Prologue: The Scum and the devineLavish banquets, beguiling gifts and pleasures, luxuries beyond imagining: these were the things the members of upper class society gorged themselves on. Just outside the wrought and twisted iron gates, however, resided the scum. Peasants. Serfs. Slaves. For all the noble families were concerned, outside those pearl tipped gates, piles of trash could have lain in heaps, and they wouldn't have given it two thoughts; for that's all the scum that was the rabble were. The lights bellowing from the large glass windows glared yellow through the jagged designs of the metal frames. Low rumbles and high hums of instruments and cheering and clapping could be heard several hundred feet from the walls surrounding the manor.
A low fog had begun to set in around the town, hazing what was left of the dying light of the falling sun. Fields of gray wheat in the rocky steppe beyond the town reflected, harshly, the waning glow of the sunset as the evening winds howled and chilled the stones of the town. To the occasional traveling merchant, this spectacle would captivate, but to the residents of this dreary town, it only served as a sort of iron blanket. The weight of the fog, coupled with the harshness of the sun and the chilling winds would force the residents to retire to their shabby and decaying houses. Now, to be fair, the nobility didn't 'always' throw parties. No. This just happened to be a special occasion. Sir Gorjery had just come into a sum of wealth from a successful tax collection season. The King had been pleased and awarded him with more land, that in turn, came with more scum.
Bromdun Nason was a 17 year old boy who worked as a blacksmith with his father. Tonight, he decided to walk around town to clear his mind before retiring to his home. Bromdun was fortunate enough to be born into a family of higher standing with the noble family, and so enjoyed the luxury of a stone house outside the walls of the manor along with being first when it was time to distribute the grain.
Bromdun didn't know what to expect. He loathed and detested the earl, or rather, all nobility. Even though he lived a more pleasant life than his other townsmen, he saw the mistreatment, the sorrow, and the pestilence around him. With every bone in his body, he hated Sir Gorjery. He fantasized of the day he would rise up in rebellion against the tyrannical nobility. It had even crossed his mind that he might stab the earl with this own sword when presenting it to him. The thought of this painted a smirk from Bromdun's lips as he strolled through the town. The sun had fallen almost completely now, and a dark purple haze had befallen the steppe of the southern English valley. The cold winds made Bromdun shiver, and so he decided it was time to head home.
Tomorrow was another day.