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Birth To Death - Bretonnian Fiction

528 views 3 replies 2 participants last post by  Thee Forsaken One 
#1 ·
This is an idea I had forming a while back. It is to take the story of a Bretonnian knight, from his birth to his death. Passing through all stages of knighthood (Errant, Realm, Questing and Grail) and do bits of detailing upon it.

I was thinking of spliting it into a number of books with their own chapters, they may not be very long but should hold all that was needed. So I ask if people think this is a good idea, whether it would be read and if I should conti nue.

***


Birth to Death

By King Ulrik Flamebeard


Book One - Birth

Chapter One

Machevort d'Vray paced endlessly upon the cold stone flooring, stopping occasionally at the sound of a pained moan from from the other side of the wooden door. The baron was the reigning knight of the Bretonnian town of Leucreal, an expanding town on the boarders of the Forest of Loren. The town had recently come into his family's possession after his grandfather slew a great beast terrorising it for nearly a decade. Now the baron waited to see if he would pass it onto an heir of his own. At the sound of a creaking door his head shot round only to find a servant girl exiting, with a shake of her head she slipped from the room leaving the baron to sigh and place his head in his hands.

“By the Lady! How long does it take to give birth?!� the weary baron muttered into his cupped hands, then dragging his jewelled fingers through his hair he continued to pace the room.

“How long is a piece of string?� came the unsuspecting answer, the speakers voice silky and smooth, almost like a purring sound. Turning the baron was confronted with a young looking woman dressed in a light blue, long waves of golden wavy hair fell to her bare shoulders, in her slender pale fingers she held a staff topped with a golden grail, her eyes held a mocking look within as she looked upon the worried knight. “Birth is an act of nature, to force such a thing would displease the Lady – not to mention your wife.� she whispered The baron sighed inwardly, what is it about this woman that irked him so, he asked himself.

“Prophetess, I never meant to displease the Lady.� he said quietly, the female before him was touched by the lady herself in ways he could never know; it would not bode well to anger or upset her.

“Prophetess? My, my dear brother why the formality?� with this she stepped forth and planted a kiss of her elder brother's cheek, “Now I must see to your wife, if your child is to be born it will not be without the Lady's blessing.� Stepping past her brother the Prophetess reached the door but as she lifted the latch the knight spoke once more;

“Alexis. Forgive me. But what of my child? Do you know anything?� a concerned tone crept into his voice. She hesitated upon the threshold of the room and without turning she whispered to him

“Her belongs to the Lady and hers he shall be, when it is time.� Her face turned towards him once more and this time there was no mocking look in her eyes but one of sadness then she was gone, slipping through the door to attend upon his lady wife. Her words struck Machevort in the chest – a son. He was going to have a son. A broad grin split his features as he resumed his pacing, his mind fluttered about attempting to fine a name for his first born child. He was still sat there considering when his son was born. Oover the past few hours his wife's cried had become more and more pained then they suddenly stopped. Instead they were replaced with a sound that was pure innocence and music to his ears, the cry of a new born baby. He did not even wait and he burst into the room, his eyes went from his wife to his son and back again. The boy was placed within him arms swaddled in a warm blanket, blood still flecked his features and he cried but Machevort cared not for he was his son. Slowly he knelt beside his wife and looked at her;

“Our son my love. A boy.� in response she smiled weakly, and placed a sweat covered hand upon her husband's face. Their eyes met and the love they held for one another since they first met was as strong as ever. Her voice whispered out, strained and cracked with fatigue and exhaustion,

“A name my love. What name shall he bear?� The baron looked down upon his son, fresh from his mothers womb, his grey-blue eyes held an innocence within them; then looking upon his waiting wife he did name his son;

“Panteleon. He shall be named Panteleon.� his wife smiled and with a nod she agreed, her eyes drooped and she slipped into a deep slumber, the rigours of childbirth wearing her strength thin. The baron rose, kissed his sleeping wife gently upon the forehead and turned to one of the midwives, he gently placed the now sleeping child into her arms and headed towards the door. The baron moved swiftly through his home until he came across a herald who he then bade to spread the word; the child has been born, the Lady blessed Panteleon d'Vray.

