We were such a quiet people, one main town and several villages in the surrounding valley. Peace was our name, we knew of other people outside of our valley, we knew the tinkers that caravan through occasionally, yeah, and we got news of the outside world. Yet our beloved elders never pictured the year of death.

They came over the back hills, they slaughtered us; like the sheep at midweek roast. At the final count, more than half of our population were dead, fields destroyed forever, roads torn up, they even caved in our black rock mine; it was all such a mess.

We learnt well from this time. The people decided that we would not be caught like that again. Good call.

We took their weapons and armour. We fashioned more of our own. There was a lot of anger and sadness throughout the people. Revenge was a hot subject for quite some time. This led to the big question of the year; revenge upon whom?

For the first week, we were shocked pretty badly. We fortified ourselves in the remaining part of town, sending our small parties to scavenge materials that we needed from our own homes and stores, as if we were the invaders. This was not a long-term issue. We were soon to understand that there were no more of these fierce warriors coming.

Then we had to come out of the hole we had that was our fort. It was time for us to take stock and then rebuild our lives, our fields, and homes. The spirit of the clan is what saved us in the end. We were all so used to helping each other with our chores that we soon got the shelter and food organised. The big picture was to take longer, but we got stuck into it. The fields were replanted, the black rock mine reopened, and scouts posted on several vantage points around the valley. We considered ourselves warned, and bloody lucky to survive.

All of this took a lot of hard work, and it was several seasons until we were able to rebuild my favourite place in the whole valley. It is “The Bird Club”, a comfortable place to sit and enjoy the evening over a long brew or three. This is where a good meal can be prepared, a long drink indulged, or you can just sit back and smoke your favourite pipe, all the while feeling relaxed and settled. The Bird Club was another casualty, burnt to the ground, the lawns were a mess, and the prized gardens looked more like a bog after the battle had finished. That entire side of town had been decimated. Yet the skill and desire of the people to restore that which we had to its glory was not to be dismissed. As I said, it was not all completed in one year, but here we are several good seasons later, late week eve, cold brews in hand, and steaks on the fires. Ahh I live in paradise. To sit back here and look out over the back valley into the snow capped ridges, what a beautiful sight. The sun is setting and the back colouring sets the snow to a fantastic purple gold hew.

The caravan slowly made its way into the valley. News of its arrival spread like wild fire. People all over laid down their tools and made their way to the main road. Usually we cheered in these hearty travelling folk. Today we gathered as mourners, even acting suspiciously about them.

We turned the Tinkers caravan into a wain of our own people. You could actually see the Tinkers getting nervous as we followed them into town. It did not take long for news to pass between the two groups. The procession came to a stop on Marlow’s Rise, for here you had a good view of “Home Town”. Here the devastation could be clearly seen, you could see the new, the old, and the still to be fixed sections.

We have a park especially preserved for our travelling friends, and here they set up there workshops. The blessings that poured forth were amazing, the opportunities for growth. Ah tinkers, some say that these Gypsy people are a blight on our way of life, but I so believe that they are such a blessing.

It was good to have our Black Rock mine operating again. To have heat in the cold times, to have light at night, the wonders and power of Black Rock. It almost makes me want to find out what else there is in these hills that we could use.

The tinkers taught us the fine art of Ironing out a different ore from our mountains, thus producing a strong metal. From this Ironing, many other art forms were able to establish themselves. We were able to develop far better tools for in our mines, for working our fields, even for eating our daily meals.

Of all of the tools that we created, it was the redesigning of the axe that most impressed my family. We now had a strong blade, a lasting blade, and from this, my families’ trade was to develop and grow.

Eventually when the caravan was to move on, a proportion of them stayed, and integrated themselves into our communities. We would not only survive, but we would thrive.

Yet we had not forgotten the attack on our way of life. A group started to gather regularly to exercise and train in many different fighting forms. All of the people were invited to join in if they so desired. The hardest parts of these meetings were the number of people being really hurt through these exercises. Yet, we did not want to be caught in any such attack again.

It was not long before we started to organise these people into groups. From there it all tumbled together. Now we have several strong fighting bands, each of whom has differing areas of responsibility. They have even started a colour coding for themselves. Next they will start a footy team each if we are not too careful, haha.

