The North Keep Histories

New Beginnings

While I take a short break from my North Keep Histories story, I’m thinking of starting one of the prefabricated Sims 4 Challenges. The Settler Challenge looks to be fun and right up my alley. By no means am I abandoning my story, I just realized that I haven’t actually played the game in ages. I do plan on posting updates about the challenge, probably in a story/history format. IF I were to press forward with this:

Which era/culture would you like to see me try?

The Crypts of North Keep

Winding and weaving for nearly a kilometer underneath the castle, much of the maze-work was left behind by the Dratonians after the collapse of their empire. When King Droman “The Great” (or “The Aggressor”, depending on who you ask) built his Northern outpost on the site, the crypts were emptied and re-outfitted for the burial rites of the Lords of the North.

North Keep

Here are some images of North Keep during the summer. The castle was built on a small rocky island across the bay from the town of North Gate, on top of the ruins of a Dratonian fort. Over the passed two centuries, the Lords of the North have expanded and updated the structure, growing rich on the profits from ships that are required to pay a toll in order to enter the busy harbor. 

The castle-close includes the Lord’s Keep, the Kitchen Tower, the Barracks, the Blacksmith, the Groundkeeper’s Cottage, and the Sacred Grove surrounding an ancient Elderwood Tree. Vast crypts weave in a beehive underneath the castle, serving as the final resting place for generations of Lords and their families. 

I’m obsessed with architectural function, so the keep was designed primarily as a fort, “capable” of defending against attacking armies. Of course I’ll probably change bits and pieces of the build as I play with it, but this is the general product of my long absence. Now, back to my story...

I apologize for my lack of updates. I’ve been castle-building for the story and it’s taken up all of my free-sim-time. Very soon I’ll be posting my progress on the build.

- Chapter XIV -

Faelon made a point to drop back into obscurity after what was widely being called the “LonDunnel Massacre”. No clan of the North could possibly have had tender feelings for the ruthless LonDunnels, but the mystery of their annihilation left many on edge nonetheless.

To say that Faelon felt numbed to the emotions of his previous life would be somewhat of an understatement. If hunting and gathering were not already second nature to him, he would have easily allowed himself to waste away. Killing off the LonDunnels had indeed silenced many of the demons that had haunted Faelon since childhood, but it also drained him of the sense of his own humanity. The seasons flew by in a blur, but Faelon took little notice to the passage of time.

One brisk day, as autumn took a colder turn, five strangers materialized out of the woods at Faelon’s camp. He had not seen another human being up-close since he had slaughtered the last LonDunnel, and that had been over two years ago. Still, Faelon took little notice to the traveling group until one of them finally cleared his throat and spoke up.

The question hung in the cool air for several moments. Finally, and for the first time, Faelon turned his head to look at the weary, eager-eyed group. If he felt anything, it was a hint of annoyance at being disturbed and addressed directly.

There were two adult men, a nervous-looking youth, a young woman, and a  crone. One of the men turned to the other, clearly agitated.

The larger man with the blonde beard silenced the skeptical archer before continuing.

Faelon had little choice but to listen to these strangers, so he raised his eyebrows as a silent indication to continue. The blonde man stuttered a moment before going on.

And with the word “leader”, the blonde man knelt on ground. 

The bile of harsh words rose up in Faelon’s throat. He hated this man for investing such pointless hope in him, though he wasn’t sure why. He was about to insult the lot of them, telling them to “fuck off” and “go away”, when he caught the eye of the old woman: she bore scars across half of her face and her eyes gave off the same, numbed apathy that Faelon felt himself. But there was something else...

She reminded him of his Aunt Magda. The thought broke his heart... and made up his mind.

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- Chapter XIII -

Darkness had fallen over the LonDunnel glen, bringing a slight chill to the air that signified the end of the summer months. 

Over the chirping crickets, the sound of bantering male voices filled the stone circle-fort. They spoke in the guttural dialect of Old Bhalic, as many of the Northern Clans still did.

