July Novel Essential Information

Novel Title: Game Changer

Time Setting: 613 Age of War*

Genre: Science Fiction

Minimum Word Goal: 90,000

Timespan: two months

Locations: orbiting the planet Tamah, its moon Ebed, or its neighbours Agag and Maarath

Main Characters: Hawk Orasz

Background Information: Tamah is the only planet in the solar system orbiting the great star Saraph which can support human, animal, or plant life. Maarath — Tamah’s neighbour further from Saraph — could possibly support life because it has a solid mass, but it has a thinner atmosphere so living there wouldn’t be all that much different than living in a spacecraft; Agag — Tamah’s neighbour nearer to Saraph — also has a solid mass, but it has a thick atmosphere full of toxic gasses. 

Some 600 years ago the population of Tamah reached an unsustainable density; on top of that, many of the people divided into two factions headed by rather polarising leaders who simply could not get along at all.

The more militaristic of the two factions, the Emim, drove the other faction, the Ozem, from Tamah; the lack of habitable planets within a reasonable distance of Tamah led to the exiles remaining ship-bound in orbit around either Ebed, the moon of Tamah, or Maarath and Agag.

Since then the two factions have traded places on Tamah and been in a near-constant state of conflict all the while developing technologies at a rapid pace in order to create spaceships which can have manufacturing factories and even greenhouses and places for animals to be raised for food in order to ensure survival in space.

Initially — because the technologies had to be developed — the factions traded places regularly, hardly remaining in place for more than five years, however, that wore the factions thin and thus with the development of technologies that allow them to remain in space longer and more sustainably the war has slowed down, but still with many place-switchings.

The longest either of the groups has been kept in space by the other is forty seven years, which the Ozem did to the Emim one hundred years ago.

On average the factions switch places every seventeen years. Over the years smaller splinter factions have emerged, but none of those factions are large enough to be considered any real threat, and find their survival in allying themselves with one of the two large factions and going wherever that faction goes.

Four hundred years ago, however, a splinter faction developed that wasn’t really ideologically similar to either of the major factions. It gained adherents rapidly not only through appealing to many of the disaffected grunts of both the major factions, but by absorbing entire smaller splinter factions and by convincing men to sire as many children as possible.

After a hundred years of rather rapid growth to have a population about half that of the Emim and the Ozem — whose populations were relatively equal — this third faction, the Sons of Nahash, decided to make a bid for the control of Tamah, which was once again under the control of the Emim.

Their attempt failed miserably and their population was absolutely decimated. Defeated, they fled into Deep Space away from Saraph. As a result, the Emim and the Ozem rest quite assured that the Sons of Nahash ran out of fuel and died.

Many brave people have tried to foray into Deep Space to explore, but even though they’ve managed to send unmanned probes into Deep Space to discover the existence of several planets that are made mostly of toxic gasses are beyond no manned craft has been able to make it through the Inner Band of small planets and asteroids — called such because an unmanned probe found another band like it beyond the furthest gas giant — so it is fact that the Sons of Nahash died trying to get through the Inner Band, either that, or they ran out of fuel and died.

In the three hundred years since, things have settled back into the same routine they had two hundred years ago: just the Ozem and the Emim as major players in the battle for the control of Tamah, with small splinter factions shadowing whichever of the two they consider ideologically similar.

Some small peaceable factions stay in orbit around Maarath or Agag and try to live a quiet, unassuming life away from all the war and death as much as they can, with some dreaming of finding a way to settle Maarath or even travel beyond their system — if not beyond their galaxy — to see if there are any other planets like Tamah out there that they could maybe settle.

Hawk is an orphan — a natural occurrence of war — and as a result was raised at the top-secret Institution in orbit around Ebed, where the Emim particularly care for orphans, as well as any other children whose parents choose to send them there for safekeeping.

At the Institution children — especially the orphans — are trained to be top-end military troops to be sent on dangerous and deadly missions, as they’re considered expendable seeing as they have no parents.

From a young age Hawk has showed himself to be exceptionally talented militarily, having an incredible grasp of strategy as well as adept flying skills and the sharpest aim of any soldier in the Emim army.

At the age of fifteen he was commissioned into military service — several years earlier than most people are commissioned — and has racked up a long distinguished service record that has earned him the ire of a variety of peers and even some superiors who refuse to acknowledge his superiority to them, as well as earning him a privileged place in the eyes of the General Secretary, who is the leader of the Emim.

The General Secretary, a rather mercurial man, is found hard to please by many; even those who manage to earn his favour usually end up somehow losing it and, by extension, losing their lives, but Hawk hasn’t really ever angered the General Secretary in any way, instead earning one of the ultimate privileges: the opportunity to build a relationship with the General Secretary’s daughter.

