Ok, so I've been working on my writing skills a lot, and have come out with the masterpiece that I'm very interested in getting peoples opinions on.
***WARNING: If you are going to read, please understand that in Celtic culture idea's such as violence, goring of dead bodies, plundering etc. etc. is not considered to be uncommon. I have "watered down" the examples used in the story, however there still is some. They are necessary to the development of characters
Now that we have all the business out of the way, I'll be posting new chapters every week, sometime around Wednesday or Thursday. But we will start small with the prologue. Enjoy
Lying in a low water ditch, Cadeyrn played with the gold coin. It was worn, you could tell it was by no means brand new, straight from the press, but that was what gave it character. He turned it over to see the detailed depiction of Alexander The Great, or at least that was what he was told it was by his family. He began to reflect, back to when he was a boy.
He could almost see the village. Small, and seemingly poor, it held a great secret. From the village many great warriors were born. The earliest Cadeyrn could remember meeting was Caratacos. His name was translated to something dealing with love, but he had no love in his heart. Standing an intimidating height, he was always a head taller than the largest warriors at the time.
Caratacos would walk into camp, with blood stained all over his body, and following him was the rest of the men. Bruised, tired, hungry, and battered from long wars waged upon the peoples of the south.
Cadeyrn would run, as quick as he could searching through the warriors trying to find someone that would tell him stories. Caratacos was always the last person he’d ask. The man knew not of any sort of love. His large stature, cold blue eyes, and the constant look of intensity often intimidated the poor boy. He would often tell stories of burning down entire camp. Plundering what little riches that they had to possibly offer.
He remembers the tale of, what was called, the great test.
Caratacos, lead a group of men, roughly seventy or so. They set out early in the morning during a dense fog. Upon arrival at the area that they designated it was said to be so quite that if someone so much as breathed the wrong way the enemy would know they were coming. However, you see Caratacos was no brute man, he relied upon not only his natural build, but instinct, and his mind.
“If you ever hear nothing… You know something’s wrong. Never let stillness prevail, because in the end it will be your enemy. “ He could hear the voice of Caratacos almost perfectly.
Suddenly he heard a snap. “What the hell was that?“
The snap rang out again. Cadeyrn jumped to his feet, there was no way that someone had followed him here. He was sure that he was hidden from sight. Then, he heard nothing. No birds, no snap of a twig in the distance.
”Stillness… Stillness is my enemy” He stood, reaching for the short sword which was gifted to him by Caratacos. ”It shall not prevail"
“A warriors Mentality Never fades to dust”
A dense fog seemed to dawn out of nowhere, Cadeyrn was left alone, with whomever, or whatever was stalking him through the woods. He’d never been followed after a raid. The constant zigzag motion, frequent stops to make sure he heard no one. His opponent was either really smart or had stumbled upon him by accident.
Just like clockwork, out came Cadeyrns sword, as he drew it, and flicked his wrist to the left. As two swords clashed he turned to face whomever it was who’d struck at him. He never expected to see this. A young boy, maybe 12 years of age was holding a great sword.
“Lad you shouldn’t be wandering through the woods like that, you’re going to get yourself hurt. Now hand me that sword of yours and get back home to your family.” He said in a tone of pure pity.
However Cadeyrn made a mistake and he instantly recognized it. The boys face was covered with ash, and his hands and clothes soaked in blood. This was no ordinary boy; he must have been part of the village. Cadeyrn almost instinctively slid the sword up, in a motion to parry the boy. He then used his broad shoulders, and massive chest to throw the kid to the dirt.
“I said go home!” This time his voice was more stern, and fierce. “I’m sorry you’ve got nothing left, you seem like a good kid, now run along.”
The boy simply grunted, got up and dashed through the woods. ”How had this small child stalked the greatest warrior of the Isles? How far did he follow me?” were the thoughts instantly blurring through Cadeyrns head. There was no way that this mere, well, child, could have talent such as he did without being taught. There had to be an enemy out there willing to use children to fight. Or was this kid so full of rage he had charged through the woods, and just caught up to Cadeyrn? That is the question he will be asking himself for a lifetime.