Band One are responsible for keeping the town and immediate field’s safe.

Band Two look after the watchtowers and the main pass into the valley.

Band Three have to watch over the outer villages and the Black Rock mine.

Band Four have been sent to explore the regions out from our valley.

Time passes well for our people, we grew and planted and spread into our valley. It was only a few more years and the first of our little villages blossomed into a nice large town, which we call “Rivers Place”. Here we build a temple to our God, a marketplace, even a series of warehouses especially to store the produce from the fields.

Then the herald circulated the great news:

“I am proud to announce that here in “Rivers Place”, we today have Banded together a new group of people. A Band to meet the growth and coming of age of “Rivers Place”. Let me tell you about “Band Five”.

The pageantry was fantastic. The coming of age of a town, even adding a new Band. They had the task of protection of “Rivers Place”. The townsfolk were so proud of them that they built them a special training facility, somewhere that was available twenty four hours a day for them to train and hone their skills.

Now rivalry is one thing, but one town out doing another, oh the looks of us “Home Towner’s” as we wandered through this new facility, the remarks, the desire. Ha, there was even a touch of Jealousy. It was only to be a few short months, before Home Town had a fine facility available for use of “Band One”.

This led the Elders to step in and start a further step in the structure of the Bands. Here the Blue’s were created. They took a leading member of “Band Three”, an old red haired rascal called Stym. He was promoted to be the main Blue. Stym in turn chose a team to assist him. It became the Blue’s job to coordinate the Band’s training, deployment and supplies. Thus from this time on the leader of the Band’s has been called the “Blue”.

In the coming years, we founded another six towns through out the valley. Along with this came a further nine new Bands. Six were allotted to town protection, one was added for valley protection, and the other two were sent out into the wilds. With this came more importance of the Blue, and a bigger team supporting him in his endeavours.

Throughout this period “Blue” started to rotate the bands in their functions. This allowed the Bands to get a feel for all of what was required for protecting all of our people.

In following years, we fought off several more packs of scavengers and raiding parties of various types. This just proved how valuable the Bands were to us. In addition, our Bands were able to track a few back to their bases and relieve them of their way of life.

Still the people flourished. We grew happy; we brewed our beer, smoked our pipes and watched great games of footy at the end of our work days.

Yet, bliss can be so deceitful.

The world was greater, far more comprehensive than we could imagine. There were peoples in far places with amazing languages. Over the years, we met civilizations through our explorations, and had various wanderers through our lands.

Our closest neighbours are a people with a strange tongue, the Français (French). They are happy sort of folk. They taught us the value of good bubbling wines, how to built solid fortifications for our sentries around our valley. We in turn shared our brews, our Black Rock from our hills, and even the Ironed metal weapons of our Bands.

These hearty folk invited us to visit their capital, to come stay in their Palais du Royales (Palace of the Royales). Our spirits rose in meeting more of these people.
Their city was a place of wonder. The people were out everywhere celebrating our arrival. They had parades, feasts, banners, and celebrations to welcome us.

The evenings were filled with amazing shows of beautiful exploding lights in the sky, great feasts and more and more of the amazing French liquors.

By the fourth day, we were passed out in exhaustion; we were like creatures of the night. Wandering the halls of the palace with hung heads and baggy eyes. Ohh the words of our mothers rang so true, you party, and then you pay…

The young Princes were so cute, so friendly and caring. They were more diligent in serving our meals those days than the serving people. They really helped us through our hangovers.

Now I like thick toasted bread in the morn, preferably covered in a good butter and berry jam. Yet these folk would temp us with such delicate pastries, of such exquisite tastes. These recipes would cause quite a stir in the valley. The secrets of whipping cream into a fluff, so that it is so light and just sits on the crepe, amazing, and given with a laugh and a smile.

Our trade deal was a high point of the entire journey. All parties felt like winners, after all, real trade is good trade. Yet I believe that I got the best of the lot. For two of my Grandfathers hand crafted battleaxes, I got a beautiful Golden Retriever ***** (Female Dog), and her litter of pups. In my visit to the city, I had discovered that dogs are great, and we did not have any at home. Trapper is her name, and if her pups grow to anything like her, then I am one blessed Axe Grinder.