One of the two LonDunnel warriors answered with a condescending laugh:

Faelon barreled at full speed into the two men, sending them both sprawling to the ground. The warrior named Gorran barely caught a glimpse of his attacker before Faelon sliced him open.

The second warrior just managed to struggle to his feet, but Faelon was too quick for him, seizing him from behind in a tight bear-hug and bringing his blade to the man’s throat. He kept his voice low, so only his victim could hear his words:

And with those last words, he sliced the man’s throat.

The sound of footsteps padding across the grass gave Faelon just enough warning to see another LonDunnel warrior sprinting towards him, brandishing a battle axe. 

If their weapons collided, the sound of clashing steel would surely wake the entire fort, so he had to choose his next move wisely. As the man closed in, Faelon faked a motion to the right, but lunged to the left, narrowly avoiding a great thrust of the axe. Before his attacker could recover, he whirled around and cut him down him with both of his weapons.

The fort grew silent again, as the rest of its inhabitants were likely sleeping, apparently unaware of the bloodshed. Faelon wasted no time and took a torch to each of the buildings around the fort’s perimeter, doing his best to blockade each door from the outside. If anyone managed to escape, he would be ready for them. Faelon had to move swiftly, for he had a long night ahead of him and several more forts to visit...

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- Chapter XII -

The smell of flowers accompanied the distant sound of voices, singing in harmony.

Faelon found himself next to a beautiful spring in an ethereal forest grove. He felt oddly peaceful, yet something about the haunting melody gave him a sense of excitement. There was something primal and even erotic about the power the music had over him. 

Across the crystal waters, he could see three figures dancing and singing in an eerie chorus. He became vaguely aware that the words were sung in Ancient Bhalic, the language of the Gods.

Faelon was in a trance. Though he stood across the spring from these divine creatures, it felt as if his soul was dancing and intermingled with their’s. He knew now, without a doubt, that he was in the presence of Chrumlough, Solstya, and Dulamae: the Horned One, the Virgin, and the She-Wolf. These were some of the most ancient spirits of the North...

“Go now, Faelon, son of Malladesh. The lives of thine enemies lie in wait, for thy taking…”

Faelon awoke with the morning sun shining on his face. The eerie melody still rang in his head; but the dream, if it was a dream, seemed to fade away by the moment. There was something, however, that seemed to linger. 

He knew that the Gods were watching...

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- Chapter XI -

Faelon felt proud that he cut off nearly half a day from his journey home by setting a brisk pace. The idea of showing off his new sword to Aunt Magda made him giddy, he hadn’t had a chance yet to show his weapon to anybody. However, as Faelon came within a few miles of home, the faint smell of smoke gave him a panicky feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he grew closer, the smell grew stronger and he knew that something was horribly wrong.

He quickened his pace to a jog, and then to a full-out sprint, praying to all the Gods that his fears were unfounded. But as he broke into the small clearing, the scene before him took his breath away. 

The smoldering remains of the hovel that he had called home were already beginning to cool down, sending small flakes of ash floating through the air. A gasping groan of horror escaped Faelon’s throat as the site of blood caught his eye. There seemed to be two dead men, and a woman...

As he rolled her over, Magda let out a distant groan. She was still alive!

She was not going to be alright. He noticed with a crushing agony that she had been stabbed in her midsection: if she didn’t bleed out, her internal injuries would surely kill her. The realization hit Faelon like a boulder, and he began to sob as he attempted to speak comfort her. She reached up a weak, bloody hand and placed it on his wet cheek. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Faelon realized with astonishment that the warriors hadn’t set their small homestead aflame: his Aunt had burned it down in self defense, and then killed two more warriors with her small blade before falling herself. He let out a mixture between a sob and a proud laugh.

Magda’s eyes briefly opened enough to focus on Faelon’s tearstained face.