Cadeyrn sheathed his sword, and moved onwards. The clings and clangs of the gold in the sack tied to his left side was almost music to his ears. Taking up that offer to raid that small farming village, plunder it, and kill every capable man in sight was well worth the gold offered to him. Maybe these Romans may pay off, the invasion of the Isle was earning him great money, and there was no way that these small men, who were to cowardly to fight anyone bigger than themselves could make it inland to the Welsh villages that Cadeyrn called home.
The walk was long, tough, and extremely boring for a young warrior. He was lonely; the countryside of the Isle had no large cities. Settlements were few, and far between, women were worth their weight in gold and weren’t roaming about the countryside. Anyone you did run into was either a small Roman soldier who was returning from battle with the chief’s of the south, or a traveling warrior. All in all, the place had changed.
With the war on the Romans, the Celts now were seeing new ideas. Some of them even began following this blasphemes god named Jupiter. While others condemned all religions believing in the Gods, and followed some Jew from the great desert named Jesus. Not only was the religion changing, so were the men. Every single man seemed to be searching for more riches. Some were traveling out of the isles, and looking to strike it rich in the gold trade. Others were entering the Roman province, and trading for slaves with dark skin.
These new dark skinned slaves didn’t last long. And with what little riches they had to offer, they were usually met with looks of disgust from the Roman merchants. There was one thing however that was remaining the same. The valor of the warrior remained; the enemies were still being brutally defeated on the battlefield. Some say they’ve began to accuse the Celtic peoples of witchcraft, or magic. Seemed to Cadeyrn that they were just a slight bit mad about losing thousands of men.
A sudden burst of light caught Cadeyrns eye. It was gleaming through the thick oak trees, and he could smell, the distinct scent of fresh caught game cooking over a fire. Instantly thoughts of his hometown began to come to mind.
Though the small village from which Cadeyrn came from had no name. Nor enough men to defend itself from invading tribes, it was always home to him. The village had once been the most feared, and powerful tribe in all of the Isles. Even the men across the sea knew who they were. But that was before Caratacos disappeared.
He went off to battle with the romans. He had with him five hundred of the greatest men that anyone could offer, and not a single one has returned. This sparked the greatest war known to Cadeyrn and his people. The vengeance in their hearts was intense. Everyone, man, women, child, had a burning desire to watch the entire Roman Empire burn. With no mercy they began to slay every Roman village in sight.
But, like all things in the Isles it’s always short lived. Eventually the Romans began to throw massive amounts of men at the village. That’s when Cadeyrn lost everything. Fighting along side his family, and friends he was hit in the head with a small rock. Though small in size it was large enough to render him unconscious.
He awoke to a sight that gave him chills of pleasure down his spine. As he slowly opened his eyes, there lay a Roman solider, eyes wide open, mouth dropped, almost as if he’d seen one of the Gods themselves before they petrified him into the stone like state which he was in. As he dusted himself off and looked around he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Upon the hill flew a flag, not like any he had ever seen, but a white flag. But, as his vision began to focus, and the world quit spinning he realized something was next to the flag.
There was a dark figure, cloaked in black. He was standing with Ravens and Crows all around him staring down at the battlefield. His ominous presence instantly made Cadeyrn sick. He blinked, to make sure he was seeing everything and this was not some mind trick played by a well-placed blow to the head.
As he opened his eyes again slowly, he instantly knew he had made a mistake. The ominous dark figure was now an arms length from him, breathing with breath so cold that the air around him instantly froze. The figure reached out from under his robes, and reached for Cadeyrn.
The memory shook Cadeyrn awake. He scolded himself, as he had just let his imagination wander off farther than he could control. Reality suddenly began to spin back to him; he remembered the plunder he had just taken from the village. The little boy, whom know he had declared to be just lucky, or in favor with the gods, even the smell of campfire.