* * * *

Alexis watched the midwife lay the child in the cot, her nephew was as deep in slumber as his mother was. As her brother ran off to tell all the news she stayed and studied the boy, even as he was she could foresee a future that was full of blood, killing and honour. Dipping her finger into a leather pouch at her side she withdrew the young one's blanket and gentle ran her finger, now covered in a pale blue powered, above his right leg. Placing the covering back over him she kissed him lightly on his head,

“The Lady blesses you Panteleon d'Vray, never forsake her and she will always guide you. You are hers and I am here to point the way, my sweet nephew.� with this she turned and swept out the new born's room. Behind her in the cot, the covers slipped off Panteleon as he turned in his sleep – upon his right side was a mark. It was a grail.


Chapter Two

“Panteleon!� the female voice cut through the childish laughter coming from two small boys, one stopped in his tracks and turned towards the bearer of the voice. Panteleon's face sunk into a sullen sulk, the midday sun cast a long shadow across he features – his golden yellow hair glittered in the bright light, his face was a light brown and his eyes of blue and grey as bright as the day of his birth. Turning to his playmate he scowled, then the five year old young noble slowly walked back towards his mother; his bottom lip jutted out and his feet dragging in the dusty mud of the town. He stood beside his mother, her deep crimson dress looking out of place with the confines of the small town. The nobles of the Castle Leucreal were regular visitors to the town, the baroness even attended herself, her son had befriended some of the local young boys and would join in their games whenever possible – much to his mother's chagrin.

“Look at you young man! Those clothes were new, you think the material is cheap?� before he could answer the baroness continued to chide her child, “Now look at it, covered in dust and ... Is that a hole?! By the Lady it is!� Slowly she shook her head as she paid the shop keeper before moving towards the coach waiting for the pair of them, “I suppose we could just find a sack for you to wear if you would prefer? That way you would have no fear of damaging the nice clothing your father gets for you..� She sighed. Panteleon's head drooped and he clambered into the carriage and took his seat beside her, within moments the coach lurched into motion and began its climb back towards the castle. Behind him Panteleon could hear the noise of the children returning to play once more, his scowl deepened.

The coach reached the destination of the castle in little under an hour but still the sun was beginning to set, the golden gob of light had nearly completed its decent. The light now turned a bloody red as the dying rays were cast across the town. The baroness stepped from the coach onto the grey cobbled courtyard, around her was the Castle Leucreal – new by comparison to others within the Kingdom but built well enough to ensure the stronghold would not blew down in a strong wind. The slight rectangular shape of the castle stood at the top of a flat hill, the town lay in it's shadow at the foot, four towers stood in the corner of the castle – within each held enough room for a dozen archers and more atop of the turret. A thick stone parapet skirted the inside of the wall, men at arms bearing the d'Vray family crest saw to its defence at all times. At strategic placements upon the wall were pots holding oil or tar with a fire underneath them, already set and awaiting lighting should an enemy ever reach that far. The entrance to the courtyard was a lone gate, wide enough to allow four fully armoured knights to ride through side by side with inches to spare. A thick, solid oaken door bound with a steel backing saw to the first defence of the entrance, the next was a steel portcullis that was dropped to bar the way giving the defenders time. Within the courtyard was the stables housing the attending knights steeds, the fine Bretonnian bred horses were tended to by squires and serfs of the family. Further back was the innards of the castle – the home to the ruling family of Leucreal.

Following the noble woman came her son, the young Panteleon still wore his sallow face. Turning to him she hunkered down to his level,

“What am I to do with you young man? I try to make you a nobleman so you can fine yourself a fine wife� at this Panteleon screwed up his face as his mother mentioned women and marriage, “but it never seems to work.� she said with a sigh, then taking a handkerchief from somewhere on her dress she licked one of the corners and proceeded to groom the young boy, cleaning the dirt marks from his face as best she could – much to his annoyance. “Well that is the best I can manage. Now off to Hienrick, you still have lessons to be done.� Panteleon turned and ran off towards the main castle entrance, his lessons with Master Hienrick were something of an enjoyment to him. As the baroness watched her son run off at speed she shook her head, the golden ringlets of her hair turned a deep auburn in the sun set. He is too much like his father she thought to herself as she led the servants towards her home, her day's shopping in tow.