Faelon held her closer and gently rocked her back and forth, singing a song that she had always sung to him when he was sad or frightened:

As he brought the song to an end, he kissed her forehead and looked at her small weak form resting in his arms. Her eyes were closed and her face was serine and peaceful. She was gone.

Faelon felt numb and apart from himself as he washed his Aunt’s body and dressed her in clean, white linen. He anointed her lips and eyelids with lavender oil and carried her to a beautiful clearing that she had always loved to visit. 

He had never buried a person before or performed funeral rites, but he had seen it done several times when he was a small boy. There were prayers and rituals that he could only vaguely remember, so he did his best to replicate a warrior’s send-off, cutting his own hand and bleeding into the dirt so that her sacrifice was honored with living blood. A large engraved stone would have been the appropriate way to mark a warrior’s grave, but Faelon had no stone-carving abilities. He made do by piling all of the largest rocks that he could carry so that he at least would be able to find the location in the future.

When there was nothing left for him to do, Faelon’s defenses collapsed and he wept ceaselessly into the dirt; crying out his Aunt’s name, pleading for her not to leave him alone. Mercifully, he cried himself to exhaustion and into a deep, deep sleep...

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Was going back through the archived photos from my story and I came across this one of Faelon’s long-deceased mother, Siana. Doesn’t she look exactly like Emmy Rossum?? I mean dayum! I don’t think I did that on purpose. 😂

On the third day of Faelon’s “stay” in North Gate, he decided to visit the Temple Quarter of town where the Temple of the North dominated a large pedestrian plaza called Sacred Square. Judging from the lack of merchants, Faelon supposed that the buying and seller of wares was forbidden in the Temple Quarter. Fair enough, he thought to himself.

The Temple Complex included the temple itself, a monastery, and a courtyard that completely surrounded a sacred Elderwood Tree, making it the largest structure that he had ever seen up-close. The townsfolk called the building “unimpressive” and “outdated”, but Faelon thought it was simply awe-inspiring.

At the base of the western wall was a shrine to Our Lady of the Waters, which drew water up from a sacred spring, deep below the Temple Complex. It was said that the ever-flowing waters had healing powers for those who were pure of heart. Faelon didn’t really know what “pure of heart” meant, so he thought it better to avoid it altogether. Perhaps he would return as an old man with a bad back to make a humble offering, if he lived so long.

The Temple interior was darker than Faelon had expected, with the scent of incense intermingling with the musk of water-damaged wood and stone. He had never stepped foot inside a large roof-covered temple before, but something about this seemed acutely foreign to him...

At the very top of the knave, behind the altar, stood a large intricately chiseled statue of the “New God”, Keldech. The Keldecian faith had gained widespread worship throughout the Southern Kingdom, but this far North? And where were the other statues of the Old Gods?! Faelon had heard that the new young Lord of North Keep had a disturbing affinity for Southern culture, but to displace the Old Gods with a symbol of this cult worship was blasphemy.

However, the sacred Elderwood in the temple courtyard suggested that the old Northern ways had not been completely abandoned by the faithful, so Faelon knelt at the ancient altar and offered up a prayer to Bhaeloch for a safe journey back home. It felt so strange kneeling on a stone floor to convene with the Gods, but the ancient stone altar had taken prayers and sacrifices from the faithful for hundreds of years, therefore his prayers would have to be received. 

On the afternoon of the third day, Faelon picked up his new sword from the blacksmith and paid the man the second half of his fare. The weapon was larger than he had anticipated. He supposed that he had never really seen a broadsword up-close before; and now that he held it at his side, it felt clumsy and awkward. It seemed that the sword was one more thing in his life he would have to grow into.

Without waiting until the following morning, Faelon swiftly packed up his belongings and set out on the long journey back home...

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- Chapter X -

The journey to North Gate was at least a four day trek on foot, perhaps shorter if Faelon avoided the main road and took a shortcut suggested by his Aunt. It surprised him to see tears in Magda’s eyes when she hugged him goodbye, but they had never been apart for this long of a time, and the journey was potentially a dangerous one. However, they both knew that Faelon was more than prepared for whatever lie ahead.

