The Hero of The Som

The Wester horde marched for conquest from the far Lum Dari.

Crude wooden shields, blades that had already claimed souls.

Burning and sacking their way to the fruitful East.

Red banners, helmets with antlers and their eyes black from evil.

 

The folk of Parlum were modest miners of  iron and coal.             

Word of the raiders came as they pillaged the Lansi Downs.

Riders sped off to Valldurin knowing they’d be late.

In fear, the miners would need to stall the evil from afar.

 

Theo Jangnor was the embodiment of brutality.

He called his hordes, “march for the pass of the Terӓvӓ Mountains.”

As innocent blood still dipped from his wrought iron mace.

His helmet adorned with an iron crown and the skull of Ishk.         

 

“Oh woe to Parlum, for death is near,” it’s people cried aloud.

No walls we built for there was never a threat from the far West.

The Watchman, Rolan Emari, devised a defense.

He called for the men young and old, but they were stricken with doubt.

 

A tall unnamed man stood up from the group rallied by Rolan.

Dark in hair, green in the eyes, the exile from the Kingslands spoke.

"Call me to defend Rev'Ah, redemption and glory,"

"If my death could save even one, may I die ten thousand times."

 

Nearly a thousand men marched out of the mountains towards The Som.

Songs were sung to drown the fear, knowing they were the only hope.

They arrived at the Dryn Ford, the only shallow point.

And, by dusk they could see the glow of the enemy camps.

 

The rising sun slowly climbed behind the Parlum fighters.

A welcomed advantage against the unbelievable odds.

Nomatter, for each man there knew their fate was sealed.

Their eyes witnessed the warlord’s mob cover the five hills in sight.

 

Rolan stood abreast with two elders in the knee deep river.

A white and blue banner thrashed in the hard wind overhead.

They stood solid with all the confidence of virtue,

As the dreaded Lord Jangnor and captains met them in The Som.

 

Theo the Tall was battleworn, both missing a ring finger,

And bore a scar on his cheek that continued on his helmet.

He spoke plainly and his demand was simple,

“All your food, half your women, and we will pass with all due peace.”

 

“There’s no food to spare, and we hope to defend you from our women,”

Rolan’s quip brought a hearty laughter from the huge invader.

“You will die with honor today Rev’An; on my word,”

The giant conqueror said with his fist over his dark heart.

 

The unnamed exile approached the commanders from the bank.

“Theo the Lost! Theo the Rat! Theo the Weak! I call thee.”

“Send unto me your best, send me yourself. I challenge,”

“I, Mez Theden, Knight of Rev’Ah. I am the wall to your prize.”

 

The insulted Theo returned accepting the champion’s terms.

Rolan then asked the Knight the meaning of his hopeless challenge.

“If time is all I can offer, then time I will give,”

“When I fall, meet the bastards here in the shallows, and bring hell.”

 

The disgraced Knight drew Ehdoton, a true Ganes sword of ol’.

He threw it’s scabbard to the water, and loosened his armor.

He watched his first opponent approach the river.

The giant Wester quickly swung his ax but fell to a thrust.

 

Ser Theden slayed the next two just as easily as the first.

Jangnor true to his word, only one challenger at a time.

Even the brute knew conquering Rev’Ah took honor.

One by one the foes were bested by the Knight and Ehdoton.

 

The ninth combatant tripped over a corpse falling back.

His foe submerged, the Knight plunged the Ganes sword in his chest.

Ser Theden looked into the eyes of the Wester,

Witnessed the soul escape them as the body sank deeper.

 

The midday Sun made the sweat on Mez glisten and seem to boil.

The exhausted Knight had fought in single combat a half day.

He gave his promise of buying time, stalled the horde.

And with a look to Rolan he gave the message to ready.

 

Ser Theden looked back Westward to spot his next attacker.

Theo Jangnor walked into the shallows with mace in hand.

Ser Theden readied his stance prepared to fight.

“I respect you Ganesman, win or lose, I’m your last fight today.”

 

Exhausted, muscles aching, and his sight blurred from sweat.

His hands were blistered, torn and cut, but still held his sword.

Hopeless or not, here, a chance to save his people.

The Knight of Rev’Ah remembered his oath, to his last breath.

 

The world fell silent and both armies crept to the banks.

Theo’s mace was cumbersome and slow, Mez too drained to strike.

Mez collapsed on his right leg rolling from a blow.

But allowed him to thrust up stabbing Theo’s forearm.

 

The hurt brute slunk away as the weary Knight got to his feet.

Crouched and ready to pounce, as a tiger stalking prey.

Theo’s blood ran down his hand and dripped into The Som.

The Knight seized his moment and lunged with all his might.

 

Ehdoton penetrated the bottom of Theo’s lung.

And he fell back into the shallows with Ser Theden in tow.

The Army of Parlum let out thundurus cheer.

From under the water a dagger stabbed Mez in the side.

 

The cheers faded as Ser Theden looked up to the Sun.

His lungs filled with blood as his soul filled with worth.

Theo rose from the water blood coming out his mouth.

The Wester horde cried Victory and charged the shallows.

 

Rolan led his men into the fray and held the Horde at bay.

The short length of the shallows evened the forces.

His long pikemen dauntlessly secured the flanks.

The heavy armor and weapons hindered the foe in The Som.

 

Even after Rolan fell the men of Parlum held the line.

As the Sun finally began to set, the Horde fell back.

There the Wester’s made camp and burned Theo the Tall.

And, the men of Parlum carried the Hero of the Som home.

 

Four hundred and thirty one returned from defending The Som.

Each had carried the Hero of the Som.