The Beacon on the Hill

The Beacon on the Hill

A young man, Bromdun, discovers a relic of the past that could not only break open the roads that would define his future, but also the future of the world. Urged on by his friend, will this man find the meaning behind his finding of the relic, or will he set the world spiraling back into darkness? :::Disclaimer::: I draw a lot of influence from actual history, and am, in fact, very knowledgeable in the history of Rome, Europe, and the middle east. You'll find that many of the people I reference were real people. However, dates, exact locations, and a few stories might be a LITTLE twisted to fit the plot of my story. This is, after all, a fictitious narrative story. So enjoy! :) P.S. Try to find where I make references, easter eggs and satire.

published on Monday2 reads 2 readers 0 not completed
Prologue: The Scum and the devine

Prologue: The Scum and the devine

        Lavish 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.
        The manor of the Slypa family overlooked a town in south east England, about 30 miles from the shores of the English channel. This town housed roughly five thousand people, all of which, were farmers, poor traders, goose or pig tenders, or did various other odd jobs through the town. For Bromdun, he had been thrown into smithing since he was old enough to hold a hammer and a clamp. His father had gifted the earl with an Ulfbert sword long ago that he had forged himself. This impressed Sir Gorjery, and he promptly gifted him with a house he had his servants build outside his walls and lowered his annual taxes. Ulfbert steel was an old Nordic form of iron that was passed down through the Nason family for generations. It was highly coveted, even by kings, and extremely valuable. The secrets of the forging of this steel have been kept closely guarded throughout history. Now it was finally Bromdun's turn to learn this sacred art. Tomorrow, his father would teach him, and over the course of the next few days or weeks, he was to forge his very first Ulfbert sword and present it to Sir Gorjery.
        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.
Join Qfeast to read the entire story!
Sign In. It is absolutely free!
0.0
Please Rate:
0.0 out of 5 from 0 users
Add story to favorites
▼Scroll down for more stories

Comments (0)

Be the first to comment