Ruler of the Seven Clans: The Blue Rams [Story Sample]

Chapter One

The braziers hummed in the tavern, as the fire crackled and men drank to their merry. The brothel women swung and danced around the soldiers – corporals, privates, and sergeants for a night had no ranking. They were simply men, indulging in the pleasures of the world. The music was a soothing hymn played upon a harp, a light drum beat followed with it. Adorned above the fireplace was the Kingdoms sigil: The Honorable Blue Ram

Curnalyn put one leg on the bench and his posterior on the table. He began to tell one of his famous stories; his accent was rough, much like his red head, and stout short beard; "So there I was the other day when I came into the stable. I went to the stable boy, and so I told him. 'Give me a ram I need to ride north.' The stable boy looked at me and said, 'The masters said there'd be no more men traveling north.'So, I told that stable boy as I took one of his rams, 'You can tell those masters to put their mouths right 'ere!'," Curnalyn chuckled, grabbing his pelvis.

The men all about the wooden table in the tavern laughed with glee and joy. Pounding their tankards down, shaking the table. They all cheered and clanked their tankards together for a round. Ale spilled across the table, as the men talked drunkenly, hugged, or punched another other across the face.

Curnalyn scrunched his mouthed- swiping his drink. He stood, treading over to the only member of the Black Estate in the tavern. His footsteps hesitant, while two men brawled he grabbed a tankard from their seat; holding two in hand. The man of the Black Estate was oddly well clothed for his homeland, not rags but smooth black linen was across his body and legs. Looking as tightly woven bandages,

"You mind for a drink, brother?" Curnalyn inquired, he strayed back as though approaching a ravenous dog.

"I don't drink." The man of the black estate responded, crossed armed. He was dressed in rams' fur stitched together making a fine cloak, and blade in scabbard dangled at his side. Weaving designs of rams fighting one another, engraved deeply into the leather.

"I see you are more decorated than your brethren." Curnalyn smiled

The man stayed silent – observing the other estates

"Have a drink with me, brother?" Curnalyn said raising his tankard. The man of the black estate just gave Curnalyn a glare. "Ahhh, right. I'll just have one for you as well then." Curnalyn sat down next to him. He sipped the drink he brought over for his new-found friend. "Not much of a talker are ye'– hmph, neither am I. You just need enough to drink to open up. These men aren't all bad, some from the Yellow estate, some of the Green estate, some of the Red estate –"

"Like yourself." The man of the Black estate responded.

"Yes, like myself."

"You call me brother, but I am no brother to you."

"We share barracks, we share beds, we share drinks, and we share women." Curnalyn pointed outward, he swung another gulp.
"Do not try to fool me with your diplomacy, Red Estate warrior. My estate since our kingdom has existed has shoveled the other estates shit and whores they were bored of off the streets." The man in black raised his voice; the tavern began to come to a halt. Women stopped dancing and seducing men, and men stopped fist fighting with one another. The fire crackles could be heard. The harp began to play slower – the winter winds whipped outside the tavern.

"Easy now brothers," Curnalyn warned.

Some men rose to their feet with hands on their blades. "We don' need to fight; we are all brothers within these walls, else the winters would eat us whole."

"Shut it, Curnalyn." One of the men that listened to his story stood the hilt of his blade in hand. Curnalyn stood, scowling at him.

"I best hope that wasn't towards me; pup." Curnalyn threatened whipping his axe off his back, cracking his shoulders side to side.