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.


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!)

15. Chapter 15

'We should seek shelter' said Sir Davin, eyeing the encroaching storm. 


'Come: We'll lodge at the Inn'


Braen slowly stood, concluding his prayer of penance.


'Eh.........Inn?' he replied, confused.


There had never been an Inn in Stonesthrow. The tiny community was simply too small to attract travelers for any length of time, save for the occasional replacement of a thrown horseshoe.


'Yes: Inn. Now stop asking questions and let us be off!'


The lad shook his head and buckled his sword belt, sighing.


Of all the Guardian Angels in heaven, he had to be stuck with an obfuscationist.


It was near eventide, and the sun was just beginning to set, bathing the green fields and wooded hills in the otherworldly light of its dying rays.


'Before we arrive I must warn you-'


Braen groaned.


'-Stonethrow is no longer as you remember it. It is.......larger now'


The lad stopped cold, closing his eyes as he tried to take in what was being said.


'What. do you mean. by 'now', Davin?' he finally asked after a full minute.


In answer, the Angel simply grabbed him by the arm and marched him to the top of the hill that overlooked the community.


'Will you just ANSWER my damned que-'


Then they crested it, and Braen momentarily lost his ability to speak.


The village of his youth was no more. 


A wooden wall separated a long row of stalls and shops, a large stable, an Inn, and a dedicated smithy from the wild.


The sounds of hammering, sawing, and the cry of merchants could be heard in the distance.


''Now' do you understand why my vagueness has been a necessity, Boy?'


The ex-Shepherd stared at the sight before him, dumbfounded.


'You've been dead for over twenty years!'

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