Two short fiction from Caledonia

So I had this idea for a fantasy setting that takes place in 9th century Great Britain. I researched the history of the kingdoms that existed around the year 800 CE, and this setting, Caledonia, was born. The following are two short fictions in the setting.

Aedan Selbach traveled overland in the back of a cross country wagon train. His possessions were few and light. A sword of 32 inches, forged recently from Mercian steel and purchased with a land title passed on from his father; olive tunic with a darker key trim; trousers, quite dirty and roughed a bit in places; small sheepskin pouch containing some standard Mercian and Gyneddian silver, flint and steel, a small jar of laquer polish, about 8 ounces of dried and cured lambs meat; worn but still mercifully intact leather boots; matching head cover to the tunic. A real pilgrim. At least, that is what he wanted all the other pilgrims to think.

He was traveling west in a wagon train, crossing the vast plains of Western Mercia and the hills of Powys towards the dwarven lands of Gwynedd. These people were Moradin cultists, being ostracized by their fellow Mercians for believing in the god of the dwarves, and fleeing to the dwarven lands before being rounded up and relocated northwards into Northumbria.

Aedan, however, was not a cultist, nor did he have any intention of relocating to the dwarven lands, at least not permanently. He had become and adventurer, one of the class of people who traveled throughout the lands fixing what the local authorities could not or would not. This was his romantic view of his situation. In actuality, he had no idea what he should do, since this was his first foray outside of the protective walls of Wroxeter. The village behind those pallisades seemed so far away now.

The journeys outside the villages were always trecherous, and sometime deadly, as the lands were full of all manner of beasts and creatures. The world had become increasingly violent towards civilization, moreso than the elders and historians had known. They claimed that the gods were seeking vengeance on man, but the emissaries of the gods, the clerics, claimed that their gods remarked that they were doing nothing out of the ordinary.

An old man wheezed and coughed, in a manner nearly ejecting his innards. This startled Aedan from his deep thoughts. The old man could not let up, and a thin robed man attended to him, placing the healing words of Moradin upon his chest. The coughing relented, subsiding to the hidden chambers of his breaths. Kneeling up, the priests eyes met Aedans, and the two remained fixed for a brief instant. He could make out the priests dark red eyes under a brown woolen hood, and the gaze ingrained in his mind. It was not normal, or at least he had never seen anyone, to have eyes of such redness. Quickly, the priest shoved the cloth covering the entrance to the wagon aside and peeled himself out.

Night crept up from the east, having slowly pushed the sun off into the west. The caravan felt like a row of refugees fleeing the coming darkness, thrusting themselves to stay in the light; however, they stopped here, on this small smoothed dun to make camp for the evening.

Hoping from the wagon, Aedan found himself gazing in all directions across the landscape. He had never seen anything quite as beautiful before in his life. Towards the west, in the lands of the setting sun lay the outlines of far off mountains, what he must guess were the harrowing peaks of the Snowdonians. In any other direction, he could see nothing but rolling hills, nothing but grass and shrub, nothing to denote civilization. And he loved it. He felt free and alive. Nothing could take this feeling from him, he thought.

"Traveler," the coarse voice growled towards Aedan. "A hand with these provisions, what say you?"

Aedan nodded, approached the bearded man, adjusted his back and reached up to help him grab hold of a large leathered chest. The handles were worn thin from use, and he felt like they might go at any moment. It was heavy too, must be filled with meats he thought. It hit the ground with a thud.

Breathing heavily, the bearded man said, "Young and virile. Not many of you coming out on these Morite trains anymore."

"You've taken the trek before?" he asked. Stupid question.

"Thrice, my young one. And by the will of Moradin, many more to follow too."

"Yes, by Moradin."

The bearded man looked keenly over Aedan, making up his mind, "You are not a faithful Moradian servant, hmm?"

Aedan closed up, became almost shy and meek, "No, Sir, I am not."

Closing in on Aedan, the man whispered, "Be careful who you speak with, young one. There are many here seeking to escape persecution, and your lack of faith may be construed by some to be the markings of a Mercian spy. If you had your wits to you, making off at the border town at the feet of the Snowdonians would be a wise choice." He leaned back and crossed his arms, staring heavily into Aedans eyes.

