The Halls Of Illusions: Emergence of the Disciplined

1 Marcus Somerled

Marcus was a good-hearted person; however he had a deep love of the drink, but if one could overlook this then he was indeed a good person. Marcus came from a poor family. While growing up in the highlands it was not the best childhood one could have asked for. The highlanders were a quiet bunch of people, they rarely came down from their lands, and it was even rarer for them to speak to an outsider. The highlands were a very rocky terrain, vegetation around the area was abundant and oddly enough snow was scarce, even in the cold months of the year. Marcus's clan was very unique due to the fact that most of the other clans in the region worshiped animals and nature, but Marcus's clan was different; they looked at the animals as something to admire and a good food source, but not something of worship. His clan also had a second major difference: for the clans in the region; women in the clan shared many more rights than any other clan that ever existed. First, unlike other clans young girls were lucky enough to have a decent amount of childhood, most other clans married girls off around the age of twelve to thirteen, his did not. A second major difference being that after a girl had arrived at the age of marriage, usually around sixteen to eighteen; they were allowed to participate in the clan meeting and even voice their opinions. Marcus was a little different from the rest of his clan; he discovered alcohol at a very young age. He always made a joke whenever anyone would ask him about his drinking. "Its liquid fortitude", he would say with a smile. Marcus would spend most of his time with his father, who was a farmer and a hunter like the majority of those in his clan. Very few in his clan took up specialty trades only seeking to do so when it was necessary for the whole clan to have need of certain things. His mother was a cook by nature, with the heart of an angel, but also a will of steel when the time arose. Marcus had just turned the age of eighteen.

The sun was high and bright in the sky. The breeze was cool, bending reeds at the edge of the field. Marcus stood alone in the field cast out from the surroundings; abstract like a sword in a pile of leaves. He wrestled with the plow, fighting feverishly to keep it on course as the ox pulled it slowly behind. The highlands were a tough and rugged area like the people they produced.

A new edition to the rock wall at the edge of the field barred proof to Marcus's labor of this day. The field had to be prepared before the winter hit. Their harvest had been reaped early and already taken to market. Normally, Marcus's father would be with him in the field; however, times were now changing like the wind. So much seemed to be changing lately!

Marcus's father was out hunting. A feast, a celebration of sorts was coming about. His father had never seemed prouder than he had in these last seasons. At the next Clan meeting in the grand hall, Marcus would receive the family crest and his father's bow. It was a rite of passage, one that meant he would now be seen and accepted as a man among his people. Oddly, this seemed to mean even more to his father than it did to him. His father seemed to have more vigor and extra pep to his step as the days grew closer.

Marcus had learned everything from his father. The lesson's he learned were how to hunt and track game through the woods, brush, and fields. He also learned how to farm by the signs of the land, and most importantly he learned to love a good brew. His father was hard, rough, and strong like the land he loved. He was a caring man to his wife and son. Marcus's father was his best friend all these years. Though he felt he was ready for the next step of taking a woman and carving out his own land, he liked how things had been these past few years. The thought of being out on his own scared him, and what made matters worse none of the women around his age really caught his eye anymore. The concept of marriage was not so intolerable to him, but when considering his choices he would rather marry the ox that fought with him and his plow. That thought amused him so much that he was roaring with laughter when again the plow came to a sudden stop.

Marcus had run across a stone about as large as one of his massive shoulders. Life was hard, even grueling at times, but it had molded a true man out of him. As he carried the large stone to the wall, he was thankful there were only a few passes left to make. His mother would have supper ready soon. The billowing smoke from the chimney hinted it would again be some sort of stew. Not that it bothered him at all, because everything washed down easily with a good brew. As Marcus patted his wineskin he was again thankful; this time it was for his father purchasing a new barrel of some fine ale with this season's harvest.