We stayed for several weeks, building great relationships, gathering new deals, investigating their society. Yet all good things do end, and our time to travel home came quickly.

Over the coming years, we built a good and solid relationship with these people. As I sit here in the "Bird Club", enjoying my pipe and brew, I can quite honestly say that I believe that this has truly benefited both our people groups.

Oh, and I now have Trap, and six of the finest dogs in the valley.

. . .
- - -
. . .

That was the only message that came down the great wire.

Our friends were calling us to “Save Our Souls”.

With no other details, “Blue” sent out three Bands of scouts in the direction of “La France”.

To reinforce the scouts, two flying columns were quickly called to arms. The first consisted of three of our beloved Horse Bands. The second, which would follow a little slower, consisted of three Axe Bands, and two Bands of Field (a mixture of farmers, miners and artisans). We could only presume what sort of trouble there was.

“Blue” had the scouts on the way instantaneously, the Horse and the Foot within 36 hours of notification. All of his drills and standards for mobilization were such a splendid sight to see in action. We now had eleven Bands on the road to face an unknown situation.

“Blue” Holly set out with the Horse. She, and her team, would have overall field control of the flying columns. Her youth and vibrancy would be surely missed around the “Bird Club”, but we were proud to cheer her on as they rode out of town, heading for “La France”.

The council met, and it was decided that a larger column would be prepared and sent to our most northern township. They would consist of a mixture of Horse, Foot, Archers, and Field Bands. Not knowing what was going on was no reason not to have some good resources available to assist our friends.

“Save Our Souls” - in our treaties, this was the highest call we had for trouble. That there was no further communication of any sort was not good.

Could it be a sickness? Could it be another of the exploding mountains? On the other hand, were those cantankerous Germans on the warpath?

The Council spent a series of cold nights waiting for word. Passion is not something our people lack. There were some fiery discussions at those meetings.

“Blue” was calm in his resolve. Everything took place very methodically. The third column marched within days. There was no shortage of people who wanted to help the French.

The “Bird Club” was a little quiet in the following weeks, as we awaited word.

Our training was solid; our Bands were good to the core.

The scouts came in with Reports of Killing, raping and looting, and that this was continuing throughout the land of “La France”.

Word was quickly sent back to the “Blue” and the Council.

It was the French that need the most help, and fast. The rampaging Germans were decimating them. We had pledged our alliance to our friends many years before. We would be there to help them.

Dieppe; such a beautiful township on the bay of the great water.

“Blue” Holly took her Bands on their own journey into hell. The hills to the south would need to be taken to ensure the strategic ownership of Dieppe. Two Axe Bands were sent straight through the hills, like a hot blade through cold butter. The Horse Bands simultaneously charged the Township, with this leaving the third Axe Band in Reserve with the Field Bands.

The fighting was hard, very intense in places, yet the Horse and Axe vanquished the shocked Germans.

At the end of the Battle, “Blue” Holly found herself to be the Governor of a French Beachside resort town. At this time, the Axe and Field Bands gathered and assisted in garrisoning the town and getting the fields and mines operating again.

A Horse Band was set on a circular patrol, with the other two Horse Bands in Reserve, never too far apart. The scout bands were sent to secure the road into Dieppe for the Third column, which at this time was only a week away.

Back home, a full mobilization was under way. “Blue” had provided the council with evidence of French townships in Ruins, of people displaced and wandering the countryside, of Germanic units destroying roads and fields.

WAR was declared……………………..





The War drags on…

It is comfortable to sit here in “The Club” and watch another sunset, to enjoy my cold brew and a hot steak, to look out over the valley and enjoy the peace. Yet the comfort is short lived. We are not a people at peace; we are a people at War.

The Blue has mobilised our forces and we have engaged the dreaded Germans. Our papers are full of amazing statistics. 400,000 dead in the northeast. The city of Tours lay in ruins. Starvation throughout the western regions. The Northern French Army is in ruins.

Then there are the private reports coming in from the bands, the German Cavalry enjoy leaving the cities and countryside in ruins. They seem to have a policy of take no prisoners leave no rock unturned.

Ahh the Germanic evil grows even stronger… Who are these German peoples to destroy our trade with our friends, to raze their cities?