* * * *

Panteleon ran through the corridors of his home, the servants deftly avoiding the speeding noble with a practised ease. As he turned the final corner he slowed to a walk, then stopping outside a large oaken door he knocked twice;

“Enter.� came the muffled reply from within. Panteleon stepped in to the room, behind a large deep red wood desk sat one of his tutors. Hienrick was an old man, his round head was almost bald bar from a few wisps of hair that grew around the back of his head. His features were hawk like; a long beaked nose, sharp and piercing eyes and sallow drawn flesh. A pair of spectacles dangled neatly upon the tip of his nose – a gift from a friend in the Empire apparently – the thick rimmed glasses enlarged his eyes two fold at certain angles.

“Ahh.. Master Panteleon. Take a seat.� his voice had a whistling nasal sound to it, yet it also held an air of confidence and command; Panteleon had seen his father bow the the elder man's words and advice before. “First thing, what have I told you about running in the castle? Young lords do not run about.� Panteleon's face dropped in shock, he wondered how the old man could guess what was doing. His tutor continued; “Now, writing and reading. Take the chalkboard, now the alphabet if you please.� The young noble slowly began to form the letters he had been shown, slowly the chalk curved for the first letter before moving onto the next. In his mind he ran over the ways he had been taught – the words and rhymes used. Hienrick walked about the room as Panteleon concentrated upon the letter forms, as he walked behind the noble he pointed out the problems with the letters and showed him the correct way before watching the boy do so.

Hours passed as the tutor and pupil worked together, one correcting and advising - the other learning and writing. It was only until there was nothing but the slight candle glow casting light into the room that Hienrick decided it was time to stop.

“That is good young master. You are improving.� Panteleon held the small piece of slate away from him at arms length, admiring his work. A large grin replaced his previous sullen look. “Now, I believe it is time you went to bed. I think I hear your mother calling.� And no sooner had the sentence left his lips , the door to the room swung open – the warm air within was swept away by the coolness from the castle's corridors.

“There you are. Time for bed young man, go see the Lady first then to bed with you.� said the baroness. As her son stood bowed to his tutor, kissed his mother good night and left for the small shrine the castle held to the Lady she turned to his tutor; “How is he doing?�

“Very well. He is a fast learner m'lady, he'll be writing as good as you or I in no time at all.� came the older man's reply, a hint of pride was evident within the words.

“Good. His father shall be pleased. Good night Hienrick.�

“Good night baroness.� The two adults parted, both retiring to their beds for the night. As one slid in behind their partner the other carefully lowered themselves on their pallet;

“I'm too old for this.� muttered Hienrick to himself, and the last light in the castle went out for the night.




KU
 
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#2 ·
Nice Bretonnian Fluff, so much better than the all to predictable 'I iz a Knight & i can kill Dragons me" Bretonnian Stories. Can't wait for the next part(s)
 
#3 ·
Update..

Chapter Three

The noise of steel upon steel rang through the courtyard, a small audience had gathered to watch the two noblemen in their deadly dance. Both combatants were stripped to their waists, their highly toned muscles rippled as they strained against one another. One, older by nearly five years, bore a vivid purple scar down his right side – a memento from an orc a decade ago – his muscled body was slowly turning to fat as he rode less and less, age finally catching the knight up. His black hair was cropped short, as if shaped by a bowl, his ageing features were pressed into a steady look of concentration. In his hands he swung a sword two handed at his opponent, an over head smash designed to break through his guard, the four feet of steel was held by the second knight – his blade lay horizontally stopping the downwards slice. The second knight stood slightly taller than his opponent, his blonde shoulder length hair was plastered to his naked flesh as he exerted pressure and attempted to release the deadlock between them. With a deft movement of his wrists his sword suddenly dropped downwards but before his opponent could capitalise he had stepped past him and with a spin on his heel his blade – similar to his opponents – lashed out slicing a light cut on the elder man's flesh just below the armpit.