As the General Secretary’s daughter is a beautiful young woman Hawk having been given the opportunity to build a relationship with her causes him to be envied by pretty much every other men Emim, but it also causes him to be under pressure from the General Secretary.

Seeing as the Emim are in a constant state of war with the Ozem, they need as many people as they can get, so couples are encouraged to have as many children as possible, and it’s no different in the General Secretary’s eyes with Hawk and his daughter.

Hawk, however, isn’t keen on the idea of having a child because he sees the idea of having to look out for someone who can’t look out for themselves to be rather pointless, and he doesn’t see the point of having a child only to have that child be orphaned anyways, as the life of an orphan isn’t that terribly pleasant, as he should know, being one.

*not equivalent to real-world years

Pronunciations:

Tamah: tahmah

Ebed: ehbehd

Agag: agag

Maarath: mahrath

Orasz: ohrahz

Saraph: sahraff

Emim: ehmihm

Ozem: ohzehm

Nahash: nahhash

Distress: Day 15

Word Total: 90,090

Year to Date: 570,232

Summary of Events:

The Queen returned and was unsurprisingly furious to discover that Bryn was gone, threatening death on the person responsible and ordering the fortress searched thoroughly, which frightened Olwyn. Bryn came to realise that to stay and attempt to kill the Queen would be needlessly endangering Olwyn and made the decision to escape with her as soon as possible. They escaped through the hole they'd found in the fortress wall and headed southward close to the fortress . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Bryn straightened and started out into the open, away from the shelter of closeness to the fortress wall. Olwyn walked straight and confident behind him, for if they were furtive in their movements they were more likely to be noticed than if they were confident; that was something Nuaða had told Olwyn.

They crossed into the shadows and continued to creep along before Bryn stopped abruptly.

“Smell you horses?” Bryn asked.

“Yes,” Olwyn replied.

“Now let us tell if they are good horses,” Bryn said.

Olwyn followed him into a building wherein the smell got even stronger, and Olwyn could hear the relaxed breathing of the great creatures. She couldn’t see Bryn, but she could hear the horses were stirred, uttering nervous sounds, having either smelled the strange people in their midst, or possibly being handled by Bryn.

Turning to face the door, Olwyn decided to keep watch that no one would espy them or hear what they were up to, but would instead continue to sleep as they ought to be, for assuredly the people of Wygþmynd had not been ordered to remain awake and without food until Bryn was found yet.

“Here,” Bryn whispered, making Olwyn jump with fright. “Take these lines, I’ll fetch tack. These are the two best horses.”

Olwyn grabbed the lines and held them, doing her best to remain calm as she stood there. She didn’t want to impart fear to the horses, who were so sensitive they would be able to tell she was afraid even through the lines in her hands.

She — and the horses — startled at the sound of clattering behind them. Olwyn wanted to turn around, but she didn’t dare. She heard footsteps overhead, then feet advancing down wooden stairs.

“Who goes there?” a man’s voice demanded. “State your business.”

Desperately Olwyn’s heart throbbed in her chest. She prayed the man wasn’t looking at her, and wasn’t going to come up to her. She didn’t want to have to talk to him, lest she inadvertently give them away in her fright.

She heard the sound of a sword against a sheath — the sword being removed, for there was something of a ring, instead of the duller click of a sword being sheathed — then a rather fleshly sound, before the sword sheathed.

In moments Bryn came and hoisted saddles onto the horses’ backs heavily.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” Olwyn asked.

“Can’t have him raising the alarm,” Bryn replied, moving briskly.

“Surely you could’ve pretended you were a soldier or something,” Olwyn said.

“I doubt a man being slaughtered without apparent reason is as uncommon in this city as it is in Friðærd,” Bryn said tautly.

True though it might be, with what was going on in the fortress Olwyn couldn’t help but fear that someone would make the connection between the man’s death and the fact that Bryn was missing.

Next Post: June 29

Distress: Day 14

Word Count: 84,061

Summary of Events:

Olwyn and Bryn set out to find any and all weaknesses they could within the fortress so as to help it fall quicker once it was attacked, but they were having little success in finding anything. Olwyn also strove to do everything in her power to convince Bryn to leave without trying to kill the Queen so that he didn't run the risk of being killed for real before his people knew that he had revived . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“You don’t think I could sneak up on her and kill her?” Bryn asked.

“You might be able to,” Olwyn replied. “But I feel like it’s too big of a risk; what if you fail and she’s able to strike you?”

