Prologue:The Sounds of Night
The memories of the hardships faced by the legion are still vivid in everyone’s minds. Many of the Clan have departed, leaving only their words behind. The bitter taste of the Dark Ages of long ago still lingers on the tongues of many. Those who have borne the heavy load of these memories cannot help but think the Legion is once again walking the same path.
Although some have prophesized the Legion must fall in order to rise again, there are some who have faith in the new General. They speak of the hope the future holds for us. New people come to the Clan each week, and tell of us their faith in our warriors. It is known that their faith may be unfounded, yet it spreads like a fire throughout the masses.
The people are hungry for news about our warriors. The news from the Homeland is sparse, and seems to lack commitment.
Our Seer is quiet. He has not spoken a prophesy for many months.
Some see these things as a bad omen.
Others see these things as a hope for the future.
I see them as a sign of preparation.
I shall be your witness to the events of the forthcoming battles of the Legion.
Let me begin…
I walk through the long night, listening to the voices of those who are still with us. They speak of past battles, the glories of the ones who have come before us. They ask questions of the days ahead. They speak of the silence of AvengerRam, he who still talks but no longer regales us with the tales of battles.
As I pass in the darkness, I hear one speak of the woes ahead; he speaks truth, yet I cannot but wonder why he does not encourage others. Another repeats his dreams of future glory; he has the spirit of the young. Many talk of the reputation of fellow clansmen. Others speak of the spoils obtained from battles. Rumors of our heroes abound. Messages from other lands, from rival camps, continue to arrive, warning us of their preparations for battle.
I hear the sounds of the games coming from the abode of the privileged. They are ones who have paid their dues and earned the honor of admittance to the inner circle. They are the first to hear the news of our warriors. I, myself, have witnessed one of our great champions speak to those who belong. I was among the first who earned the right to join them. I visit the abode often, yet I am not of the mind to partake of the games; nor shall I hear the stories told in the abode. Tonight, I wander.
As I journey forward, I hear the voice of Utterlas. She speaks of trading for food and drink, and how she believes she was in the presence of a great warrior. Some do not believe her tale, for she was far from the home of the warrior. Another voice lends advice so she may know whether it is truly one of our own.
The song of two rings loudly among the Clan. The First and the Crimson Giant sound as though they are sampling the mead. Laughter abounds from their abode. The young one from the land of maize has returned from his travels to join them.
I hear rumors of one of the warriors of legend. Some speak of him returning to the fields of battle, others speak of him resting. Either way, all speak in awe of him. It is agreed that he is one of the greatest to carry the horns into battle.
My day shall soon end. I can see my home growing closer. A light is glowing in the window, and I know that my beloved, Maternia, and our child shall greet me. My canine companions, Margaret from Staffordshire and Mae from the north, rush forward as I open the door. The taste of meat and potatoes pleases my tongue.
I speak with Maternia, telling her of what I have seen and heard during my journey. I recall the words I heard spoken many days ago:
“ As most sought refuge for another defeat, three female voices rang out the sound of victory. From the nearest hilltop, the battle cry of Maternia, Utterlas, and RammeasFemalas could be heard in the ears of all the Spiralhorns. As these three women shouted the truth of Clan victory over the Cleric Army, men could be heard with disdain, “What does a woman know of battle?!” Without hesitation, the women declared, “It is the arm of man that swings the sword, but it’s the backbone of a woman that steadies the arm!” True enough, on this day, their voices would be heard.”
I tell her of the words of one of the wise ones, how he spoke of his desire to hear the tales of the Spiralhorns told again. I tell her of the strange silence of our storyteller. I tell her of others who wish to hear of the battles.
As I wished, Maternia spoke words of truth.
“There are many among us who have never heard the words of AvengerRam when he speaks of the battles. These stories cannot be silenced. A new minstrel must come forth, one who has the strength to believe in the lore of the Spiralhorns.”
It was then I knew the words of Maternia held wisdom. It was she who told me of the Legend of the Horns, and I who told her of the Clan.
Though I know I cannot capture the grandeur of the tales told by AvengerRam, I know from the words Maternia spoke that I should ask the wise ones permission to become the minstrel she spoke of.
I am Arre Efess. I wish to tell you the story of the Spiralhorns, and of the era of the new General.
Linear Mode
