It was an idyllic setting, one that even Allen Kincade would have been hard pressed to capture on canvas. Mid summer and everything was in full swing. The birds were singing, trees were green, flowers were in bloom and at any moment Bambi was going to stroll through with bluebirds singing in his wake. Yes, it was that kind of a day. Come to think of it, Bambi was more likely to be turning on the spit over the fire slowly roasting to a nice, golden brown.
Hammersfall. It was a small village that stood at the bottom of a bluff as far North as one could go without crossing the Northern mountain chain; any further North and the only thing to be found was ice and an untimely death with an ice-bear. There wasn't much to be had, but the people here eked out a happy existence all the same; some would say it was far better than those to the South in the big cities where love of money ruled.
Hammersfall didn't suffer from such trappings as greed. There was no money. People had what they needed and everyone worked for the good of the community. If someone was inured or ill, the whole village chipped in, and as the saying went, it took a village to raise a child.....this was never more true than it was in Hammersfall. It was over ten generations since the village had been founded. The village was named Hammersfall because, that is where the hammer fell. The clan leader had thrown his hammer from the bluff, and where it landed is where they erected the centered of town.
As the story went, the clan had left the South after a war had broken between different factions. They traveled North only to be caught in a freak blizzard and were near freezing to death when they happened upon a stone circle. It was here they found shelter to weather the storm.
Obelisks of black stone stood near twenty-feet high, twelve of them in a perfect circle, all evenly spaced six feet apart from the next. In the center laid a stone that no snow would settle upon. It was here they sheltered the cold, huddled together, using the stone as a break against the wind. They grew warm as if it somehow multiplied their bodies heat. It was from that bluff the Clan leader had thrown his hammer. The Gods had delivered them, and to this day, every summer passing, and every winters birth they gave homage upon that stone. That brings us ten generations into the here-and-now, summer was in full swing, mead was flowing, people were singing, children were laughing.....yes, it was indeed a happy time to be had by all, even more-so by three young ladies that were about to pass into the realm of womanhood. They had reached the legal age of consent, and after tonight they would be free to make their choice and marry; or not.
Towards midnight, everyone gathered on the bluff and those directly involved within the ceremony took their place within the center of the stones near the blue altar stone. The blue stone was of significant importance to the people of Hammersfall. It was believed to have direct connection to the Gods, and it was here that offering were made. It was here the sacrifice would be given. When the village was first founded the sacrifice was real, the ending of a life (animal) now however, it was symbolic. Each girl laid in turn on the altar stone as the village leader recited the rite of passage for each before they were branded with a mark behind their right ear. It was a joyous time; even if it hurt just a little. Fichetri was the last of the three girls to lay upon the altar. She had been looking forward to this all year and now the moment was here, she was finding it hard to contain her excitement. She had never touched the altar stone before, as she laid upon the warm, hard surface it sent a tingle through her that caused goose-flesh to rise and her head to tickle as if unseen fingers massaged her scalp.
The girl had no real family of her own, but belonged to the whole village. Her Mother had been the village seer and as such, lived a celibate existence, so when she turned up with a newborn one day, there were many questions as to where the child had come from. Many feared she had stolen the child from another village, which would have started no end of trouble. The old woman ranted and raved about how the altar stone had given her the child and told her to name it Fichetri; which literally meant twenty-three. Clearly she was suffering from madness.
The village elder had taken the child and have even asked outside the village; no one claimed to be missing a baby however. The seer slipped deeper into madness, eventually she simply wandered off into the surrounding woodlands never to be seen again. So, the village as a whole raised Fichetri, today she was ascending into adulthood, today she would have her own place. Today she would become.....something. She still didn't know what she wanted to do with herself. Overhead the moon hung like a giant, all-seeing eye. It was so bright as it looked down over the circle of stones and people, that it obscured the stars and washed everything within a pale glow of silver dust. The tableau was magical, not even the most skillful of artists could have captured the setting with the magnificence that nature itself possessed so effortlessly.
As the village elder reached the final pitch of his speech the sky overhead erupted in a brilliant display, ribbons of colour danced and snaked across the sky. Wave-after-wave of blues and greens, purple, yellow and red slithered across the ionosphere in a display that enthralled those gathered with both fear and wonderment. They had never seen the aurora before...... ....and then lightning struck. A single, massive bolt shattered the night, blinding everyone. By the time people's vision returned the light-show overhead had vanished, only the ever watchful gaze of the noon remained to bathe the grim image that lay for all to witness upon the altar. It seemed the Gods had demanded a real sacrifice after-all. That bolt of lightning struck the poor girl center chest, leaving a hole the size of a grown man's fist right through to the stone below. That was how Fichetri had died; the first time. She was twenty-three.