“I am not feeble with my sword,” Bryn replied.

“I don’t believe you to be,” Olwyn replied. “I trust that you are more than competent if you were able to be successful in surviving on the battlefield four years.”

“But you still think that I could fail?” Bryn asked.

“I think it would be wisest if we had aid,” Olwyn replied. “There is a vast horde out there, encamped all about the fortress, they are greater in number, on the whole, than all the fighting men in Wygþmynd.”

“They are?” Bryn asked.

“Yes,” Olwyn replied. “My brother told me so.”

“And yet they do not attack?” Bryn asked.

“They want to be sure that they have the Queen in the fortress, that she might be killed and this whole conflict be brought to an end,” Olwyn replied. “Once they have that confirmation — which I mean to give them — they will attack.”
“Do you think they have ideas where there are weaknesses in the city and fortress’ defences?” Bryn asked.

“I don’t know,” Olwyn replied. “But they are only seeing one side, maybe by giving them information we have accumulated from the other side will help them to determine whether those spots they believed weaknesses are truly weaknesses, or whether they aren’t.”

Bryn was silent.

“Although I think that one’s pretty obvious,” Olwyn said, stopping and looking at the daylight streaming in from where a couple bricks were missing.

“It might be too far away for the encamped men to see though,” Bryn said, hurrying past Olwyn and nearly putting out the candle.

Olwyn stepped closer and watched as Bryn peered out the large hole and even pulled some more bricks away.

“Why do you think they haven’t repaired this?” Bryn asked.

“Maybe they genuinely haven’t noticed it,” Olwyn replied.

“That seems absolutely inconceivable,” Bryn said. “But it is here, and it is real, so long as it goes unnoticed for the rest of the day we should be able to use it to escape.”

“You mean we will escape tonight?” Olwyn asked.

Bryn hesitated, looking at the bricks on the floor, then up at Olwyn. “No, I mean for us to stay at least long enough to examine the walls by night and see how consistently they are guarded, for one should hope that would give us a good idea of how well guarded they are by day.”

“That is wise,” Olwyn said.

He sighed as he got to his feet, not speaking until he was looking her in the eyes. “I am loathe to depart without getting my revenge on the Queen, unless there were some way that we were able to signal to the men of the encampment, but I don’t think they would believe it was us.”

Distress: Day 13

Word Count: 78,087

Summary of Events:

Olwyn arrived in the Queen's bedchamber the following morning and found Prince Bryn awake and dazed. She brought him food and drink and explained who she was, how she'd gotten to where she was, and how he'd gotten to where he was. Bryn was distressed by this news, but quickly resolved to take advantage of the situation to kill the Queen as soon as she returned, while Olwyn preferred that they take advantage of the situation to escape before the Queen had a clue he was awake . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“Now we wait for our enemy to return and smite her as she sleeps,” Bryn said.

“No,” Olwyn said. “Now we make preparation to escape this city.”

“You are a coward,” Bryn spat.

“I am not!” Olwyn cried. “We have the time to escape before she returns and we must take it and rally all the aid we can to attack the city with us so we can kill more than just the Queen.”

“Surely she will be cunning and crafty enough to get away unharmed if we don’t kill her before the battle strikes,” Bryn snapped.

“If she uses a spell of concealment to cover her comings and goings then assuredly she is afraid of attack,” Olwyn said. “Assuredly she knows that if she is attacked she will be destroyed.”

“It is this simple,” Bryn said.

He drew his sword, stalked over to the bed, and plunged the blade deep into the blankets, drew it out, slid it over the sheets on both sides so as to remove the imaginary blood — and create four neat slits on the blanket — sheathed it, and headed for the dark sitting room.

“No,” Olwyn said. “We leave through that door.”

“Why?” Bryn asked.

“Because that room has windows,” Olwyn replied.

“You are frightened of the dark?” Bryn asked.

“If you mean to get out of this alive you don’t mean to be ambushed, do you?” Olwyn asked.

Bryn sighed and stalked toward the other sitting room, where the tray which had held his food and drink still remained. Olwyn grabbed onto his arm.

“Stop, wait,” Olwyn said.

“Why?” Bryn asked.

“I have to make sure the coast is clear,” Olwyn replied.

“Then make sure,” Bryn replied.

Olwyn did so and led the way out. She guided Bryn confidently through all of the back corridors of the fortress until they reached the basement laundry and the closet.

“Now wait in here,” Olwyn whispered.

“Absolutely not,” Bryn replied.

“Please,” Olwyn insisted.

