|
By Jonathan Boakes Published by The Darkling
Room Press, 1973. One upon a time, in a land not far away, there was mighty kingdom ruled by Ganwulf the Brave. Ganwulf was a powerful warrior, from across the sea, who ruled his people fairly and kindly, providing for the poor, the sickly and the timid. Around him, Ganwulf created a brave army of men, to protect the rich, fertile land and its people from evil foreign raiders and supernatural forces. Some still say that Grindle himself would join Ganwulf's folk in battle. Grindle was a mighty Dragon, thought to sleep under the stones of Saxtonia, deep within the caverns. His mighty claw stretched out above the sea, while the scales of his tale protruded from the fenland sands, to become home for limpets, crabs and oysters. The land of Anglia was steeped in myth, legend and horrors. Great beasts, known as Fenlaria, stalked the land when night had fallen, preying on those who ventured forth from the lamp lit halls of Ganwulf's kingdom and nearby Saxtonia. The Fenlaria hid within the dark shadows of the nocturnal world, sliding and slithering from one dark void to the next. Pity the poor souls who stepped into shadow, never to be seen again. Some say the Fenlaria ate their prey, there and then, hair, eyes, bone and all. Others say their victims were dragged, screaming, into the underworld kingdom. We may never know the truth, as no-one encountered Fenlaria and lived to tell the tale. Ganwulf knew such creatures could never enter his Kingdom, or the lands about, whilst his enchanted Saxon crown rested upon his head. For it was a scared crown, a magical crown, created to be one of three such ornaments. It was forged in the molten, fiery pits of Incendria by folk long since gone from this world. Once crafted, the crown was plunged into the icy waters of the Crantok Fjord, to strengthen the metal and bind its power. Ganwulf knew that should the crown ever leave his head, his people would suffer, the kingdom would fall, and a shadow would creep across the land, spreading disease, famine and poisoned water. The Sax itself, the clear flowing water that feed the kingdom, and nearby Saxtonia, would run red with blood, as corpses bobbed and drifted upon scarlet foam. Knowing this, none of Ganwulf's people dared to touch his ancient crown. The crown would remain safe, forever and ever.... ...However, deep in the caverns by the shores of Saxtonia, next to the bottomless chasm, a terrible, deformed, ugly warlock planned to steal the crown. He had heard of its power, from many a traveller, and wished the object for himself. There was nothing but blackness in the warlock’s evil heart, so he thought nought of the curse and trouble he may bring. The Warlock slipped into Ganwulf's kingdom, on the night of May Day Eve. Creeping like a Fenlaria, from shadow to shadow, he stole into the king’s bed chamber. There, upon a wooden rest, the crown glinted and glistened with uncanny power. As the warlock’s hand fell upon the crown, Ganwulf was awoken by a terrible pain. "Stop him, stop him, come my men. The Warlock must not take the crown! For my kingdom will fall, and all will die!". Loosing consciousness, Ganwulf fell into a sickly sleep. His people could do nothing, for the crown was gone, deep into the Warlocks cavern. The warlock cackled, cursed and crept around the deep, dark caves, and prepared to place the crown upon his twisted head. "It's mine, it's mine, you stupid fools. I have Ganwulf's crown and all its power". His voice echoed around the cave, and deep into the depths. It was then that the warlock noticed that another sound had joined his echoing cries. A deep, hissing breath, was growing in strength, from the bottomless chasm. A claw appeared, upon the edge, then another, as Grindle’s form was issued forth. Roaring with rage, Grindle glared into the warlock’s dark, bloodshot eyes, and offered him a chance to repent. The warlock refused, through pride and vanity, and placed the ancient crown upon his head. The dragon roared again, and spat scorching fire across the brow of the evil man. The warlock screamed, and fell to the ground, his face a smoking cinder. The flesh had cooked right off the bone, leaving only the crown where a skull had once been. Taking the crown
within his sharp teeth, Grindle flew from the cavern, and into the night.
Already the land was dark with evil, the Fenlaria able to walk abroad.
They need no shadows when all the earth is as dark as the warlocks heart.
Grindle flew faster, across the land, towards Ganwulfs mighty kingdom.
With a beat of his massive wings, the dragon swooped down-landwards, and
dropped the crown into the panic stricken kingdom. It was caught by Pendraed,
Ganwulf’s brother, who quickly rushed to his brother’s side.
Placing the crown upon Ganwulf's head the curse was lifted, and light
returned to the land of Anglia. Never would Ganwulf let anyone take his
crown again, for there and then, he committed himself to building a guardian
army. A selection of folk were chosen, to protect the crown through time
and change. Their mission was simple; never let a soul steal the Saxon
crown, for all of Anglia would fall into darkness, and evil roam the land. Darkling Room 2007: http://www.darklingroom.co.uk |