"I wanted to know the backstory to a character in another book I wrote. For that book, I wanted to explore what would happen if the son of a farmer woke up one morning and discovered he was a prince and a wizard."
According to the legend, the Sword of God was created by Hadúr the blacksmith god. It was forged from a meteorite and given to the Scythian people to conquer the world and won by the Magyars and Huns when together they defeated the Scythians.
The legend says that the Huns wanted to go one way, and
the Magyars another, so they gave the sword to a blind man to spin. Where it landed,
they would go. But a gust of wind took the sword out of sight towards the west,
and it was lost.
The sword is also known as the Sword of Attila, so clearly
the legend doesn’t end there. Much later, a shepherd found it buried in the
ground, after the tip nicked the leg of one of his sheep, causing it to bleed. He could see
it was powerful, and presented it to Atilla, insisting that he was the only one
worthy.
Atilla used the sword in battle, despite that Huns preferred bows and axes. And while he died before the sword’s magic could help him
conquer the entire world, he certainly conquered a decent portion of it.
Attila was the ruler of the Huns from 434 until his death in March 453. He was also the leader of a tribal empire consisting of Huns, Ostrogoths, and Alans among others, on the territory of Central and Eastern Europe. He was the only king from 434 AD to 453 AD and became one of the most feared rulers, especially among eastern and western European empires.
Unlike what most people believe, Attila didn’t have an impoverished childhood and was born in a financially comfortable household. In fact, Attila and his older brother Bleda received training fit for a prince.
While there are very few accounts of what Attila looked like, King Priscus’s records show that Attila was a short man with a wide chest and a large head. He had small eyes, a thick black beard, and his skin was tanned.
Attila’s father, Mundzuc was a clan chieftain and was a brother to Hunnish kings Octar and Ruga. After Ruga's death, Attila killed his older brother, Bleda, to acquire the kingdom left to the both of them. According to King Priscus’s accounts, Bleda was assassinated by Attila, after a long conspiracy in 445 AD.
In 447 AD, Attila attacked the Eastern Romans at the Battle of the Utus, after which he carried his famous Balkan invasion, which allowed him to create a solid Eastern European stronghold.
Despite being a despotic ruler and famous for his large collection of gold, Attila preferred a simple lifestyle.
Britain is a land of myths and legends, from giants and dragons to St George and Headless Horsemen.
Black Dog spectres are nocturnal apparitions, often foretelling deaths and sometimes linked with Satan, although some are protectors. From Grim, Padfoot, Barguest, and Shuck, these nocturnal hounds walk the byways and lanes of Britain. Appearances differ – although they are always large, some have no head, a human-looking head, fiery eyes, chains, or blooded fang; they walk in silence and howl with spine-chilling cries.
Old Shuck
Variously known as Black Shuck, Old Shuck, Old Shock, or Shuck, a ghostly hound is believed to haunt the coastline and countryside parts of Britain. Documents from the 16th-century record ‘sightings’ of this horrible hound, but records are believed to go back at far as the 12th Century.
The most notorious reports of Shuck come from Bungay and Blythburn in the county of Suffolk, in England (1577). The great devilish hound is said to have burst through the church doors during a storm, killed a man and child, and causing the steeple to collapse. There are, apparently scorch marks still remaining on the door to this day. He then appeared in a separate church in the village of Bungay, killed some more congregants before disappearing.
Title page of the account of Rev. Abraham Fleming's account of the appearance of the ghostly black dog "Black Shuck" at the church of Bungay, Suffolk in 1577: "A straunge, and terrible wunder wrought very late in the parish church of Bongay: a town of no great distance from the citie of Norwich, namely the fourth of this August, in ye yeere of our Lord 1577." (Public Domain )
In 1850 Revd Taylor of Ormesby wrote that he’d heard the tale of Shuck from many people in East Norfolk and Cambridgeshire. The great hound was described as ‘a black shaggy dog with fiery eyes, who visits churchyards at night’ (From Lore of the Land – Westwood and Simpson). The dog started at Beeston and walked Overstrand churchyard at twilight and his route crossed what is now Cromer railway station – and a local street was known as Shuck’s Lane. Another preacher heard from an elderly local parishioner that Shuck ran nightly over Coltishall Bridge. A local man had kicked at a large dog acting aggressively, the man’s foot when straight through the dog….