She placed her hand on his cheek and through her tears she managed to give him a proud smile.

Faelon had only packed a few day’s worth of dried venison, a slingshot, his flint and steel, and a warm cloak. He also carried with him a jewel-encrusted dagger that was engraved with sacred symbols, indicating that it was used for religious ceremony and would fetch a tremendous amount of money from the right buyer. He had stollen it from the wagon of a drunken Keldecian Monk who had been too enraptured in the telling of his own story to notice Faelon swipe several of his valuables from right under his nose. Selling the precious knife did not worry Faelon, it was the burden of carrying such value directly on his person, especially with so many outlaws haunting the woods. However, if he stayed sharp and avoided the main road, he was unlikely to run into trouble.

As Aunt Magda had promised: Faelon saved nearly half of a day’s journey following her shortcut, and as the sun rose high on the third day, the pointed rooftops of North Gate finally came into view. He had never seen so many buildings in one place! Immediately, Faelon felt daunted, for he had never been to a town of this size and the uncertainty gave him both a rush and a dull sense of foreboding. Looming across the bay from the town was the great stone castle called North Keep.

After passing through the town gates, Faelon could see the results of the lucrative fur trade. Some houses towered three stories tall, with large glass windows! Obviously the urban fur merchants made a great deal more money than the clansmen who originally sold them the untreated fur. 

Faelon had worried that he would struggle to find a blacksmith in such a large town; but all he had to do was follow the sound of shrill clanking metal, and before he knew it he stood outside what he presumed was the blacksmith’s shop.

The man inside did not seem pleased to have a customer or to be interrupted from his work; however, once Faelon pulled out a bag of coins, the man’s demeanor immediately softened.

He desperately tried to sound confident, but he could hear the nervous tone in his own voice. The blacksmith made a ponderous frown and picked up the bag of silver, weighing it in one hand before putting it back down. Faelon worried for a moment that he would accuse him of stealing the money, but blacksmiths weren’t particularly interested in the character of their customers. 

Faelon was crestfallen.

Immediately he began to wrack his brain for a way to steal two more silver coins before the blacksmith spoke up again.

Faelon forced his voice to sound confident this time, and after looking him up and down for a moment, the blacksmith nodded his head.

He immediately went back to work, heating the blade of an axe in the fire. Faelon fished out five silver pieces and left them on the table before timidly taking his leave. Now he had two extra silver pieces to spend, more money than he had expected to be left alone with. 

He considered staying at a fine Inn and dining on savory meats while he waited for his sword to be completed, but something more animalistic stirred deep inside of him.

Faelon did his best to locate one of the more quality brothels, just outside of the town walls. He was new at this and uncertain about the protocol, or about women in general, but he ended up picking out a fairly pretty woman who was probably ten years older than he. It’s difficult to say what drew him specifically to her, but something about her long dark hair and smooth olive skin seemed to enflame him. 

Either way, he decided that this would be an excellent way to pass his time in North Gate...

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- Chapter IX -

Seven years after they had escaped the LonCruich-massacre, Magda had succeeded in providing them with a stable, and even comfortable way of life. Their livelihoods became deeply entrenched in the bounties of the forest, accompanied of course by the important tools that Faelon was able to exchange for his stolen delicacies. After such a long period of relative stability, it grew easier for them to feel that they were no longer in danger of an attack from the marauding LonDunnels.

However, Faelon had long harbored a desire that he kept a secret from his Aunt, mainly because he found the idea to be impractical. But as he became increasingly better at providing for them with his hunting and thieving skills, he grew more optimistic for the future that they could pave together. One evening, on the dying edge of summer, Faelon decided that he would share this desire with Magda.

Faelon’s voice was cut off by a sob of pent-up despair and fury. 

His Aunt reached across the small handmade table and took his hands in her own. She realized how small her hands looked cradling his and she felt a powerful pang of affection for her young nephew, who looked more like his father every day. 