“You are cunning,” Bryn said. “But I know what you mean to do; you mean to shut me in here, lock up the door, and bring me food once, twice, maybe three times a day until you’ve decided how and when we’re leaving, when you’ll come to fetch me under the cover of darkness and take me back to my people without killing the Queen.”

“No, I don’t mean to do any such thing,” Olwyn said — even though she had actually hoped that she would’ve been able to do what he’d just said.

“You are a fine little fox, but a fox is no match for a wolf,” Bryn said. “You cannot lie to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Olwyn said, feeling tears building in her eyes. “But, but we have to get out now while we have the chance; please, can’t we just get away from here and come back when we have help?”

“We won’t die if we do it at night,” Bryn said. “Nor shall anyone know the Queen is dead until morning.”

Distress: Day 12

Word Count: 72,001

Summary of Events:

Having collected the last supplies she needed, Olwyn set to work tending to the prince's wound; as she suspected, there was a piece of a weapon embedded in his chest, but to her surprise it was a spearhead, not an arrowhead. Although his wound proceeded to heal nicely, Olwyn found nothing carved on the spearhead, otherwise hidden in the wound, or even hidden in the woad on his chest that told her how to revive him, which she wanted to get done before the Queen got back so that they could escape before being found out . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Sighing, Olwyn shook her head. She would have to just keep thinking and see what she came up with, but for now she’d spent much more time with the prince than she’d meant to, and it was about time she left and went back to doing a bit more visible activity with the other ladies who’d been left behind.

Before she could leave altogether, however, Olwyn realised there was another place she might find a clue as to how to revive the prince: he had a sword, and she’d seen that it had writing on its blade.

Returning to the pedestal, Olwyn drew back the curtains and found the sword in its sheath. She drew the sword out and turned its blade to the light. The text wasn’t normal writing, but an old form of writing that had been more conducive to carving into wood than the modern letters were, as the modern letter had curves, where wood was much more taken to accepting straight lines.

Thankfully, as a part of her thorough education — almost half of which had come secondhand from Nuaða, who’d wanted her to know as much as he did so that she would be ready to become queen if such was what it came down to — Olwyn had learned the old text, and she could at least sound it out, even if she might not understand all of the words.

The first word Olwyn sounded out was Þorin, which was a name; the next word was cleaver, followed by legions. Based on her knowledge of the old language, that text meant Þorin, cleaver of legions, or legion-cleaver.

More words followed, and Olwyn roughly translated them to say: May the Prince Bryn be well served.

Olwyn recognised that name; when the warrior of Sygæðelwulf had been telling the story of the fall of his homeland he’d constantly referred to the prince as the Prince Bryn.

She looked up at the unmoving man laying on the pedestal above her, his name was Bryn; likely Bryn, son of Urien, son of . . . whatever his grandfather’s name was, like Uncle Elaþa was Elaþa, son of Brynþan, son of Nuaða; Father was the same, while Nuaða was Nuaða, son of Finþan, son of Brynþan.

Turning the sword over, Olwyn looked to see if there was text on the other side, and upon determining that there was, Olwyn read it, to see if it was different, but found that it was exactly the same, it identified the sword as Þorin, cleaver of legions, and contained the hope that the sword would serve the Prince Bryn well.

“Bryn,” Olwyn said aloud, wanting to hear the sound of the name. “Prince Bryn of Sygæðelwulf.”

Pronunciations:

Þorin: Thorin

Brynþan: brihnthahn

Finþan: fihnthahn

Distress: Day 11

Word Count: 66,031

Summary of Events:

Olwyn discovered only two of the medical books she'd found talked about non-superstitious medicine and gave her a list of supplies to look for. She had much time to do the hunting because the Queen, among others, was spending extra hours every day worshipping at the temple within the fortress — worship that Olwyn found highly disturbing and was grateful to hide away from. She had only a few supplies left to gather when the Queen, her warriors, half of her ladies in waiting, and a large number of supply wagons departed, which Olwyn watched from a window . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Exiting the room, Olwyn made her way to a door she’d found that exited onto the rampart of the courtyard, seeking a clearer view than the window she’d been looking through afforded her.

Since she could see the grey and blue tents of the encampment about the city, Olwyn suspected that she would be able to see the Queen and her warriors depart from Wygþmynd, and wanted to see how visible it might be to the camp, as it had seemed odd to her to hear that the reason no siege had happened was because of the fact that it was so notoriously difficult to determine when the Queen was within her fortress or not.