He was nearly halfway to the wall of that the Romans had built. It was by far not as great as the wall in China, which he’d seen pictures, and drawings of, but it was not meek either. It looked as though a truce had been declared, and they had divided the Isle in half. Except for the far north, where Vikings, and even larger barbarians were ruling at the time, but no one dared adventure there.
It was going to be a long journey home. All that Cadeyrn could think about was the fresh game, the home cooked meal, the smells the scent. With a pleasant smile on his face he drifted off back to sleep. But the nightmare came back.
This time, it was even further in the future. Cadeyrn had known something was off ever since the day of what he liked to call the “encounter” but he was convinced that nothing was going to change. It was simply a blow to the head that had caused him to go delusional for a few days. He could never push away the feeling of coldness however. Wherever he went, he could always feel a slight chill down his spine. He talked to every priest of every religion and they had all told him that nothing like this could possibly happen.
He remembers his last ditch effort to learn who this was. He traveled north, into the snow covered mountains, where only a select few people had ever returned. He was determined to learn what this being was, why it had appeared to him, and what this strange tongue that he had heard meant. He remembers mounting his horse, looking back at the small hut left standing amongst fields of black. Memories of the burning village were still burned into his memory.
A cold wind shook Cadeyrn awake. He looked over to his fire and realized it had blown out. He was now surrounded in darkness, as if it were a blanket. He was never too sure why, but something about night time had given him such a rush as a child. The more mature he became the harder it became for him to feel the same way. Night scared him. He couldn’t see well, he didn’t’ recognize every sound of every being in the distance. He had developed an idea that night would eventually swallow him up, until he was in a land of nothing but black.
As illogical as he tried to claim that his own fears were, he could never shake the one true feeling that scared him the most at night. He felt as though someone’s cold, hard, soul-less eyes were staring at him from somewhere beyond his eyesight. He shrugged these types of thoughts out of his mind quickly, reaching for his hood; he pulled the thick pelt over his head, and quickly drifted into sleep.
He awoke a second time that night, this time to a huge force of cold wind. But in the wind he heard whispers. Or at least he could swear he did. He could hear the marching of men, the sounds of a judge declaring a man guilty and sentencing him to be crucified.
With almost no thought he stood and walked to the top of the hill and looked down through the tree line. He just wanted to clear his mind. No more stupid stories of myths whirling in his head. No more memories that sent chills down his spine, or brought him on the verge of tears. He was going to think of the task ahead. Get home, cook food, stash gold, and live a simple life until the next person with a large sum of money came knocking at his door requiring his help. Suddenly, though he caught another gleam of light.
This fire wasn’t in the direction of the village, in fact it was the exact opposite, and there were multiple. He looked harder and began to make out movement. Cadeyrn had seen torches, being held by men moving through the tree line. Where these men Celtic militants, planning of purging the Isles of Romans once and for all, or the Romans he had heard marching through the winds.
Cadeyrn quickly rolled to his feet; the wind began to pick up, this time blowing from behind him. He could feel something pushing him forwards. Whether it be by luck, happenstance, or will of the Gods, the wind was pushing him right into something he would not soon forget.
***
Hope you have an awesome read, and I'm looking forward to hearing what you guys have to say about the story.
The story takes place from the view of a young aspiring warrior during the end of the British Iron Age. It is by no means 100% historically accurate, however it does have a lot of relavence to the time period. Such as names, culture, coinage, etc. etc. Please keep this in mind, and check back here often as I will post information relevant to the story that needs to be read to get an understanding of what exactly is going on, who characters are, and even foreshadowing of what will happen.
Names Translated
I used Behind the Name, to translate names. So if you want a full list of all names that could be included PM me and I'll send you the link.
Cadeyrn: Meaning "battle king" from the Welsh Cad (Battle) and Teryn (King). Often used as a royal name, or within the nobility of Britain.