Aedan felt the heaviness of his words, composing himself and moving away towards the rear of the wagon train. It was obviously a threat, however masked behind the helpful tones of friendliness. He never wanted to be a problem for these people, but he underestimated their devotions and their loyalties. He sulked around the rear of the last wagon, staring out into the wilderness from whence they came, spotting a man some 50 yards out.

All alone, he was. Standing, some device held up to his eye, pointing skyward and towards the horizon. He had on a brilliant flowing robe, which slightly shimmered in the dusk light. His garb was different than the rest, more polished and refined, even at this distance. The robed figure turns back towards the train with a quick pace, silently gracing past Aedan like a hawk, intent in purpose and paying no mind to his curious gaze. He was able to spot, though, the distinct shape of a full and overflowing spell component pouch.


Morning crested from the east, and with it came conversations about the death of the old wheezing man during the night. His breath was snatched out from him during his sleep, and the clerics, sensing the will of Moradin, allowed him to pass into the realm of Shades. Old age is the fact of life that no mortal cleric could ever claim to possess power over; it was the gift of the gods.

His body was wrapped and his possessions distributed among the pilgrims. Waste was a word not heard in wilderness of Caledonia. The caravan moved out presently, time could not be afforded for funeral rites out here, the ever-looming threat of wild cannibals and numerous creatures caused haste at all times. Aedan moved his sack to the rear wagon today, on request from the bearded man who had so cleverly voiced his opinion the night before.

The caravan moved through an ancient creek bed, navigating between two larger formations on either side. Aedan could recognize the tactical advantage of having a caravan of pilgrims pinned down in a veritable gorge could afford to any intrepid attackers. He assumed that since they had run this route before, it must have been deemed safe. But maybe that because they had run it before, it wasn't.

The wagon stopped and Aedan could hear screams coming from the front of the column. Poking is head out, he could make out the sight of about a dozen mantis men, leaping down upon the caravan from the northern face of the ravine. People were trying to fight back, with only a few of the strongest men possessing any sort of weapon. Reeling back in, he unsheathed his short sword and slowly climbed from the wagon.

The mantis men called out in their strange clicking tongue, screaming directions, orders, or perhaps taunts out towards their colleagues and the humans. Aedan, as he moved quickly forward towards the front of the caravan, witnessed one of the thri-kreens flip his polearm around in two of his four arms and slam it up against the neck of one of the clerics. The insectoid pressed himself against this man, choking him, and, when he fell limp, released him to the ground. This is when it noticed Aedan.

He had barely enough time to react to the mantis warrior leaping into the air and almost coming down right on top of Aedan, but he was able to tumble out of the way and at least parry the oncoming blow. The thing was massive, about eight feet tall, and had a force to match multiple men. He struggled against it, dodging its attacks, trying to learn how to fight against something that could hit you with four arms. He glanced an opportune blow, striking the creature in a vulnerable section of its exoskeleton, and managed to disable it and land a coup de grace. It shrieked as it fell, and bled a disgusting greenish white liquid.

Looking up, Aedan could see the bearded man putting up a fight against the insectoids. He was not faring well. The man was trying to defend himself against three of the attackers, since he was one of the only ones putting up a fight. Racing in that direction, Aedan felt that maybe he could prove to the man that he was worthy enough to at least accompany them to Gwynedd, if nothing else. Then, though, he was hit. And knocked out cold.


He awoke after what seemed like a week long slumber, wading through the vastness of the astral plane, but it was, in fact, only a day or so. His eyes bore to him the image of a cave floor, of which he was laying. Standing, he found himself in some sort of crystalline cell, but for what purpose he could not be sure. He heard a rattle from across the room, and could make out the visage of a mantis warrior, expertly guarding the area. It was not asleep, as far as he could make out, but it did not react to his movements.

The crystalline substance caging him in was slightly sticky, and he quickly brought his hand back after touching it. The creature seemed to pay him no mind, but was disturbed by a noise from outside, which it went to investigate. With the cave empty, Aedan took some running charges towards the crystals, using his shoulder to absorb the shock, and after three attempts, managed to break it.

He never looked back. His legs bore him across the sandy grasslands, in a direction that was decidedly not from whence he came. He didn't stop until his legs cramped and became useless.



The Snowdonian peaks loomed to the west. Their majestic snow covered slopes shone brightly in the early morning sun. Aedan was awoken by the sound of horse steps.