Magda squeezed his cold fingers patiently while his sobs slowly died down.

Magda studied Faelon’s expression before continuing, and his eyes batted back a forth as he took in what she had told him.

Again, she squeezed his hands for emphasis before continuing.

As he had so many times when he was young, Faelon sat on the ground and laid his head in Magda’s lap. Immediately she began to gently stroke his hair, and before long, she started to sing in a deep, clear voice. The song was in the Old Bhalic tongue, about the dwarven god Thenrir’s quest to win the love of the fairy goddess, Chrinlinlun.

The tune was melancholy but oddly comforting to Faelon, and after a short while, he was drifting off to sleep in the comfort of his Aunt’s smooth familiar voice.

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- Chapter VIII -

Darkwood Hold was a two and a half day journey from Faelon and Magda’s remote home in the woods. Being the largest town for nearly forty miles, it owed its relative prosperity to the thriving fur trade of the North. The Northern clans made most of their revenue through trapping and hunting for fur, and Darkwood Hold was where much of that fur was initially traded before being distributed throughout the kingdom. This gave the relatively small walled-in town a successful market, and that spelled opportunity for Faelon.

Magda had told her nephew never to steal directly from the market stalls, for the vendors were already suspicious and guarded against smooth-talking peasants. However, the customers made far easier targets...

It wasn’t only the opportunity for material gain that drew Faelon increasingly more to the Darkwood Hold market; he loved seeing the vendors from all corners of the known world and the unique wares that they carried. Sometimes, he would listen in as they told stories of their homelands to the wealthier costumers. Never before had Faelon suspected that the world was so big.

One warm day, as Faelon was pretending not to listen in on a vendor as she spoke of a far-off place called Palencia, the image of an exceptionally well-dressed girl caught his attention. She must have been the daughter of a very wealthy merchant, judging from the fine material of her dress and the neat plates in her hair. Faelon guessed that she was about his age: fourteen or fifteen. Perfect, she would never see it coming...

He swiftly approached the wealthy girl from behind, speaking in a loud voice as to catch her attention: 

And he placed a large bejeweled ring on her soft palm. Her surprised eyes shifted from the beautiful piece of jewelry back to the face of the charming stranger who was now cradling her hand in his.

Faelon responded by closing her hand over the ring, and his hand over hers.

Her cheeks flushed red with with flattery and embarrassment, and Faelon knew that he had succeeded. 

The girl gave him a grateful smile, for though he had flattered her, she also felt uneasy holding hands with a stranger in the streets. As she walked away, she slipped the ring on her finger, and relished in the thought that a young man had gifted it to her.

Little did she know, however, that the ring was a gaudy fake stolen from a troupe of traveling players. It would be several minutes before she would realize that her bronze bracelet was no longer around her wrist, but by then Faelon would be long gone.

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- PART II - Chapter VII -

Indeed, the winter storm concealed Faelon and Magda’s escape and secured their safety in the small remote hunting lodge. Though the prospect of a LonDunnel raiding party was always a threat, the structure lay so far from populated communities that it was unlikely they would be discovered; the LonDunnels were raiders, not farmers, and therefore they tended to seek out settlements for plunder, not remote hovels in the woods. Therefore, the pair were able to make a new home together, learning how to fend for themselves alone in the deep forest.

However, they were not void of useful skills, and Magda was able to once again establish stability in their lives. She taught her nephew to scavenge, hunt, and craft with wood, eventually building a loom so that Magda could once again weave them new clothes. Faelon noticed that her hair had gone white within little more than a year after the massacre, and he wondered if it was merely age or a result of the trauma.

A new skill they were forced to adopt was petty thievery, for how else could they secure necessities such as wool and metal tools? Unfortunately it required a two day journey to any town large enough so that they would not be noticed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was keeping them alive and their wits sharp. And as the years passed, they began to grow strong again.