Knowing that it didn’t take long — especially not at a good speed — to hurry from the main gate of Wygþmynd to the main gate of Sæbyrgealh, Olwyn was sure that the same would be true in reverse, but Olwyn felt like she was waiting forever before finally she saw what looked to be some horses striking out across the decently flat grassland that surrounded Wygþmynd on every side but to the northwest, where a large, thick, dark wood loomed.

The horses were striking out west, but as Olwyn focused on them she realised that they were the supply wagons, which were plodding on a bit more slowly than the rest of the party had departed.

Olwyn watched them until the end of their line appeared. All that she could see was supply wagons, none of the warriors, and most certainly not the Queen. It was as if they had all disappeared.

Immediately upon thinking such Olwyn was struck by the realisation: that had to be what had happened. Some magic had made the Queen and her warriors invisible, leaving them at the front of the party, but unseen by the hordes encamped around the city and ready to attack.

No wonder nobody knew when the Queen was around, she used magic — probably by the aid of a druid — to disguise her comings and goings and keep her enemies from knowing where she was, a strategic manoeuvre to keep her capital from being taken.

Olwyn felt a little disappointed to think that no one at the encampment had suspected that the Queen might use some magic to disguise her comings and goings, seeing how the idea that she had some sort of malevolent magic force aiding her was such a pervasive theme in much of what Olwyn had heard over the years.

And if they suspected magic, surely even Uncle Elaþa could get a druid to undo the magic or allow him to overcome the magic and see who was being hidden and be able to plan an attack so that the Queen would lose her capital and even potentially her own life.

Distress: Day 10

Word Count: 60,009

Summary of Events:

Olwyn listened as the Queen received word that her forces in Glædricgar were experiencing severe losses because of reports that the King of Glædricgar had gotten druids to give his men exceptional strength, which the Queen intended to do for her troops in turn. A couple days later Olwyn went on her daily check to see if the glass lid was off of the Prince of Sygæðelwulf and discovered that not only was the lid gone, but so were all of his clothes, save his trousers . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Once Olwyn got to be beside the unmoving prince, however, she saw something else that nearly made her want to retch and run away.

On the left side of his chest — which was across his body from where she’d approached — was something of a grotesque tangle of flesh and blood, there was purplish bruising, black-red bloodstains, and even some other things that looked unpleasant.

It looked terrible and raw, almost like the mangled half of a rat Olwyn had seen once which had been abandoned in the stables by one of the cats kept for the reduction of rats and mice in the castle.

Remembering that mangled rat caused the bile to rise in Olwyn’s stomach, but she managed to keep herself from retching. Seeing that rat had been such a frightening and unpleasant experience for Olwyn that Uncle Elaþa had ensured that the people who tended to the stables kept all the half-eaten rats and mice — and whatever else the cats might catch — hidden away from where people like Olwyn might end up seeing them and become overwhelmed with revulsion at the idea of seeing such things.

Nervously and cautiously Olwyn went around to be on the prince’s left side, so as to get — not that she wanted it — a closer look at the wound than looking across his body.

She didn’t touch the wound, but she looked at it and observed that it seemed to be in a position as to be directly over his heart.

In the tale the warrior of Sygæðelwulf had said that he had been wounded near the heart, and there was no question this was the wound, which was incredibly foul and looked almost as if it were festering with infection.

Olwyn considered prodding it, but had a feeling that could not only make things worse, but that it also might feel incredibly unpleasant to her to touch something that looked so foul.

Seeing how foul it looked, Olwyn was determined to do something about it, although she didn’t have any medical supplies with her, so doing something wouldn’t be possible now; besides, Olwyn didn’t want to know what might happen if the Queen discovered that someone was trying to tend to a festering five-year-old wound on the prince being kept in her bedchamber.

Since it was festering Olwyn wondered if there weren’t something foreign inside the wound that would need to be removed in order for the wound to start healing properly, but she wasn’t going to go poking and prodding about in that unpleasant-looking tangle of raw flesh edges to find it until she’d done some reading up in those medical books she’d found in the library and collected up the tools that she’d need to get to work.

Distress: Day 9

Word Count: 54,018

Summary of Events:

Having now found the Prince of Sygæðelwulf, Olwyn pondered how he might be revived, as she otherwise wouldn't be able to get him out of the fortress on her own. She considered sneaking into the Queen's bedroom to see if she could lift the glass lid off of the prince and find out how to revive him, but stalled initially because she feared the Queen would find out, but when she became confident the Queen wouldn't know because she wasn't a druid, Olwyn decided to go in — which involved a nerve-wracking half-minute in the Queen's dark sitting area while she unlocked the door into the windowed bedroom . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

She leaned against the door between the two rooms for a fair bit of time before she pushed herself off of the door and hurried across the floor to where the prince lay, rather well-lit by the sun shining in through the windows and the light, gossamer curtains.