Hammersfall. It was a small village that stood at the bottom of a bluff as far North as one could go without crossing the Northern mountain chain; any further North and the only thing to be found was ice and an untimely death with an ice-bear. There wasn't much to be had, but the people here eked out a happy existence all the same; some would say it was far better than those to the South in the big cities where love of money ruled.
Hammersfall didn't suffer from such trappings as greed. There was no money. People had what they needed and everyone worked for the good of the community. If someone was inured or ill, the whole village chipped in, and as the saying went, it took a village to raise a child.....this was never more true than it was in Hammersfall. It was over ten generations since the village had been founded. The village was named Hammersfall because, that is where the hammer fell. The clan leader had thrown his hammer from the bluff, and where it landed is where they erected the centered of town.
As the story went, the clan had left the South after a war had broken between different factions. They traveled North only to be caught in a freak blizzard and were near freezing to death when they happened upon a stone circle. It was here they found shelter to weather the storm.
Obelisks of black stone stood near twenty-feet high, twelve of them in a perfect circle, all evenly spaced six feet apart from the next. In the center laid a stone that no snow would settle upon. It was here they sheltered the cold, huddled together, using the stone as a break against the wind. They grew warm as if it somehow multiplied their bodies heat. It was from that bluff the Clan leader had thrown his hammer. The Gods had delivered them, and to this day, every summer passing, and every winters birth they gave homage upon that stone. That brings us ten generations into the here-and-now, summer was in full swing, mead was flowing, people were singing, children were laughing.....yes, it was indeed a happy time to be had by all, even more-so by three young ladies that were about to pass into the realm of womanhood. They had reached the legal age of consent, and after tonight they would be free to make their choice and marry; or not.
Towards midnight, everyone gathered on the bluff and those directly involved within the ceremony took their place within the center of the stones near the blue altar stone. The blue stone was of significant importance to the people of Hammersfall. It was believed to have direct connection to the Gods, and it was here that offering were made. It was here the sacrifice would be given. When the village was first founded the sacrifice was real, the ending of a life (animal) now however, it was symbolic. Each girl laid in turn on the altar stone as the village leader recited the rite of passage for each before they were branded with a mark behind their right ear. It was a joyous time; even if it hurt just a little. Fichetri was the last of the three girls to lay upon the altar. She had been looking forward to this all year and now the moment was here, she was finding it hard to contain her excitement. She had never touched the altar stone before, as she laid upon the warm, hard surface it sent a tingle through her that caused goose-flesh to rise and her head to tickle as if unseen fingers massaged her scalp.
The girl had no real family of her own, but belonged to the whole village. Her Mother had been the village seer and as such, lived a celibate existence, so when she turned up with a newborn one day, there were many questions as to where the child had come from. Many feared she had stolen the child from another village, which would have started no end of trouble. The old woman ranted and raved about how the altar stone had given her the child and told her to name it Fichetri; which literally meant twenty-three. Clearly she was suffering from madness.
The village elder had taken the child and have even asked outside the village; no one claimed to be missing a baby however. The seer slipped deeper into madness, eventually she simply wandered off into the surrounding woodlands never to be seen again. So, the village as a whole raised Fichetri, today she was ascending into adulthood, today she would have her own place. Today she would become.....something. She still didn't know what she wanted to do with herself. Overhead the moon hung like a giant, all-seeing eye. It was so bright as it looked down over the circle of stones and people, that it obscured the stars and washed everything within a pale glow of silver dust. The tableau was magical, not even the most skillful of artists could have captured the setting with the magnificence that nature itself possessed so effortlessly.
As the village elder reached the final pitch of his speech the sky overhead erupted in a brilliant display, ribbons of colour danced and snaked across the sky. Wave-after-wave of blues and greens, purple, yellow and red slithered across the ionosphere in a display that enthralled those gathered with both fear and wonderment. They had never seen the aurora before...... ....and then lightning struck. A single, massive bolt shattered the night, blinding everyone. By the time people's vision returned the light-show overhead had vanished, only the ever watchful gaze of the noon remained to bathe the grim image that lay for all to witness upon the altar. It seemed the Gods had demanded a real sacrifice after-all. That bolt of lightning struck the poor girl center chest, leaving a hole the size of a grown man's fist right through to the stone below. That was how Fichetri had died; the first time. She was twenty-three.