We have sent envoys; they have either been rejected and sent home or never heard from again. This makes for a very frustrating time for our people.

Life has come along way in the last century. Our people have finally flung the oppression of our Indian aggressors off. No longer do we have to allow such horrible foes wandering our valley or threatening the workers in our fertile fields.

The year is 478ad. The fabled chroniclers are starting to renew their humble craft. Throughout the ruins of our once mighty people a picture is being put together of our history, a history that we have so little knowledge of. It is but a rumor that we were a people of peace, not a tribe of hardened warriors, skilled in the art of the sword and the shield. For the first time in centuries, there is talk of building houses that have windows and doorways, not mini fortresses for multiple families.

Yet before I recap on our history, let me paint a picture of our twin towns. The two that we have settled in the last 65 years. The towns are so close that it is but a good walk from the edge of one to the edge of the other. Very good for defensive purposes, and our people know about defensive purposes.

The swarve and boisterous Indian soldiers have taken great delight in loudly letting our people know of the many settlements that they have ruined in the last centuries. How no matter what we had tried, we were beaten and slaughtered. The ruins of our towns litter the valley floor; even our current town of BladeStake has been founded on the ruins of a settlement that was trashed several centuries ago.

Our chroniclers believe that we were caught in some sort of trap while involved in a war in ancient times. That the bulk of our forces were on the field a vast distance from our much loved valley. Legend has it that once a fine people lived to our north, and they joined with our once mighty warriors to fight a great oppressor to the far west. While these fabled warriors conducted war a large force of Indians and Chinese fell upon our cities and towns. Any peace, freedoms and cultures were torn from the hands of our people.

No soul has been found with either record or truth of our time in the badlands. But whether it be truth or really bad fiction, it seems that our land was ravaged, and as we settled into new settlements we fought long and demoralizing wars with these two peoples..

Amongst our folk there are some very funny jokes about the fall of the Chinese, so it is believed from these tales that the Indians and the Chinese fell out several times over the millennia, so much so that there is no real record of any Chinese in this area for a long long time. Although there are some very good laundries down town, and most of our people can make mean short soups….

Rayette, that’s my name, nothing more, nothing less. I belong to the 7th long spears, of the second t town I am one of the remaining. This story is about how my life changed.

My son and his mates have really been enjoying the freedoms of having the valley free of foreign troops. They are constantly exploring the multitude of ruins that litter the valley floor. Some of the treasures that they have brought home are amazing. Yet mainly there treasures fall into the category of another mans trash.

Recently these adventurous souls have been up into the mountains, wandering the old escape routes, finding great streams, vales of beautiful grass, cattle in amazing places, all sorts of wonders. Yet their best times are to be found in the tunnels and mine shafts that are all over. The latest tunnel system has been quite a maze, meandering here and there, with cross tunnels, cave-ins, old rusted doors, shafts that seem to have no bottoms, and yet more tunnels. By far the most exciting find was the trapdoor in the ceiling of one of the tunnels. I am quite sure that if it was anybody else other than curious kids, the door would never have been found, not in my lifetime at least.

The trapdoor was very cleverly concealed as rafters. On gaining access, they were led into another set of tunnels, and paths, which eventually brought them out onto a balcony overlooking our glorious valley. Through using a mixture of natural rock formations and some clever craftsmanship, the balcony just melted into the surrounds so naturally. When the lads followed the path along the balcony they came to a small chamber, which in turn led into a great natural chamber. From this chamber there are numerous rooms and halls leading off in different directions. Within the halls, a vast store of goods lay around, swords, furniture, rotten clothing, massive jars, barrels, and sorts of machinery.

Ok, so I love these lads, I love their no holds spirit, I love that they are determined that they will “remain”. Yet I was so sceptical when they burst into our MainJunctionHome. They rushed to take me off for a chat; oh they were laden down with all sorts of items that were all wrapped in rags and blankets. All I could think was “The conspiracy of the young,” hahahahaha. Being so adult, and trying not to be condescending, I humoured them and listened to their many stories of the great journey of discovery. But they knew they had me when at last they unwrapped the WHITE AXE.

