Guardian

What is one, lowly peasant boy in a world of implacable Kings and scheming, murderous Nobles?


One with a destiny beyond imagining.


Young Braen is a simple shepherd, like his father, and his before him. Nothing ever changes in the village of Stonesthrow, save for the turning of the seasons.

But when death finds him, the young man quickly learns that 'the end' is not so clear-cut.

At least, not for those granted the gift of immortality.

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Author's note

(Some of the names and terms I've outright invented (which is most of them) might be confusing as far as their proper pronunciation goes, so here will be a (likely) ever-expanding list to aid you, dear reader, with just that!)

Braen - Bray-en (Celtic inspired)

Rion - Rye-on (Celtic inspired)

Meira - Meer-a

Patras - Pah-trahs (Mediterranean inspired)

Kleonic Marathon - Klee-oh-nik Marath-on (Kleon is derived from the Greek word 'Kleos' which means 'glorious'. 'Marathon' was the site of a famous battle during the Greco-Persian wars.

Urik - Your-ik (Anglo-Saxon inspired)

Obfuscationist - Ob-few-scay-shun-ist (Obviously not a 'real' word, but it damn well should be!)
AA

14. chapter 14

'Ah...........there you are, my High-born friend. I was beginning to wonder if ye'd lost your way'

 

The Noble clenched his fists, having little care for the refreshing coolness of the night-air.

 

'You will address me as 'My Lord', you poxy wastrel!'

 

The shadowy figure, dressed in black from head to toe, shrugged nonchalantly, smirking beneath his crude mask of cloth.

 

'As you wish...........M'Lord'

 

Reaching into a black-dyed leather satchel on his belt, the Man pulled free a strange, symbol-etched stone of blackest obsidian and handed it to his benefactor, who greedily seized it, and quickly tucked it away into the folds of his robe.

 

'Here' said the Nobleman dismissively, throwing a bag of silver and gold-laudings over his shoulder as he walked away.

 

'I trust you will be available when I am next in need of your........'services'?'

 

'Oh yes, M'lord' said the thief, nonchalantly reaching down to scoop up his ill-begotten earnings. 

 

He chuckled darkly as he made his way back to his boat, which would ferry him across the lake.

 

'Oh yes indeed, ye silly fool.......'

 

 

 

The guards allowed their Lord by without question as he hastily made his way to his chamber.

 

None of them would report on him now, and what did it matter if they did? There was no longer anyone for them to report to, save his pathetic little cripple of a Brother.

 

He smiled as he pushed open the heavy, wooden door, his mind filled with visions of power and grandeur. 

 

Once Father abdicated, he could then focus on expanding his fiefdom. 

 

After a few 'adjustments' at Court, of course.

 

Inside now, he greedily took out the small, Pyramid-shaped stone of Obsidian and giggled like a madman as a tiny, blood-red flame seemed to ignite within, glowing brighter by the minute.

 

If the price of knowledge and power was so inconsequential as a few acts of familicide, then it was a price he would happily pay.

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