress lets fly steel header piercing shot, the true howl of the beast wakes the warrior king and his ally conserving energy, the queen priestess jumps between them and holds a stone made of moondust and spider silk, with a lunar language all the mysteries of night and nature glow giving her power from above and below, the magical glow turns the dog man monster more into wolf, who unlike her cannot invoke the spiritual magic and ethereal shine with his animal tongue, while the archeress checks the warrior, he tells her to fight or flight, and she stays watching the werewolf with one eye and her feet with the other ready to run. The beastly man falls forward bark and bite, but the queen priestess uses the lunar light to force the spell of languish, his skin begins to glow and melt his hide into a shrinking suit around his bones and screams fill the night so loud they echo against the moon itself, but leashed to wolfen lunar power only becomes more monster than all else, across his long jaw more beard than man, his ears tall and paws for hands with claws like knives, and growling claws and tear and paws and swears closer to the high priestess. The warrior begs the archer, take the stones and give them to the queen, certain question, but she has them, what should I do, she asks, and the warrior king’s comrade pushes and nudges the magic stones making the ghost prison boundary, the archeress moves one stone and the mighty wall begins opening a gateway, which the werewolf turns from her and smells their blood, only to quick turn teeth and breathe and growl a smile thru sharp teeth and sharper eyes on the wounded warrior king. Once reminded, the archeress tosses the stones to the priestess, the warrior king is ready and when the werewolf jumps the guard sacrifices himself unarmed completely, and with the blood of his newest victim he is renewed and now again becomes more man than creature, but still very much in neither natural shape, and with the evil of both natures begins to curse and promise them their demise, something of the time before and the echoes as sinister as the lies souls tell themselves, aside the bloody body his hunger is gone and his sight is long and his strength is strong and attacks the warrior king discarded on the ground disadvantaged and unguarded from the sound of biting rage, but allay allies allous with an arrow at point blank range, then with signal of hearts the priestess blinds the man beneath the monster with the starlight stone of sages and the warrior king rises with his sword with rageful thrust of back and knee, his hand holding his open side for now shut for none so simple cut and the werewolf begins a desperate attack, of all the pain of curse and shame and panicked at death’s door, none as quick as arrows flick and none as mad as knife the queen has as she uses it until the beast is done and low, and with her glow tends to the wounds of the king, and with her patience gives the archeress her queen’s ring to pass into the city again.
Riders come and with caring field beds carry the victims back to shelter, as the blood of the werewolf pools with the blood of the king’s guard.
Vildhjarta
STARRING
Mikael : Warrior King
Enis : General
Sean : Mercenary
Lera : Archeress
Bogan : Lantern Bear
Derien : Werewolf
Broc : Gatekeeper
Jef : Cousin
Lusian : Quartermaster
Mel : Imperator
Janes : Mother Superior
Aisling : Priestess
Erin : Nun
Nicole : Maiden
Merlin : Wagoner