I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head. The shine, the gleam, the sheer sparkle of this soft looking piece of wood and metal. It really looks delicate, yet when they handed it to me its weight became apparent. This was not some trophy, some ornament for the shelfs. On close inspection I found that the handle was well worn, smooth in many areas, areas that my hands naturally feel to. And the blade, this gleaming white blade, it actually has notches in its blade; notches that I felt sure could only have come from battle with other weapons. Then I lost all hearing as the lads continue talking of their journey and many discoveries. As they opened up their various bundles, I was lost to them, my concentration was solely on the blade and the fine engraving that was across the face of the blade… On one side were etched a series of names, these only come down 1/3 of the blade, obviously leaving room for plenty more. The other side holdsp a picture of mountains, in a far stretching C formation, with a river flowing through what looks to be lush landscape, and there is that a small village along the river.

Finally I heard, “Dad, Dad; this is the Remaining to Dad”

Snapping my head up I looked around to find a group of very quiet lads looking at me with very very serious faces.

“Dad, have we done something wrong?”

“My paddy boy, my paddy boy, my paddy boy…. We need to take this before Frigler, and I mean we should do this now” Looking around, I beamed a long and happy smile, “Lads, I believe that your names will be sung for generations to come. Lets be off to see if Frigler will grant us an audience?”

Frigler, Ol’ Frig, our meanest Captain of war, the leader of the “Remaining.” We were able to get an appointment almost straight away, which is a good thing in such a small community. Ol’ Frig was quite dismissive of the find, yes he was able to understand the significance of this to our peoples overall well being and growth, but he had far more pressing issues that required his attention in the foreseeable future.

It was determined that a group of our chroniclers would accompany the lads and I back up into the tunnels for a more thorough search and documentation of the find. Until further studies had been concluded, notice of the find was to be kept under Frigs rule, basically meaning it was not open for discussion in public.

Then being the hardened warlord that he is, he called for food, wine and song. There was no way that these young lads’s would be forgotten even if there was to be no public celebration at this time. This is the way our people are now; we know how to take celebration at a moments notice or to jump for sword and shield, and life’s adventures sure have led us through some vicious years.

The fourth Berserker group have been scouting the southern lands for Indian soldiers for some months. They are running point for our strike force of a further 3 Berserkers and 2 spear groups.

The disappearance of the Indian forces from our land, while being a great blessing to our people, has caused quite a bit of concern as well. For millennia we have battled these arrogant slave traders for every inch of ground, now they can not be found…. A bloody dilemma if ever there was one.

There would not be a warman or warmaiden amongst the groups that does not know the legends of our long lost past. Of how our troops were not at home when our foe attacked. So it has been with great trepidation that this fighting force has travelled far from our settlements, far from our beloved valley.

We have been able to piece together that Indians had been slowly draining resources and troops from their fortifications and armed camps in and around the valley. It is really not know for how long that they were running this deception, for every now and then they were still sending forces into attack our settlements, burn our fields and continue to make our lives ruin. Then almost over night they were gone, the forts were mostly demolished, the camps were like a figment of our imagination, no longer could we here the howls of the Indian Dogboys as they scrapped themselves ceremoniously down their swords late into the nights. Like the coming of a thief in the night, they were gone.

Thus Ol’ Frig sent forth this patrol, a damned well armed patrol if I must say so, and a very well provisioned patrol. It is with joy that we have been crossing back and forth across the lands to the south, finding good land, minerals again, and ruins of long forgotten towns, of our own people, of the despised Indian people and of the Chinaman.

It was almost by accident that the fourth came across a party of Indian Horse, and being Berserkers, they ran at them hard, with the true froth rolling from there lips, yelling like banshees, and cursing every Dogboy name they had ever heard, even making some great ones up in the heat of the battle.

The battle fuelled the blood of the berserkers; they had a good head of steam up for a few weeks there after. It must be admitted that there were quite a few grumblings in the other battle groups that were not present for the battle, but were part of the patrol.

Throughout the clean up of the battle, plans and maps were removed from the dead Dogboys. Thus it was discovered that a large grouping of slaves were being gathered to the south west, they were then to travel together under combined arms of units such as these very Dogboys to some hideous place in the land of Dogboys. Ha, getting our tongues around some of their city names, when reading the map was quite a funny experience for many a warman and warmaiden.

