The Summer Lands
Professor Montague Edward L'Estrange
The great city of Bristol stands to the north of the county of Somerset. A wide and mysterious land well known for its love of cider and its dim witted locals. Many across England will adopt the slow and drawn out words that mark the men of the summer lands as mockery or insult. Indeed to be known as a local of the apple county is to be considered of lesser worth and intellect.
Bristol stands beyond this for the great city is a power far greater than fields and bogs and yokels.
But there is far more to the summer lands than is commonly known, far more than is talked about, dark secrets and terrors. There is a reason why people speak of deepest, darkest Somerset.
Far more than men have lived here, and still do in the most hidden corners. The men of the levels and the fens, the men of the low lands and of the tiny coastal villages, they are kith and kin to others who are not born of human blood. Their faces mark the curse of their ancient blood, their skin sallow and often scaled in old age, eyes that bulge and stare. Voices that become little more than croaks as they grow older. The men of this blood line are indeed marked by their cursed nature. There are few women indeed of this line; instead there are dark tales of a woman or girl taken in the night to become wife to the men of the levels.
It was fear of the men who bore the blood of the sea and fear of the dark servants of the lady within the lake that led men to dwell on the hills and high lands. Great walls of earth were dug to surround the tops of hills, not to defend against attacks but to hold out against the rise of the waters for the coming of the rains and the rising of the water heralded a time of great power for those who lived upon and within the water. Men huddled in fear of the night and of the rain.
So great was this fear that they would work father to son and son to grandson to build these walls of earth. The forts of earth upon the hills became great in number only rivalled by their cousins to the west who faced the same fears and built the same walls.
Long before the Romans came to this land the Druids held strong and others besides. Clans and tribes fought for generations in the name of one dark power or another, the fate of the defeated was an alter of stone and a knife of flint. The Druids sought to rule, to bend all tribes to their will. They fought against those that hide behind the veil, those that dwelt below in the vast networks of caves that stretched far beyond the eyes on men and against those who lived in the watery places.
Men laboured to cut and carve stone, to move it across the land and to set it upright in places of power. Rituals were held, sacrifices offered and sometimes accepted in the circles marked by the standing stones. Much blood was split in these places and many are the ghosts that linger still beside the alters where they died.
Then the Romans came, tramping the land with foreign sandals and new laws, new gods, new rulers. The druids were driven into the wilderness, facing the sword and the flame if they were caught; the men of the legions paid no regard to tales of terror or myths of hidden places. They could see the Druids and so they hunted the Druids to extinction.
Still the wheel turns and the Romans fled, leaving the land to its own fate. The wars began again, from the deep places and the dark places beings came forth to do battle. From beyond the veil and from places unimaginable beings came to do battle. Mortal men revelled in madness or fled while they still held their own minds.
Unto this land came a new champion. One bound knowing or unknowing to the power beyond the veil, a servant of the lady within the lake. Artorius was his name and he came clad in strong armour and bearing a bright sword. His knights drove back those of the deep places and those of the dark places, they drove back those of the caves and the waters and by their courage they left the land under the hidden rule of the Lady. She who dwelt within the lake beyond the veil, she who commanded foul magic and hid her true face behind beauty.
Those who served other powers and other gods hid themselves away from sight and plotted, oh how they plotted.
Then came to fulfilment the plots of another lady of magic, this one of the northern lands and father slew son and son slew father and the light of the land was extinguished and darkness came once more.
Long centuries followed, a constant war between those who sought to rule the land of men or simply to feast upon the flesh and souls of such men. Each in turn would be triumphant before being cast down by an alliance of the others who in turn sought to rise by betraying those who allied with them.
The church of the one god came and touched many but not their hearts, never their hearts. For the men of the summer lands knew that the promise of salvation offered by the one god was as nothing compared to the might of the darkest powers. So time went on, men were born, lived and died. The wheeled turned and science and reason came to the lands of summer. Kings and lords sought to tame the wilderness, to drain the levels and the bogs and the fens.
Churches and monasteries became the castles guarding the frontier, the followers of the one god stamping their mark upon the land, seeking to convert the pagan and the heathen.
The beings of the darkness and of the wilds and of the water found themselves pushed back, not by faith or weapons of iron, but by farms and roads and towns. Railways arrived and great lines of iron spread across the land. Ancient magic faltered in the face of iron and steel. The veil retreated, the islands became no more than hills and the lake became a thing of myth and legend.
Still there are still places, the deepest places, the darkest places, where those beings still reside. The men of the levels and the villages of the coast still carry the blood of old. Men still come in the dead of night to offer sacrifices at the ancient places. Oaths and pacts sworn by fathers are honoured by sons.
The light of science and knowledge may hold sway but it is a curtain, to gaze upon it is to see strength and power, wisdom and learning. Yet peek behind that curtain and you will see, the darkness is still there and the war still rages.
Beware, those of you who would seek to delve into the dark and hidden regions of the country of Somerset. There are terrible secrets here and even more terrible are those who guard such secrets. Great risk and a terrible fate await those who go unprepared into the secret places of the Summer Lands.