Magda told Faelon, entirely too often, that he was growing to look just like his father. Often it brought tears to her eyes when she would just watch him do ordinary tasks; it made her feel as if her brother were alive again, and that made her feel safe. She truly grew to love the boy as if he were her own, and in many senses he was, for they were all that each other had in the world. 

Their blood-feud with the LonDunnels was never forgotten, however, and they held on to their hatred with a vengeance. The problem with blood-feuds was that they simply never ended: to seek revenge was to create another blood-feud for those who survived. This meant that the only way to end the conflict was to slaughter every living LonDunnel, just as they attempted to slaughter every living LonCruich. But they had failed, and Faelon took a small amount of comfort in knowing that his enemies would never see him coming...

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- Chapter VI -

Faelon had no idea how long he and his aunt were running. They retraced the path left behind by their attackers, trying to stay within their footprints as to avoid detection. When they eventually came to a frozen stream, they hopped from stone to stone, slowly moving upstream without a trace. Once they were far from the foot-trail created by the LonDunnel war party, Magda finally allowed them to slow down to a walk. Faelon was numb to the freezing elements, distracted by grief and panic. The two walked in silence until the a short while after sunrise:

“...Where- where will we go?” Faelon vaguely noticed that his question had come out in a partial-sob. Without stopping or looking back, his aunt responded in a firm tone.

“I know a shelter where we should hopefully be safe. If we walk fast enough, we may make it there just before sundown. If they’re pursuing us, they shouldn’t be able to see the smoke of our fire after dark, and the flame will hidden inside the shelter.”

This gave the boy a glimmer of hope. His entire existence had been smashed by the previous night’s massacre, but the thought of a warm fire gave him a temporary sense of cheap gratification.

The trek was rough, especially on bare feet, and the pace set by his aunt was brutal; but as the sun began to set, a small stone hovel came into view through the trees. Just in time too, for a familiar taste in the air told Faelon that snow was coming. Magda stopped and proudly addressed the small shelter:

“My grandfather built this as a hunting-lodge. We were brought here countless times when we were children, but I’m relieved to see that it’s still standing. We’re too far West for the LonDunnels to stumble upon us, unless they found our trail... that’s why we must be on our way again before sunrise.” 

The thought gave Faelon a shudder, but he decided not to press the issue until they were warm inside.

Magda ordered Faelon to gather wood for the night while she attempted to hunt  for dinner with her sling and pellets. He was cynical about his aunt’s hunting abilities, but to his surprise, she returned shortly after dark with two rabbits. They each skinned their own and roasted them on sticks, hardly speaking a word to each other. Faelon could only focus on eating his undercooked rabbit and trying to ignore the pain in his thawing feet.

Once the rabbits had been eaten and the stone shelter warmed by the fire, Faelon felt a suffocating sorrow fall over him. He would never see his father nor his brother ever again... not in this life. The thought seemed obvious, but it hit him with a paralyzing suddenness that knocked the wind out of him, and he began to cry.

Magda nearly went over to the boy to put her arms around him, but she stayed firmly where she was. They both needed him to grow into a man as soon as possible, therefore he could not be treated like a child any longer. Even so, she pitied her young nephew and tried to offer words of comfort.

“There is nothing that will bring our family back... but they will also never leave us. I see your father and your brother staring out through your eyes, as I’m sure you see them staring out through mine...”

“... They will help you grow strong, Faelon, and so will I. Strong so that you can find the men who did this and gut them like the hogs that they are! And you WILL, Faelon! I swear it, you will!”

Magda’s voice grew louder and heavier with emotion as she spoke of revenge. Tears were running down her dirty, bloody face, and Faelon realized for the first time: he needed to become a man to protect Magda, like she protected him.

... but then I will find my enemies, and I will enjoy watching them bleed out into the snow... He thought savagely to himself.

The snow fell heavily that night, completely burying their tracks. It looked like they wouldn’t have to leave their warm shelter after all. The thought brought Faelon a vague comfort before he plummeted into a deep dreamless sleep.

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