Miscellania

Extract #1 The Story of Breagad

Context: I wrote this as a piece of English writing coursework, the first piece of creative prose I had written in roughly a year, this was meant to imitate the style of Patrick Rothuss (author of the amazing Kingkiller chronicles) and had a 750 word limit. I hope you enjoy

Dusk had come. The summer sun cast its last slivers of light over the Lord's keep as it sank below the horizon. The men at arms gathered around a battered oaken table in the great hall, enjoying each other's company and the ale they had liberated from the keep's cellars earlier that day.

Their sergeant, Elias, played babysitter in the corner of the hall, entertaining Dayne and Ely, His master's two young sons. They perched at his feet, listening attentively to the bearded man's story. The men in the background roared with laughter as the liquor took its hold.

'Now the man I speak of wasn't just any warrior – this was Breagad, your ancestor and the first of our race to make his way across the seas to these lands. I've told you the story of his journey from his kingdom before, but have I told you of his exploits in the Ironspine Mountains to the east?'

The children shook their heads, eager at the prospect of a new story, whilst Elias stole the opportunity to take a hasty gulp from his tankard.

'Well, this was after the death of Breagad's crew. He was alone and without a ship to make his way home. He followed the Stonebrook river, and began to travel through the mountains.'

Elias took another sip of his ale and grinned at Willem, who was beginning to make a tidy profit from his fellow guards in a game of cards. He turned to the attentive children and continued.

'Now, you'd do well to remember this was before the time of civilised folk such as us. Those mountains were wild places. Even now, those with an ounce of sense would steer clear...' he paused for effect '...there are monsters in those parts; Gremlins and Goblins and such. And darker things, creatures without a name and without a soul. But they didn't scare Breagad, he was armed with his wits and his strength, not to mention his axe. You know its name don't you boy?'

'JarnBjorn,' breathed Dayne reverently, 'the god biter.'

'Aye,' chimed in Tyr, a burly guard whose iron tooth glinted as he spoke, 'an axe forged of blood and bone.'

It was an old tale, far older than any of the men lounging there. It had been told in the great hall itself countless times. Several of the tapestries that bedecked the crumbling walls of the ancient room depicted the hero, an honoured ancestor of the castle's inhabitants.

'So Breagad began to travel through the mountains. He followed an old path, paved by stone as black as night, and surrounded on all sides by the dangers of the IronSpine. The first person he met was an old man in a tattered cloak and a broad brimmed hat, standing by the side of the road and he– '

'I thought it was a Goblin King,' shouted a drunken guard from across the room.

'Yes, as Jack so kindly contributed, this was actually The Goblin King,' Elias muttered, teeth gritted.

'The King played the part of a poor old man and asked Breagad to follow him to a village to help with a crisis. Being a hero, Breagad agreed, but it wasn't long before he saw through the disguise. They had just reached the village when Breagad drew his axe with barely a whisper and struck the King down right in the middle of the path, for you see it was common knowledge that any goblin would have tried to eat Breagad, had he reached his house'.

Ely shifted uncomfortably. 'So, he just killed the old man?'

'T'wasn't an old man, t'was a creature that needed killin'. Breagad knew what he was doin' boy,' grunted Tyr.

Elias continued, 'Aye. Breagad was no murderer. He did what he had to do, just like his descendants today. Now, as soon as Breagad struck him down, a terrible howl rose up from the village – Breagad had woken the horde.'

Elias' guardsmen shifted their seats closer with an audible screech. This was evidently a popular part of the tale. Dayne and Ely remained seated on the dais, looking up at Elias with their wide-eyed stare.

'The goblins poured from their ramshackle village like an avalanche down a mountain side. They were a torrent of horns and blades. Most men would have turned and fled, but Breagad didn't. He faced them with JarnBjorn by his side and fought like a man possessed. He cleansed the mountains of those foul creatures that day.'