He sat up, dead dry leaves clinging in his hair and clothes. He was off the road a bit, but was hoping to be close enough to be a sight to any travelers. He gathered up his pack and made a quick run for the road, flailing his arms to get the person to stop. They did.

"I need travel to the nearest settlement," he spoke. He stood there, disheveled and hopeful. The person on horseback was heavily cloaked, face obscured by shadow. The horse was only lightly burdened. Small saddlebag and a bedroll. The rider stood there for a bit before lifting a hand and pushing back the cloak hood. Dark wavy hair fell forward, framing a fair skinned woman. She looked intently down from the horse.

"How did you get out here?" she asked finally. "Your horse die?"

"I was traveling west with a group of pilgrims; they were attacked and I managed to live."

"The closest settlement is a days ride from here, at the foothills of he Snowdonians. Glyndwr is the name." She paused. "Pilgrim, you say?"

He did not want to lie, but he wanted her sympathy. "Aye."

"Come on, luckily you haven't much with you, else I'd have to bear the news you'd have to leave some of it behind."

"Thank you m'lady, I don't know what I would have done." He approached the horse and climbed up behind the woman. The two began to ride westward, Aedan greatly in awe of the power she exuded.


The town could not be called a town, technically. That word had the connotation of being a settlement of some size. This was more of a hamlet, a burg, maybe an outpost. The road led straight through, so that if you didn't want to stop, you didn't have to. There really was no reason to either; most would stop for feed and for a place to sleep before heading off again either east or west. They came in through the east gate, past a thick wooden palisade which contained a manned 30 foot guard tower. The settlement had about a dozen buildings with no more than 40 citizens. Livestock ran free while a couple of shepherds stood around gossiping and making stories about the constant flow of visitors.

They trotted to the tavern, the hotbed of activity there- and anywhere- and dismounted. "What do I owe you, m'lady?"

She began to tie up the horse. "Think nothing of it, although, this is as far as I can take you. This place will provide you with some protection while you find your way."

Aedan looked dejected. He had hoped for something a little more compassionate from this woman, even though they were both fairly distant during the ride. All he could muster was a, "Thank you."

She entered through the opening at the front of the tavern building; the hole in the round wooden structure. It was typical for rural areas to use more basic construction techniques, but it still reminded Aedan of the old days before his family had build their stone home. The old days, the simple days.

A dwarf brushed passed him, almost intentionally bumping Aedan as he did. He looked down towards the dwarf, who turned and stopped before entering the tavern.

"Gott ah problem? Hmmph?" He stared with intent. Aedan shook his head 'no'. The dwarf huffed to himself and walked in. Baffled at what had just happened, he decided to walk inside.

It was a decent place, a hole in the thatched roof let some light in, as well as let the smoke from the fire out. The center held said fire, wrapped in a stone bench where one could warm up at night or out of the rain. The periphery held tables and chairs, while the actual bar ran from the fire pit straight back to the other wall, bisecting the back half of the space. About a half dozen rabbits were roasting on a spit over the fire, being tended to by a calloused and worn hand, which was in turn attached to a soot-covered man. The wrinkles and folds of his skin showed his age, as did the white beard stubble.

Aedan glanced around the room and spotted the dwarf that had made himself known, sitting haphazardly at the stone bench warming himself. He also spotted the woman whom had provided him transport here. Not knowing what else to do, he walked over.

"Fancy meeting you here." He tried to be humorous with her. Maybe that was his way in.

"Yes, 'fancy'." Her words were distant. She didn't even look over to him, just concentrated on her little feast of a hard roll, jerked rabbit, gooseberry preserves, and a tall but slim glass of mulled wine. Her way of eating spoke out to Aedan. She used utensils.

"Look, I don't know what to look for here. It's an outpost town."

"Look for whatever it is you were comin' out here to look for in the first place. Which is what?" She looked at him for the first time since the conversation started. "Not labor I gander."

He looked down at his arms. He thought they were good enough for manual work. Hell, he had trained so hard back in Wroxeter he nearly threw out a shoulder. "No, not labor." He placed his hand of his sword. "Adventuring."

She made a sound, something that really got to him. It was that single laugh that someone made when you told them you had just wrestled a bugbear. It was unbearable, especially since he was attracted to her.

"Why would you do that? There are more needed professions than that in these times, believe me." She used the rest of her roll to scoop up the remaining jam and stick it in her mouth. After swallowing, she continued, "I had figured you were part of that pilgrimage that was attacked on their way here."