Shuck has now firmly become part of local folklore with manifestations of ‘Old Scarf’, ‘Old Shock’ and the ‘Shucky Dog’. A spectral dog known as Chuff was seen as late as 1980. Old Shock sometimes manifested as a calf, or had the head of a donkey, a goat, or even a ‘shug monkey’.
He is portrayed in many forms – including as a shapeshifting bogey beast. Headless or saucer-eyed creatures are traditional signs of the supernatural, and such beasts often had ‘skeffy’ or shaggy coats.
‘Shuck’ is derived from an Old English word – scucca –meaning fiend, ‘shucky’ is a Norfolk dialect for shaggy. In Europe, a sixth of all dog demons are black poodles (Patricia Dale Green Dog 1966). Shuck’s ancestry may be hinted at from an account from St Margaret in the late 12th century, called ‘Alde Shuke’ – an unwight who appeared in animal form, and calls himself a ‘bitter beast’.
Some accounts state meeting Shuck means death within a year, oral tradition does not always support this. Shuck and the Black Dog of Bungay myths have merged, out of 74 sightings, only seventeen could be connected with death or misfortune.
Other accounts have the Black Dogs act as guardians, escorted women along lonely lanes at night. In 1998 one man recounted having to get out of the road at night due to a huge hound with flaming eyes standing in his way. This prevented him from being run down by a car with no lights.
A powerful curse cast
thousands of years ago by the Grand Vizier. Tanakhmet cursed Prince Akhmose to
never enter the Field of Reeds, the heavenly paradise. Why did he want him to
linger as a restless ghost among the living, forever?
By reading the hieroglyphs,
Layla, a young Egyptologist, inadvertently breaks the curse and frees the
ghosts of both Prince Akhmose and the Grand Vizier whose thirst for revenge is
stronger than ever.
With Layla’s help, can Prince Akhmose finally cross into the afterlife? Or perhaps, because of the charms of the mortal woman, he doesn’t want to…
Una acogedora historia de fantasmas.
Una poderosa maldición lanzada hace miles de años por el Gran Visir.
Tanakhmet maldijo al prÃncipe Akhmose para que nunca entrara en el Campo de
Juncos, el paraÃso celestial. ¿Por qué querÃa que el prÃncipe permaneciera para
siempre como un fantasma inquieto entre los vivos?
Al leer los jeroglÃficos, Layla, una joven egiptóloga, rompe
inadvertidamente la maldición y libera los fantasmas tanto del prÃncipe Akhmose
como del Gran Visir, cuya sed de venganza es más fuerte que nunca.
Con la ayuda de Layla, ¿podrá el prÃncipe Akhmose finalmente cruzar al más allá? O tal vez, hipnotizado por los encantos de la mujer mortal, no quiere ...
Un romanzo fantasy storico.
Una potente maledizione lanciata migliaia di anni fa dal Gran Visir.
Tanakhmet maledì il principe Akhmose per non entrare mai nel Campo delle Canne,
il paradiso celeste. Perché voleva che rimanesse per sempre come un fantasma
irrequieto tra i vivi?
Leggendo i geroglifici, Layla, una giovane egittologa, spezza
inavvertitamente la maledizione e libera i fantasmi sia del principe Akhmose
che del Gran Visir, la cui sete di vendetta è più forte che mai.
Con l'aiuto di Layla, il principe Akhmose può finalmente entrare nell'aldilà ? O forse, a causa del fascino della donna mortale, non vuole ...
Yes, I have doubts as to the
quality of my writing. Is it any good or am I just fooling myself?