Professor Montague Edward L'Estrange
The great city of Bristol stands to the north of the county of Somerset. A wide and mysterious land well known for its love of cider and its dim witted locals. Many across England will adopt the slow and drawn out words that mark the men of the summer lands as mockery or insult. Indeed to be known as a local of the apple county is to be considered of lesser worth and intellect.
Bristol stands beyond this for the great city is a power far greater than fields and bogs and yokels.
But there is far more to the summer lands than is commonly known, far more than is talked about, dark secrets and terrors. There is a reason why people speak of deepest, darkest Somerset.
Far more than men have lived here, and still do in the most hidden corners. The men of the levels and the fens, the men of the low lands and of the tiny coastal villages, they are kith and kin to others who are not born of human blood. Their faces mark the curse of their ancient blood, their skin sallow and often scaled in old age, eyes that bulge and stare. Voices that become little more than croaks as they grow older. The men of this blood line are indeed marked by their cursed nature. There are few women indeed of this line; instead there are dark tales of a woman or girl taken in the night to become wife to the men of the levels.
It was fear of the men who bore the blood of the sea and fear of the dark servants of the lady within the lake that led men to dwell on the hills and high lands. Great walls of earth were dug to surround the tops of hills, not to defend against attacks but to hold out against the rise of the waters for the coming of the rains and the rising of the water heralded a time of great power for those who lived upon and within the water. Men huddled in fear of the night and of the rain.
So great was this fear that they would work father to son and son to grandson to build these walls of earth. The forts of earth upon the hills became great in number only rivalled by their cousins to the west who faced the same fears and built the same walls.
Long before the Romans came to this land the Druids held strong and others besides. Clans and tribes fought for generations in the name of one dark power or another, the fate of the defeated was an alter of stone and a knife of flint. The Druids sought to rule, to bend all tribes to their will. They fought against those that hide behind the veil, those that dwelt below in the vast networks of caves that stretched far beyond the eyes on men and against those who lived in the watery places.
Men laboured to cut and carve stone, to move it across the land and to set it upright in places of power. Rituals were held, sacrifices offered and sometimes accepted in the circles marked by the standing stones. Much blood was split in these places and many are the ghosts that linger still beside the alters where they died.
Then the Romans came, tramping the land with foreign sandals and new laws, new gods, new rulers. The druids were driven into the wilderness, facing the sword and the flame if they were caught; the men of the legions paid no regard to tales of terror or myths of hidden places. They could see the Druids and so they hunted the Druids to extinction.
Still the wheel turns and the Romans fled, leaving the land to its own fate. The wars began again, from the deep places and the dark places beings came forth to do battle. From beyond the veil and from places unimaginable beings came to do battle. Mortal men revelled in madness or fled while they still held their own minds.
Unto this land came a new champion. One bound knowing or unknowing to the power beyond the veil, a servant of the lady within the lake. Artorius was his name and he came clad in strong armour and bearing a bright sword. His knights drove back those of the deep places and those of the dark places, they drove back those of the caves and the waters and by their courage they left the land under the hidden rule of the Lady. She who dwelt within the lake beyond the veil, she who commanded foul magic and hid her true face behind beauty.
Those who served other powers and other gods hid themselves away from sight and plotted, oh how they plotted.
Then came to fulfilment the plots of another lady of magic, this one of the northern lands and father slew son and son slew father and the light of the land was extinguished and darkness came once more.
Long centuries followed, a constant war between those who sought to rule the land of men or simply to feast upon the flesh and souls of such men. Each in turn would be triumphant before being cast down by an alliance of the others who in turn sought to rise by betraying those who allied with them.
The church of the one god came and touched many but not their hearts, never their hearts. For the men of the summer lands knew that the promise of salvation offered by the one god was as nothing compared to the might of the darkest powers. So time went on, men were born, lived and died. The wheeled turned and science and reason came to the lands of summer. Kings and lords sought to tame the wilderness, to drain the levels and the bogs and the fens.
Churches and monasteries became the castles guarding the frontier, the followers of the one god stamping their mark upon the land, seeking to convert the pagan and the heathen.
The beings of the darkness and of the wilds and of the water found themselves pushed back, not by faith or weapons of iron, but by farms and roads and towns. Railways arrived and great lines of iron spread across the land. Ancient magic faltered in the face of iron and steel. The veil retreated, the islands became no more than hills and the lake became a thing of myth and legend.
Still there are still places, the deepest places, the darkest places, where those beings still reside. The men of the levels and the villages of the coast still carry the blood of old. Men still come in the dead of night to offer sacrifices at the ancient places. Oaths and pacts sworn by fathers are honoured by sons.
The light of science and knowledge may hold sway but it is a curtain, to gaze upon it is to see strength and power, wisdom and learning. Yet peek behind that curtain and you will see, the darkness is still there and the war still rages.
Beware, those of you who would seek to delve into the dark and hidden regions of the country of Somerset. There are terrible secrets here and even more terrible are those who guard such secrets. Great risk and a terrible fate await those who go unprepared into the secret places of the Summer Lands.