He looked just as serene, peaceful, and still as he had before, as if she might be able to wake him by knocking on the glass and just having him be able to lift it off of himself with her helping to guide it into the proper place.

Olwyn didn’t knock on the glass though, certain such an effort would be futile, but instead started looking for a way that the lid might remove.

She observed there were no hinges, nor any latches, that were in any way securing the lid to the pedestal, thus it would have to be completely lifted off onto the floor, which looked even trickier now that Olwyn was looking at the cover than it had seemed in her head.

Somewhat gently she tried positioning her hands in several different places on the lid and trying even to shift it slightly — as there was enough room around him in all directions that she would be able to do such a thing — but no matter how hard she pushed the lid didn’t budge, and it didn’t look like there was anything for obstacles that might prevent her from sliding it around.

Neither could Olwyn find any handholds or even just gaps between the lid and the surface against which it was resting to get her fingers under and lift the lid. It was as securely in place as if someone would’ve locked it and thrown away the key.

Because she didn’t know if she could revive the prince — much less how long it would take for her to do so — Olwyn didn’t dare break the glass, but she knew that to try and find a way to lift the glass lid away and get at the prince was a futile effort on her part.

There was still a fair amount of time left before the Queen would be done with her worshipping, and Olwyn wanted to make the most of her opportunity with the prince, so she decided to stay and see what she could see of the prince, particularly relating to how exactly one was to go about reviving him out of his slumber so that he could escape the fortress under his own power — which Olwyn hoped he might use to aid her as well.

If there were any bloodstains on his clothes they were invisible due to the fact that his clothing was black and the blood would’ve long dried.

It didn’t even look to Olwyn like he had a wound near to his heart like the man telling the tale had said, but because the tale had detailed that the prince’s clothes had been changed, it wasn’t really surprising that his clothes didn’t have any marks that showed where he had been wounded.

Distress: Day 8

Word Count: 48,023

Summary of Events:

Over the course of the next couple of weeks Olwyn learned a little bit more about Bælor, but nothing about the Black King — although she suspected that he was her uncle — and couldn't find the Prince of Sygæðelwulf anywhere, even when she unlocked all the locked doors in the fortress with some keys she'd found in her bedside table. Eventually she realised that it was possible the prince was in the Queen's bedchamber, and when it came her turn to help the Queen get ready for bed Olwyn found her suspicions were correct, and was even able to get a good look at him when the Queen went to admire his body, which was protected by a glass cover . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Olwyn edged close and looked. She nearly gasped.

Laying on what looked like an incredibly plush bed of satin was about the most handsome man Olwyn had ever seen.

His hair was the same rich, dark brown of a brown horse, a shade of brown that had no suggestions of redness whatsoever, but was just pure brown, and it hung somewhat long, untied, and with the same subtle waviness to it that Nuaða’s hair possessed.

The face was sober, serene, and rather noble, with noticeable cheekbones, a straight, sharp, and firm jaw, and an austerity even in the slumbering expression. No moustache or beard adorned his face, nor did Olwyn see any woad colouring his skin.

After the neck — which looked strong, but not thicker than his head — came the shoulders, which were of that nice, moderate broadness that Olwyn liked best, not being broader than a horse, but not being skinny and sickly-looking.

A cape of plaid that was dominated by green, but featuring all of the other common plaid colours — blue, gold, black, white, and red — came over his shoulders and covered the satin underneath him until his ankles and was clasped to his left with a handsome clasp that formed a complex knot and looked like the smith who’d made it had actually tied the knot with the heated metal, and not just made it look like he had done so by punching holes.

Lightweight black woollen sleeves covered his arms, over which came sleeves of mail, topped by the leather cuirass, this one dyed black and adorned with a white version of the same paw print which was on the banners of Sygæðelwulf.

About his waist was a black belt with silver adornments, an empty sheath clad with black leather held in place by handsome silver adornments that were mostly knot-work was affixed to the standard sheath-harness and lay beside his left leg while his hands, bare and also unmarked by woad, rested over the handle of his fine, symmetrical sword, whose handle end was adorned by a smooth wolf’s head.

His legs were clad with black woollen trousers underneath the mail and cuirass which only ended midway down his thighs — as they were supposed to — and tall, black leather boots that looked well made and actually had parts that came up over his knees.

He looked young, which surprised Olwyn a little bit — not that his age had ever been mentioned in the tale — as well as looking strong and powerful of build, like any man who had been at war for a long time was apt to look.