Caratacos: Comes from the Celtic element "car" meaning love. Was a first century Celtic chief rebelling against Roman rule.
Translated Lines
*** Will be updated once characters use lines spoken in celtic languages. ***
Names Translated
I used Behind the Name, to translate names. So if you want a full list of all names that could be included PM me and I'll send you the link.
Cadeyrn: Meaning "battle king" from the Welsh Cad (Battle) and Teryn (King). Often used as a royal name, or within the nobility of Britain.
Caratacos: Comes from the Celtic element "car" meaning love. Was a first century Celtic chief rebelling against Roman rule.
Translated Lines
*** Will be updated once characters use lines spoken in celtic languages. ***
***WARNING: If you are going to read, please understand that in Celtic culture idea's such as violence, goring of dead bodies, plundering etc. etc. is not considered to be uncommon. I have "watered down" the examples used in the story, however there still is some. They are necessary to the development of characters
Now that we have all the business out of the way, I'll be posting new chapters every week, sometime around Wednesday or Thursday. But we will start small with the prologue. Enjoy
Prologue
From the loins of brutality, may the age of peace arise
From the loins of brutality, may the age of peace arise
Lying in a low water ditch, Cadeyrn played with the gold coin. It was worn, you could tell it was by no means brand new, straight from the press, but that was what gave it character. He turned it over to see the detailed depiction of Alexander The Great, or at least that was what he was told it was by his family. He began to reflect, back to when he was a boy.
He could almost see the village. Small, and seemingly poor, it held a great secret. From the village many great warriors were born. The earliest Cadeyrn could remember meeting was Caratacos. His name was translated to something dealing with love, but he had no love in his heart. Standing an intimidating height, he was always a head taller than the largest warriors at the time.
Caratacos would walk into camp, with blood stained all over his body, and following him was the rest of the men. Bruised, tired, hungry, and battered from long wars waged upon the peoples of the south.
Cadeyrn would run, as quick as he could searching through the warriors trying to find someone that would tell him stories. Caratacos was always the last person he’d ask. The man knew not of any sort of love. His large stature, cold blue eyes, and the constant look of intensity often intimidated the poor boy. He would often tell stories of burning down entire camp. Plundering what little riches that they had to possibly offer.
He remembers the tale of, what was called, the great test.
Caratacos, lead a group of men, roughly seventy or so. They set out early in the morning during a dense fog. Upon arrival at the area that they designated it was said to be so quite that if someone so much as breathed the wrong way the enemy would know they were coming. However, you see Caratacos was no brute man, he relied upon not only his natural build, but instinct, and his mind.
“If you ever hear nothing… You know something’s wrong. Never let stillness prevail, because in the end it will be your enemy. “ He could hear the voice of Caratacos almost perfectly.
Suddenly he heard a snap. “What the hell was that?“
The snap rang out again. Cadeyrn jumped to his feet, there was no way that someone had followed him here. He was sure that he was hidden from sight. Then, he heard nothing. No birds, no snap of a twig in the distance.
”Stillness… Stillness is my enemy” He stood, reaching for the short sword which was gifted to him by Caratacos. ”It shall not prevail"
Chapter 1
“A warriors Mentality Never fades to dust”
A dense fog seemed to dawn out of nowhere, Cadeyrn was left alone, with whomever, or whatever was stalking him through the woods. He’d never been followed after a raid. The constant zigzag motion, frequent stops to make sure he heard no one. His opponent was either really smart or had stumbled upon him by accident.
Just like clockwork, out came Cadeyrns sword, as he drew it, and flicked his wrist to the left. As two swords clashed he turned to face whomever it was who’d struck at him. He never expected to see this. A young boy, maybe 12 years of age was holding a great sword.
“Lad you shouldn’t be wandering through the woods like that, you’re going to get yourself hurt. Now hand me that sword of yours and get back home to your family.” He said in a tone of pure pity.
