Stories

Chapter 4
Altarian Saga , Maiden of Springhaven , Stories / 19th February 2017

Date: Divine-day, 11.2.840 The chirping of small birds and the hum of the morning from Nature’s lungs awoke Altaria as usual. She then went about her usual routine of the morning; feeding the animals, cleaning the barn, harvesting crops, and making up breakfast. As it was the divine-day of the week she would not need to go to the Havengarde city market to sell the farm’s produce. However, on the divine-day of the week she did have to go to Havengarde with her father for religious services. Altaria would not be trading their produce in the market square because trading was forbidden on the divine-day of every week without explicit permission from the High Priest. This permission was seldom granted to any but the most essential services. Although, even those very few with permission to trade had to abide by a very strict set of rules and limitations on how they could carry out business on the divine-day. Purely by convention, it was also common in Springhaven for markets and businesses to be closed the day before the divine-day, named the rest-day.   Frederic was finishing his breakfast. Altaria had eaten her breakfast earlier in the morning to save time…

Chapter 3
Altarian Saga , Maiden of Springhaven , Stories / 12th February 2017

Date: Rest-day, 10.2.840   Altaria had awoken to the sound of a flock of small birds chirping in the garden. She was laying on her side and facing towards an open casement window within its white wooden frame on her modest bedroom’s grey garden-side wall. With her right hand, Altaria visored her blue eyes from the gaze of the rising summer sun and combed back her golden-blonde hair behind her ears.   She caught a glimpse of the marble sundial in the garden through her bedroom window and saw that it was early in the morning. Although she was so used to the early hours that she could tell that it was very early in the morning without any need for the sundial. But for her it was not early, nor late. It was the right time for her to wake up and start another long day. Just like every other day. She was a young lady with heavy responsibility for her tender age of eighteen years. This responsibility was met by an industrious and preoccupied nature since the death of her mother, and her father’s crippling injury when she was a young child. This weight on her shoulders grew…

Chapter 2: Letter from Hadrian Herder
Altarian Saga , Maiden of Springhaven , Stories / 5th February 2017

Date: End-day, 89.4.839 To my dear father and sister, As I write this letter myself and almost one-thousand other men are onboard a huge transport ship in a navy of a size outstretching the worth of our quest. We are sailing southward for Dragon Isle, that is supposedly captured by the “ghastly, barbaric, and unenlightened” Malachonians of Sardonia. Personally, though I would not speak of it to our captain or my fellow soldiers and especially not to the priest accompanying us, I do not know of the reason or worth of this quest to capture Dragon Isle. The diminutive island seems to have no profit in it but the name. No life is to be found on the island. Not even the creatures after which it is named now dwell there and its land mass is not even large enough to hold all of us on both sides who are fighting for it. As each day passes and we find ourselves farther away from home, with more deaths, disease, and bloodshed, I begin to question what I, Althalos, Justinian, and so many of the dead and still surviving young men were told back home in Springhaven. We were told by…

Chapter 1: Prologue
Altarian Saga , Maiden of Springhaven , Stories / 29th January 2017

Date (Earth Calendar): 20 December c. 750AD In the mead hall of Thorshold in Jutland, the Jarl held a festival of storytelling through music, drama and spoken word to celebrate the Jule. The hall was brimming with the joyous chatter of the citizens of Thorshold that took place between the tales, plays and songs being told, played and sung in the centre of the hall as the other villagers would watch and listen to their tales of any themes imaginable. Randolfr, a rotund and red-faced, heavily-bearded man, choked down gallons of ale throughout the evening. When he told his tale of lecherous frivolity, often interrupted by his slinging of mouthfuls of ale from the drinking horn down his gullet, the audience in the hall was in a frenzy of cringe-soaked laughter. As Randolfr finished, he flung the drinking horn without an aim across the hall. ‘And that was the tale of the blacksmith’s wife and the fisherman’s apprentice.’ ‘Thank you, Randolfr, son of Lambert,’ Jarl Girbert said with awkwardness to the drunken rambler. ‘And I have another too,’ Randolfr replied, interrupting the Jarl. ‘The whore of Jutland.’ The citizens in the mead hall were hurled into a joint bout of…