Olwyn was chilled by his appearance, for it was as the tale had said; he looked merely asleep, as if, were the lid removed and someone to shake him, he would open his eyes and be on his feet at once.

Distress: Day 7

Word Count: 42,010

Summary of Events:

When Olwyn woke up the following morning she found that her fellow attackers had been forced to retreat without her. Needing to change out of her clothes lest she get killed, as she couldn't escape in broad daylight, Olwyn found a dress in the closet she'd hidden in that fit her and decided to snoop around and see if she could find the Prince of Sygæðelwulf. Instead she ended up being found and taken to the throne room of the Queen of the North, as she'd ended up taking a dress that was the uniform of the Queen's ladies in waiting. So disguised, Olwyn went about being a lady in waiting and trying to find the prince, but not succeeding, so she took a break from searching for him to do some reading on two strange men she'd heard about, one named Bælor, and the other called the Black King . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Walking along the shelves, Olwyn scanned the titles, looking for any that had something to do with the gods so that she might find one telling who the gods were and which one Bælor was among them — after all, Olwyn had grown up in a kingdom in which the gods were neither worshipped nor taught about.

Olwyn found a volume which was titled Greater and Lesser Gods and took it down from the shelf.

She turned through its pages until she found one which was headed Bælor, with the name illuminated with symbols of death, such as marking stones, skulls, pyres, and what looked to be a goblet of blood.

The text underneath proceeded to tell that Bælor was the god of the dead and the underworld who was supposed to live under a thing known as a dolmen, particularly one in a forest Olwyn had never heard of, but underneath every dolmen was supposedly a portal that led to his domain of caves and such in the bowels of the earth.

Some of the portals allowed those who peered in through them to see and speak to their dead relatives, but some of the portals demanded that the person who found them be sucked down into the domain and be considered someone who was dead without dying.

Bælor was told to be married to a half-dead princess, who was called such because she had been a living princess, and he had loved her, but yet she’d had to become partially dead in order to marry him and live in his domain, where he had sired several children by her who were all half dead like she was, and had the chance to choose whether they would go aboveground and be permanently alive, or whether they would remain below ground and become permanently dead.

The legend also advised that the dead be buried or burned while still fresh, and accompanied by certain plants and spices, dependent upon which time of year the person died and what they were chiefly remembered for, as well as with charms and other tokens which would help them to do well in the underworld.

Olwyn had to admit it all seemed foolishness to her, and she couldn’t be bothered to take the whole tale seriously, even though the language used was so definitive in nature, suggesting that the author was thoroughly convinced of the veracity of what he was writing down.

Such fallible gods couldn’t possibly exist. There was no way there could be such beings, and Olwyn was not going to be convinced by anyone otherwise, be they a person speaking face to face with her, or someone whose writing she was reading off of a page.

Once she’d read the portion on Bælor, which included some notable tales involving him that sounded not altogether unlike the tales Olwyn had heard around the fire of the warriors of Sygæðelwulf — in style more than content, but even the content wasn’t altogether different — she flipped on through the book in search of any heading which said the Black King, but didn’t find any.

Pronunciation:

Bælor: b'ayelohr

Distress: Day 6

Word Count: 36,008

Summary of Events:

Inspired by the tale they were told, the men of Cynehærdwyn offered to launch a small attack to rescue the Prince of Sygæðelwulf's body from the fortress. Olwyn ended up being chosen as a member of the attacking party, which breached the wall of Wygþmynd and was able to get into the courtyard of the fortress of Sæbyrgealh, where the cavalry of Sæwinstiþ attacked them. Olwyn ended up falling off of her horse and tried to edge her way along the wall to escape the fortress and get back to the camp . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Part of her wished that Cælan would ride by and she might be able to ride double behind his horse and help him as he fought with the enemies until they ended up being successful or returned to their camp.

Instead Olwyn found that most of the men riding past her engaged in duels or charging to the defence of one of their men in a duel were men of Sæwinstiþ with the snake emblem on their chest, and it was a small relief to Olwyn that they didn’t seem to notice her and plunge their sword into her.

Suddenly a horse sidestepped toward Olwyn, its rider engaged in a heated duel with another mounted rider and Olwyn was slammed hard against the wall, which didn’t sound altogether like it ought to sound, seeing as it was a stone fortress wall.

Before Olwyn realised what was happening the wall had given way behind her and she staggered into darkness.

As she turned slightly due to the force applied to her she ended up stumbling a bit before suddenly her foot dropped out from under her and she started sliding down a bumpy surface that she knew had to be a set of stairs.