“Score one to Baron d'Vray.� came the clipped called from the overseeing Hienrick. Both fighters stepped out of their makeshift ring and accepted the awaiting towel and drink. The wounded fighter had his wound quickly looked at, a slight superficial cut. A single drum beat beckoned for the fighters to return to the battle and almost instantly the two moved a one another. Once again they met, blade clashing against blade but this time it was the elder man who gained the upper hand. With a hammering overhead slash he forced the baron backwards before following with a swift riposte slicing a shallow cut across the barons stomach. Once more they left the arena for mere moments before returning for the final battle. And once more young prevailed over old. The younger knight seemed to glide across the floor, his hammering blows forcing his opponent to retreat before the onslaught. Then with a swift change of tact he reversed his grip on the sword and dropped forward onto one knee underneath his opponents guard – before he could react the baron brought the sword sweeping up, rising with it as he sliced a cut across the chest of his elder being.

“Foolish move.� muttered Hienrick from beside Panteleon. The old man shook his head at the young nobles fathers antics, the words echoed the disapproving look he laced Panteleon's father with. Picking up a towel he approached his master with the young boy in tow.

“A fine duel m'lord� The baron turned to face his manservant, old and wise as the baron was he still deferred to Hienrick.

“I know Hienrick, a stupid move. I could see no way past though.� came Machevort d'Vray's heavy aristocratic reply. Hienrick did not batter an eyelid. The baron continued, “He was a good opponent, and my arm was tiring. I am not the man I use to be.� he sighed.

“Of course not m'lord. You've aged. But you are correct.� Machevort raised an eyebrow, “It was a stupid move.� his servant intoned. “Now if you shall excuse me m'lord I have arrangements for the feast to see to.� and with a bow he turned and walked back towards the castle leaving Panteleon alone with his father. He gazed upon his father with admiration, the tall baron cut a fine figure of a man. The sword now lain sheathed on his waist and he wore a shirt in the family colours, looking down upon his son he smiled and ruffled the boy's hair.

“Come my son, let up prepare ourselves for the banquet.� and they had left the servants to clean up the arena and guide their guests to their rooms.

* * * *

Hours had passed since the banquet had begun, the once full table had been half ravaged by the hungry nobles. Talk of great deeds or fell creatures or boasts of the knights echoed within the stone hall, Panteleon had relished in the deeds of the knights even if he did not fully understand. But now talk had turned to a subject that bored him – politics. He lent back in his high backed chair sipping the glass of wine he was allowed, his mother had allowed him one for the toasts – of which there we many, and he sat gazing into nothingness, partly listening to the talk of the adults as they laughed and joked about a subject he failed to understand. A slight murmur of noise by his right hand shocked him out of his daze. Stood beside him was a young peasant girl, little older than he. Long raven coloured hair tied with a deep blue ribbon framed her pale fleshed face, her eyes of deep brown were cast down as not to look directly at the noble born. She was almost as tall as Panteleon and her slight frame showed budding signs of her impending womanhood, he held a tray of sweet fruit offering them to the young noble. Panteleon sat staring at her with his mouth drooping open, his words were lost as he gazed upon the young maiden – taking his stunned silence as a no the girl bowed lightly before moving around the table to the next noble. His sharp eyes followed her as she worked her way around the table, from one noble to the next, he gazed at her near smooth movements the way she seemed to glide across the floor. From beside him he caught movement of his mother, she wore a knowing smile as she sipped her drink – her eyes fixed upon her son's face. A burning sensation reached his face, Panteleon could feel his cheeks sprout a sudden glow of red – he quickly sipped his cool wine. The laugher erupted from the nobles as he coughed and spluttered as the alcohol slide down his throat.

KU
 
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