ok. this is just the prologue of my timeline, the rest will start as soon as my uni term is over. i think this, and the title give a hint to what it is, but i am also experimenting with a narrative style of writing a timeline.
- - -
The old man sat at the campfire, poking at the flames with a stick. Deep in the forest, it was quiet, apart from the occasional gust of wind. If you listened closely, you could hear sounds on the wind, the briefest of sounds:
The first cries of a newborn babe
The clash of swords
The neighing of a horse in pain
The shouts of the wounded
The echoing bellow of a horn
The cheering of the crowd
The cough of the dying
The endless murmur of prayer
The sound of gunfire
The hissing crackle of a radio signal sent across great distance
The last gasp of a dying man
As the man watched the flames, he could see the glimpses of images in the fire
The storming of a walled city, sitting on a river
A vast army marching through the snow
A king being crowned an Emperor in the most holy of cities
An old man in armour falling from a horse, felled by a lone arrow
An echoing hall, filled with hundreds of nobles
The Christian Cross rising over the Jerusalem, the city in flames
Knights clashing in the desert sun
Barbarians from the steppe, crushing a dying Empire
The march of peasants in revolt
There was the sound of footsteps on the soft moss of the forest floor. Looking up from his fire, the man saw a middle aged man in armour standing in front of him. The front of his armour was torn, as if by an arrow. His horse was standing behind him, tethered to a tree. The old man at the fire smiled, stood up, and bowed.
“Emperor Charlemagne the First. Please, take a seat by my fire. You have been expected.”
Charlemagne frowned. “Your words are strange to me, and yet I can understand them. My body is younger too, my bones do not ache. What sorcery is this?”
“It is of no consequence. Please, sit.” The man gestured to a log, to which Charlemagne lowered himself.
“Now tell me Charlemagne, of your campaign in the County of Barcelona.”
- - -
The old man sat at the campfire, poking at the flames with a stick. Deep in the forest, it was quiet, apart from the occasional gust of wind. If you listened closely, you could hear sounds on the wind, the briefest of sounds:
The first cries of a newborn babe
The clash of swords
The neighing of a horse in pain
The shouts of the wounded
The echoing bellow of a horn
The cheering of the crowd
The cough of the dying
The endless murmur of prayer
The sound of gunfire
The hissing crackle of a radio signal sent across great distance
The last gasp of a dying man
As the man watched the flames, he could see the glimpses of images in the fire
The storming of a walled city, sitting on a river
A vast army marching through the snow
A king being crowned an Emperor in the most holy of cities
An old man in armour falling from a horse, felled by a lone arrow
An echoing hall, filled with hundreds of nobles
The Christian Cross rising over the Jerusalem, the city in flames
Knights clashing in the desert sun
Barbarians from the steppe, crushing a dying Empire
The march of peasants in revolt
There was the sound of footsteps on the soft moss of the forest floor. Looking up from his fire, the man saw a middle aged man in armour standing in front of him. The front of his armour was torn, as if by an arrow. His horse was standing behind him, tethered to a tree. The old man at the fire smiled, stood up, and bowed.
“Emperor Charlemagne the First. Please, take a seat by my fire. You have been expected.”
Charlemagne frowned. “Your words are strange to me, and yet I can understand them. My body is younger too, my bones do not ache. What sorcery is this?”
“It is of no consequence. Please, sit.” The man gestured to a log, to which Charlemagne lowered himself.
“Now tell me Charlemagne, of your campaign in the County of Barcelona.”