Every morning, early, —always about
5 a. m.—I rise from bed and begin writing. I’m always excited to begin the day
writing, my heart pumping, and my creative juices flowing. On good days, I may
write, off-and-on, for four or five hours. If it goes well, I’m elated; if it
goes badly, I’m miserable. If I only hammered out two or three lines, I feel
that I have wasted my whole day—for nothing! I pout and I feel anger for the
rest of the day, and I wonder whatever made me ever believe that I could ever
do a thing like writing a book, to begin with. Stupid! And for an Indie writer, this is even worse—you don’t have a publisher!
Well, and even having a publisher
isn’t always a sure deal of the quality of one’s writing.
I have had many short stories and
six novels published. My first novel was published by a man who owned a small
publishing company. He kept telling me that my manuscript was one of the best
novels that he had ever read. The contract that I signed with him was a 60/40
contract, with a 30% overhead charge—meaning that before the 60/40 kicked in,
30% was taken off first: I made little money.
So, I don’t know. Yeah, I have
doubts. Even the King says—that’s Stephen King— “Don’t go into writing lightly.
There are too many disappointments.”
Yet, when all is said and done,
there are the occasional emails that I receive from people—total strangers! —thanking
me for my writing putting a smile on their faces.
Yes, I have doubts, but receiving one of those joyful emails makes it all worth it.
Written by:
After many years of being a "struggling" actor in LA, I turned to writing. I have had several novels published: "I'm No P. I."; "A Ghoulish Good Time"; "The 13th Hour"; "Being a P. I.--Again". I have had MS for serval years now; I know physical and mental pain; so I need much laughter to endure it. Hopefully, my novels do just that--give much laughter.
Last year the 30th of December I was surprised to see one of my garden plants starting to bloom. I have it there for enough time to understand that it starts to bloom between April and August. I remember having chosen it just because of its long blooming season and because the first pollinators could have soon something to eat after the long winter.
For this reason, you can imagine my surprise when I saw it blooming in the middle of the winter. I was also worried because, although we didn’t have had yet any snow, I was sure it would have come quite soon, meaning the demise of the plant.
In fact, as I feared, after a few days the Finnish landscape turned white, and the only hope I had was that at least only those early blooms would have died out, leaving the whole plant alive ready to bloom once again at the right time.
Likewise every winter, the temperatures went far below freezing this winter, reaching -25 C.
Every time I looked out of the window, I wondered about the well-being of those little flowers. Many times I have been tempted to dig them out from the snow and cover them with a cloth that could have protected them from the cold, but a little voice in my head told me that perhaps the snow cover could be just enough of a protection.
A few days ago, as the milder temperatures started to melt the snow cover, I thought I saw something worth my attention, and as I went to refill the bird feeder, I reached the place where the blooming flower was planted.
And I marveled…
Not only the plant survived the harsh and long winter, but under the snow cover, those flowers found a safe cocoon from where to find shelter from the cold weather. They patiently kept themselves alive, gathering the weak light filtering through the snow cover, feeding on the slowly melting ice, and counting the days to Spring.
It gave me a sense of hope and also a good lesson, about patience. Sometimes we all need to work and wait before we can harvest the fruits of what we’ve done, as nothing happens in a one-day timeframe. So the old say ‘good things come to those who wait’ isn’t so wrong after all.
Paula J. Mann lives a double life. She is a geologist by day and a novelist by night. She's best known for writing psychological thrillers and crime fiction. She also writes historical fiction and paranormal suspense. She loves traveling and shares her experiences on her blog: http://paperpenandinkwell.blogspot.com
Small-town cozy mystery novelette.
Danielle’s life
spins out of control when the snobbish new owner of the Couture mansion brings
a seemingly worthless painting into her antique shop. The ownership of the
painting is questionable, and the town’s future is threatened by the plans of
the ruthless, rich owner. An unexpected visitor arrives, and he may possess the
much-needed solution to everyone’s problems.
Author of epic fantasy, alternate history, sweet romance, romantic suspense, dystopian and cozy mystery novels, short stories, as well as YA and children’s books
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