However Cadeyrn made a mistake and he instantly recognized it. The boys face was covered with ash, and his hands and clothes soaked in blood. This was no ordinary boy; he must have been part of the village. Cadeyrn almost instinctively slid the sword up, in a motion to parry the boy. He then used his broad shoulders, and massive chest to throw the kid to the dirt.
“I said go home!” This time his voice was more stern, and fierce. “I’m sorry you’ve got nothing left, you seem like a good kid, now run along.”
The boy simply grunted, got up and dashed through the woods. ”How had this small child stalked the greatest warrior of the Isles? How far did he follow me?” were the thoughts instantly blurring through Cadeyrns head. There was no way that this mere, well, child, could have talent such as he did without being taught. There had to be an enemy out there willing to use children to fight. Or was this kid so full of rage he had charged through the woods, and just caught up to Cadeyrn? That is the question he will be asking himself for a lifetime.
Cadeyrn sheathed his sword, and moved onwards. The clings and clangs of the gold in the sack tied to his left side was almost music to his ears. Taking up that offer to raid that small farming village, plunder it, and kill every capable man in sight was well worth the gold offered to him. Maybe these Romans may pay off, the invasion of the Isle was earning him great money, and there was no way that these small men, who were to cowardly to fight anyone bigger than themselves could make it inland to the Welsh villages that Cadeyrn called home.
The walk was long, tough, and extremely boring for a young warrior. He was lonely; the countryside of the Isle had no large cities. Settlements were few, and far between, women were worth their weight in gold and weren’t roaming about the countryside. Anyone you did run into was either a small Roman soldier who was returning from battle with the chief’s of the south, or a traveling warrior. All in all, the place had changed.
With the war on the Romans, the Celts now were seeing new ideas. Some of them even began following this blasphemes god named Jupiter. While others condemned all religions believing in the Gods, and followed some Jew from the great desert named Jesus. Not only was the religion changing, so were the men. Every single man seemed to be searching for more riches. Some were traveling out of the isles, and looking to strike it rich in the gold trade. Others were entering the Roman province, and trading for slaves with dark skin.
These new dark skinned slaves didn’t last long. And with what little riches they had to offer, they were usually met with looks of disgust from the Roman merchants. There was one thing however that was remaining the same. The valor of the warrior remained; the enemies were still being brutally defeated on the battlefield. Some say they’ve began to accuse the Celtic peoples of witchcraft, or magic. Seemed to Cadeyrn that they were just a slight bit mad about losing thousands of men.
A sudden burst of light caught Cadeyrns eye. It was gleaming through the thick oak trees, and he could smell, the distinct scent of fresh caught game cooking over a fire. Instantly thoughts of his hometown began to come to mind.
Though the small village from which Cadeyrn came from had no name. Nor enough men to defend itself from invading tribes, it was always home to him. The village had once been the most feared, and powerful tribe in all of the Isles. Even the men across the sea knew who they were. But that was before Caratacos disappeared.
He went off to battle with the romans. He had with him five hundred of the greatest men that anyone could offer, and not a single one has returned. This sparked the greatest war known to Cadeyrn and his people. The vengeance in their hearts was intense. Everyone, man, women, child, had a burning desire to watch the entire Roman Empire burn. With no mercy they began to slay every Roman village in sight.
But, like all things in the Isles it’s always short lived. Eventually the Romans began to throw massive amounts of men at the village. That’s when Cadeyrn lost everything. Fighting along side his family, and friends he was hit in the head with a small rock. Though small in size it was large enough to render him unconscious.
He awoke to a sight that gave him chills of pleasure down his spine. As he slowly opened his eyes, there lay a Roman solider, eyes wide open, mouth dropped, almost as if he’d seen one of the Gods themselves before they petrified him into the stone like state which he was in. As he dusted himself off and looked around he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Upon the hill flew a flag, not like any he had ever seen, but a white flag. But, as his vision began to focus, and the world quit spinning he realized something was next to the flag.