They forced her around the curve of their own accord and Olwyn wasn’t able to stop herself until she reached the bottom feeling more than a little sore.

Slowly and gingerly she got to her feet before she heard a human sound. She listened earnestly for the sound to repeat. Again she heard it, a voice calling a name.

Panic rose immediately within her and Olwyn felt the wall for another door. Finding one she opened it and felt inside. It felt empty and small, like a storage room.

Immediately Olwyn slipped inside and shut the door before carefully feeling about the room until she had determined that there was some clothing to hide behind, and so she did, her heart pounding in her ears, its throbbing and the rapid flow of air through her lungs serving to make her sides hurt terribly.

The longer she stood where she was, the wearier Olwyn started to feel. She sagged against the wall and sheathed her sword carefully.

Her shield started weighing down her arm, so Olwyn gently let it slide to the floor and rest against the wall.

She then started to feel herself rather weary of standing and sagged to the floor, tilting her head against the wall. She didn’t know what time it’d been when Cælan had woken her, but she was of the mind at this particular moment that it had been rather late and she hadn’t slept enough yet to replenish her depleted energy stores from all the work she’d done at the camp over the course of the day.

Managing to settle herself comfortably against the wall, Olwyn closed her eyes and started to fall asleep in spite of herself, too weary to return up the stairs back to the fighting and escape to the camp as she’d initially meant to.

Distress: Day 5

Word Count: 30,079

Summary of Events:

Olwyn was attending to her work when a rider from the Sygæðelwulf camp came and invited anyone who wished to come to their camp that evening to share stories around a fire. Olwyn was one of many who went and were told the tale of the fall of Sygæðelwulf, which involved the death of all the members of the royal house, including the Queen of Sygæðelwulf, the Crown Prince, and his wife and two children thanks to a curse the King of Glædricgar had ordered pronounced on the royal family by a druid . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“Two years after the death of the Crown Prince Gwyðion soldiers arrived at the royal palace of Gyðhærd carrying the Prince Bryn, shot near to his heart by an arrow and seeming quite dead,” the man went on. “Convinced he had been deceived by the druid he’d called to protect his son, Urien the Cowardly ordered a pyre to be built on which he and his son would be burned.”

Olwyn shuddered, she didn’t know how people could get to such pits of despair that they would rather kill themselves than live.

“Although he had lost his mind, the soldiers obliged him, knowing better than to contravene their king, no matter how much sanity he possessed,” the man continued. “So the pyre was prepared, the Prince Bryn laid on the pyre, while Urien the Cowardly stood beside him.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Olwyn hoped that there would be no grotesque descriptions of the burning corpses. She’d never seen something that wretched and hoped that she never would.

“Upon the pyre’s being lighted a bright, white light filled the room and a protective shield of magic came over the Prince Bryn, forcing all of the flames onto Urien the Cowardly, who died by immolation,” the man said.

He took a long drink from his horn and Olwyn wondered if that was the end of the tale, yet she doubted it was.

“Once the flames that burned Urien the Cowardly had died the druid who had enacted the spell of protection on the Prince Bryn appeared and told the warriors who had been frightened by the whole occurrence that they were not to bury the Prince Bryn, for he would return to them, to us, in our time of need,” the man said, his voice having a lightness of hope in it. “He promised our curses would be undone when they had been sufficiently fulfilled, thus we still lost our kingdom, but we know it shall return to us, as will our prince.”

“Is the prince still there?” a warrior of Cynehærdwyn asked.

“No,” the man replied. “Impressed of the importance of not burying their prince, the warriors cleaned the pedestal on which the pyre had been built, cleaned the Prince Bryn and changed his clones from blood and oil-soaked war-clothes to clean princely raiment. As they observed him they discovered his body did not decay like those of the dead, and soon many were travelling to visit the Royal Crypt to see the undead prince, whom many said appeared merely asleep, although all efforts to wake him were in vain.”

It sounded impossible to Olwyn, but she was sure a druid could do such a thing, if they could help in other, usually medical, matters.

“Within a year war arrived at Gyðhærd and the city fell,” the man continued. “The fiercest fight was had at the Royal Crypt, as the guards sought to protect their prince from falling into the hands of the enemy, but unfortunately the accursed witch-queen took his body, slaughtering all but a few of the loyal guards — those spared guards being the ones who spread the word of his capture — and carried his body to that fortress.”

He reached up his hand and pointed. Olwyn looked through the darkness to where the torches of vigilant guards indicated the city of Wygþmynd’s walls and, within them, the fortress of Sæbyrgealh.

Pronunciations:

Gwyðion: gwitheeon

Sæbyrgealh: sighbergeel