So here the Patrol is, away from our people, yet knowing where a large group of slaves is being gathered, who are very possibly our people anyway.

• Do they march home, for instructions and possibly miss the gathering.
• Do they send part of the patrol back for the further protection of the people, as soon they will have gone the limit that Ol’ Frig had set, then send the remaining battle groups to the gathering and hope to slaughter the Dogboys and free the slaves?
• Do they march on the gathering, slaughter the Dogboys and free the slaves.

Knowing full well their own history? Balancing this against the lust for battle? That they had already defeated / pulverised one party of Dogboys, thus fixing the odds higher in their favour? That they have instructions and a responsibility to the people of the valley?

Yeah they decided to go get the people back.

The march was hard and long. They deliberately travelled as fast and hard as they could, there was to be no slowing.

Unfortunately the Indian Dogboys got word of the patrol and sent out a screen to deflect and hit the patrol from many angles. The Dogboys must have had a change in their command, or the commander may not understand the tactics and tenacity of the people of the valley. By marching together in a fixed battle ready patrol, the Berserkers and spears were quite a devastating set of units to be throwing horse units and soldier units at one or two at a time. A series of 14 battles ensued through out this chase, and chase it was. The berserkers had a goal and a one track mind, to rescue the slaves.

I would love to tell how all made, unfortunately many fell in these ferocious battles, many wives and husbands would not be seeing their mates again. But all was not in vain... Far from it actually. The long and the short of it is that like butter on a hot blade, the dogboys retreated when hurt to much, they gave way to the patrol. And even when the patrol thought this could only be leading to some sort of really bad ambush, nothing came of it. The patrol did secure the release of 7 groups of slaves. Thousands of them! Well ordered, well maintained, even well provisioned and ready to march. Amongst these people were many strange folk from far away lands who had no idea where they were, net alone where they really were from. They were some who were quite happy to strip the Dogboys of any weapons and head off into the lands, heading for their homes and loved ones. They all received the blessing of the patrol. Then for those that wanted, the patrol brought them back to the valley.

It is still quite amazing to wander amongst these people, to look at some and see mirrors of my own children, to see my long dead grandfather in the way some sit, some walk even to hear some old soul sharing a recipe with another, a recipe that I would cook two or three times a month, and to think some of these people had not been amongst the “Remaining” for generations…

What else awaited us out there in the darkness of the night? What other treasures of our people would be unearthed on a beautiful sunny day? Could there be a small child looking up into the rain, beseeching his God for his people to come and save him? These things await us as the planet rotates; these are the destinies of tomorrow as we rebuild the People of the Valley.

The cold wind howled around our ears as we marched through the pass. This was to be my last patrol with my beloved 3rd Beresckers. My age has led to my being retired off, told to sit and watch over the younger generations, to relax and enjoy my latter years. HAA I say, it has been many a generation since our people / our warriors grew too old and too fat to retire. So why should we start now, just because we are at peace, I find this to be insulting.

They tell me that I should have taken this ‘retirement’ happily five years ago. PPER I say to that, although if the truth was to be known a warm fire and a full jug of beer would be better than a cloak covered in snow as we tramp through the mountains, well maybe.

Recently a new place opened up, they call it ‘The Bird Club’, a comfortable place to sit and enjoy the evening over a long brew or three. This is where a good meal can be prepared, a long drink indulged, or you can just sit back and smoke your favourite pipe, all the while feeling relaxed and settled. ‘The Bird Club’ is said to be built in the very spot where a similar establishment sat over 1500 years ago. The skill and desire of the people to restore our shattered heritage has been quite amazing. Even more amazing are the caches of treasure and information that have been found in ruins throughout are former towns, even in some abandon mines and such.

I recently visited the club and spent several relaxing evening with cold brews in hand, and steaks on the fires. Ahh our people really do live in paradise. To sit back here and look out over the back valley into the snow capped ridges, what a beautiful sight. The sun was setting and the back colouring sets the snow to a fantastic purple gold hew.

I am thinking that I just might join the club and move in to the area. HHAA retirement may not be so bad, I could get to enjoy the peace of the People of the Valley.