There was a dark figure, cloaked in black. He was standing with Ravens and Crows all around him staring down at the battlefield. His ominous presence instantly made Cadeyrn sick. He blinked, to make sure he was seeing everything and this was not some mind trick played by a well-placed blow to the head.
As he opened his eyes again slowly, he instantly knew he had made a mistake. The ominous dark figure was now an arms length from him, breathing with breath so cold that the air around him instantly froze. The figure reached out from under his robes, and reached for Cadeyrn.
The memory shook Cadeyrn awake. He scolded himself, as he had just let his imagination wander off farther than he could control. Reality suddenly began to spin back to him; he remembered the plunder he had just taken from the village. The little boy, whom know he had declared to be just lucky, or in favor with the gods, even the smell of campfire.
He was nearly halfway to the wall of that the Romans had built. It was by far not as great as the wall in China, which he’d seen pictures, and drawings of, but it was not meek either. It looked as though a truce had been declared, and they had divided the Isle in half. Except for the far north, where Vikings, and even larger barbarians were ruling at the time, but no one dared adventure there.
It was going to be a long journey home. All that Cadeyrn could think about was the fresh game, the home cooked meal, the smells the scent. With a pleasant smile on his face he drifted off back to sleep. But the nightmare came back.
This time, it was even further in the future. Cadeyrn had known something was off ever since the day of what he liked to call the “encounter” but he was convinced that nothing was going to change. It was simply a blow to the head that had caused him to go delusional for a few days. He could never push away the feeling of coldness however. Wherever he went, he could always feel a slight chill down his spine. He talked to every priest of every religion and they had all told him that nothing like this could possibly happen.
He remembers his last ditch effort to learn who this was. He traveled north, into the snow covered mountains, where only a select few people had ever returned. He was determined to learn what this being was, why it had appeared to him, and what this strange tongue that he had heard meant. He remembers mounting his horse, looking back at the small hut left standing amongst fields of black. Memories of the burning village were still burned into his memory.
A cold wind shook Cadeyrn awake. He looked over to his fire and realized it had blown out. He was now surrounded in darkness, as if it were a blanket. He was never too sure why, but something about night time had given him such a rush as a child. The more mature he became the harder it became for him to feel the same way. Night scared him. He couldn’t see well, he didn’t’ recognize every sound of every being in the distance. He had developed an idea that night would eventually swallow him up, until he was in a land of nothing but black.
As illogical as he tried to claim that his own fears were, he could never shake the one true feeling that scared him the most at night. He felt as though someone’s cold, hard, soul-less eyes were staring at him from somewhere beyond his eyesight. He shrugged these types of thoughts out of his mind quickly, reaching for his hood; he pulled the thick pelt over his head, and quickly drifted into sleep.
He awoke a second time that night, this time to a huge force of cold wind. But in the wind he heard whispers. Or at least he could swear he did. He could hear the marching of men, the sounds of a judge declaring a man guilty and sentencing him to be crucified.
With almost no thought he stood and walked to the top of the hill and looked down through the tree line. He just wanted to clear his mind. No more stupid stories of myths whirling in his head. No more memories that sent chills down his spine, or brought him on the verge of tears. He was going to think of the task ahead. Get home, cook food, stash gold, and live a simple life until the next person with a large sum of money came knocking at his door requiring his help. Suddenly, though he caught another gleam of light.
This fire wasn’t in the direction of the village, in fact it was the exact opposite, and there were multiple. He looked harder and began to make out movement. Cadeyrn had seen torches, being held by men moving through the tree line. Where these men Celtic militants, planning of purging the Isles of Romans once and for all, or the Romans he had heard marching through the winds.
Cadeyrn quickly rolled to his feet; the wind began to pick up, this time blowing from behind him. He could feel something pushing him forwards. Whether it be by luck, happenstance, or will of the Gods, the wind was pushing him right into something he would not soon forget.
***
Hope you have an awesome read, and I'm looking forward to hearing what you guys have to say about the story.