"No, ma'am."

"Explains a lot, then." Aedan didn't know what to make of that, but her demeanor had changed a bit. Maybe a little more receptive, maybe just content now that she had a good meal in her. In any case, she stood up and began to walk towards the exit. Aedan, since he could do nothing else, followed.

"Explains what?" he asked.

"You did not carry the pretentiousness of Mordite cultists. Humans that practice his teachings have an air about them which doesn't lend well to mingling with others. Ironic considering His teachings."

"I think I noticed that when I was called out by one of them."

"Well, I suppose then that you are lucky. None of them survived that slaughter. How did you manage?"

"I was captured, I guess. I don't remember fully. I was in one of their cages when I awoke, though, so it makes sense."

She looked at him with interest, "They don't normally take captives."

"It was a blur, that's about all I can remember."

"Very well." She hopped up on her horse and adjusted the reins. "The name is Rhian."

Aedan lit up on the inside. What fortunes. Rhian. Such beauty in a name. "I'm Aedan." She looked down towards him as they stood there for a moment before she spoke, "Well? Coming?"

He smiled and attached his bag to the saddle, then hoisted himself up behind her. Soon they were off trotting out the West Gate, off towards the dwarven city of Rhyl.






Satinka stretched her paws and yawned, carefully covering her mouth to prevent any bugs from flying in. Her tail was flipping aggressively because of them, horseflys and mosquitoes that moved in since the beginning of the early spring rains. It was still cold out, keeping the families huddled close for warmth around the fires built out on the plains. The wemic tribe was moving north again, as the weather improved and the wildlife returned. They followed the food, as nomads do. They also kept track of the thri-kreens. Those insidious insectoids that ambushed and ravaged the wemics for years. There was a deep hatred for the mantis-men. It must have gone back centuries as far as Satinka was concerned.

It was morning, and a few of the pride had scouted out for open ground that wasn't being watched by thri-kreens. There was very little land that wasn't, and it made the usually nomadic people intent on keeping mobile. Wynono, the elder of the tribe, and alpha male of the pride, kept his people safe through all of their encounters because of his innate ability to keep one step ahead of the mantis. Satinka figured he was blessed by the Earth Mother and given divine powers to keep his people safe.

She was shaman of the earth spirits. Her name meant 'Magical Dancer' in the human tongues, and it was bestowed to her upon womanhood by the tribe council. Her art helped to control the weather for her pride, allowing them to overcome some recent hardships, including convincing the Earth Mother to provide rain instead of snow during the past storms. She was granted, pleased at the results.

A male wemic, Inteus, approached her. "Satinka, I bring word from Wynono. He seeks guidance this morning."

She stood, her full half-spotted fur shining brilliantly gold in the morning sun. "I will be there, hastily."


She entered the tent, one of the only tents erected at camp. It was filled with the hides of many fallen animals, most from game of sustenance but others from game of sport. Wynono sat curled in one corner, with a young female asleep not three feet away.

"You sent for me, Alpha Hiamovi?" she asked.

"Yes, child." He called everyone that. "But Hiamovi is such a formal title for us. Please, sit." She did, and he offered her a bowl of grilled polecat, which she politely declined.

"My dear Satinka, I have tranced for our tribe, and the Earth Mother has given me a sign. She fills my dreams with unsightly visions of slaughter. If we are to continue north into the Plains of the Red Fox, it is almost certain that we will be struck through our hearts by the mantis."

He gave her a stern look. She breathed in heavily, "What do you seek from me?" She knew already what it was he wanted. The Earth Mother was always playful in her visions to Wynono, but she was very specific to Satinka. But she needed to be at the site of the inquiry.

"I want you to take a scouting party up into the Wambli-Waste. This is where I feel we will be safest to cross into the northern plains. The Earth Mother gave me no indication of danger there, but I wish for you to feel her out locally... and to make sure we have weather sufficient for the journey."

She nodded. It would be a routine journey, at least she hoped that was the case. Standing, she bowed to him.

"The great Alpha Hiamovi, it gives me great pleasure to errand in the tasks of the Earth Mother." She continued with the formalities, "I shall bring with me one who is wise in the ways of war, one who is favored by the Earth Mother."

Wynono held beads in his hands, waving them slowly in front of him. "May your journey be blessed by Her emissary on this Earth." They both bowed, and she left.