Greenland, 999 AD:
A horn blows in the distance, the warriors and watchmen ready themselves, peering into the night. A single light appears, a spark in the ashen darkness. The sound of hooves on hard-packed earth heralds his coming, his horn sounds again, this time the clear eyed among the Greenlanders see a gold gleam as the rider raises it to his lips.
The steed, almost exhausted, skids to a stop in front of the gate, dust billowing in the lantern light. The rider does not dismount, but cries from below in their own language, his voice hoarse from the dust of his ride.
"Has the ship sailed? I know the tide turns at midnight, and one of the crew... "
"Traveler, I know not know who you are, or why you want to know, but Eric's Son has sailed with Noon tide," the captain of the guard returned.
The Messenger bowed his head.
Showing posts with label Crooked Bridges. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crooked Bridges. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Crooked Bridges: Day Two
Camelot, Circa 700 AD:
The First Messenger has passed from this world long ago, his task unfinished. But in his son his mission lives on, and generation after generation the title of Messenger is handed down. With the title is handed the great burden.
A lone rider passed through the gates of Camelot, dismounted hurriedly and entered the King's Court. He bowed, but did not remove his heavy traveling cloak.
"Arthur, King of England, I come in search of a man, or tidings of him. He is noble of stature and bearing, his arms are a slumbering Eagle on a field of black. I have a message for him that must be delivered without delay. I ask no boon save this."
The First Messenger has passed from this world long ago, his task unfinished. But in his son his mission lives on, and generation after generation the title of Messenger is handed down. With the title is handed the great burden.
A lone rider passed through the gates of Camelot, dismounted hurriedly and entered the King's Court. He bowed, but did not remove his heavy traveling cloak.
"Arthur, King of England, I come in search of a man, or tidings of him. He is noble of stature and bearing, his arms are a slumbering Eagle on a field of black. I have a message for him that must be delivered without delay. I ask no boon save this."
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Crooked Bridges: Day One
Rome 475 Anno Domini:
"The message is of absolutely vital importance, and should be delivered at the earliest possible date. The contents would be useless to you, and detrimental to The Cause in the wrong hands. Godspeed."
The Messenger of the Navigantium bowed and withdrew. He mounted his steed and rode swiftly to the docks, knowing every instant could be the difference between life and death. Not the life and death of one man, or even one nation, but of everyone who would ever live. He reached the water and the tide was with him. The ship was pulling at its cables, the captain and the sailors waiting silently for his arrival.
The voyage was ill fated, the powers of the sea seemed to be set against them. The ship foundered and was shattered by the storms. But one escaped the oceans wrath, whether guarded by a power of his own, through his own merits, or through some mere twist in the loom of fate cannot be said.
"The message is of absolutely vital importance, and should be delivered at the earliest possible date. The contents would be useless to you, and detrimental to The Cause in the wrong hands. Godspeed."
The Messenger of the Navigantium bowed and withdrew. He mounted his steed and rode swiftly to the docks, knowing every instant could be the difference between life and death. Not the life and death of one man, or even one nation, but of everyone who would ever live. He reached the water and the tide was with him. The ship was pulling at its cables, the captain and the sailors waiting silently for his arrival.
The voyage was ill fated, the powers of the sea seemed to be set against them. The ship foundered and was shattered by the storms. But one escaped the oceans wrath, whether guarded by a power of his own, through his own merits, or through some mere twist in the loom of fate cannot be said.
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