Chap 1 - The Castle
In the quiet solitude of a moonlit night, Harrell Turner found himself staring at Castle Weinsberg from the bed and breakfast inn’s front area. His mind was a battleground, torn between the haunting memories of combat he thought he had left behind and the uncertain path ahead. The year was 2023, and his life was marred by the shrapnel of a failed marriage, leaving scars deeper than any battlefield wound. But fate had other plans, plans that would propel him into a realm beyond imagination.
Harrell’s footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestone path as he strolled alone from the quaint bed & breakfast inn. The weight of his loveless marriage hung heavy in his thoughts, intertwined with the lingering mental scars from his time in the unforgiving landscapes of the Afghanistan War. His mind danced between reflections on past regrets and the yearning for a connection that could heal his wounded soul.
His musings were momentarily interrupted as he passed a cluster of unusual black mushrooms sprouting at the base of a weathered stone archway. Their dark presence seemed to mirror the shadows that clung to his heart. As he continued along the path, his gaze was drawn to an enchanting outdoor scene that unfolded before him.
Dominating the landscape was a captivating stone structure, reminiscent of a long-forgotten tower or castle. A proud flag fluttered atop it, casting bold silhouettes against the night sky. The tower’s ancient stones held the weight of history, each weathered edge telling stories of eras long past. A solitary window, framed in worn stone, seemed to peer out at the world with the wisdom of ages. Above it, a distinctive white cross stood as a beacon of hope against the backdrop of time.
Within this architectural marvel, a wooden door beckoned with a quiet promise of secrets and adventures. At its center stood a weathered statue, weathering the ages with an air of silent grace. The entire structure exuded a timeless charm that stirred the imagination.
Nature’s touch was everywhere, vibrant greenery embracing the tower’s base in a living tapestry. A bush, adorned with delicate white flowers, seemed to whisper of forgotten romances and cherished memories. Nearby, a tree stretched its branches toward the heavens, leaves shimmering in the moonlight as if painted with liquid silver.
Not far from the tower, a stone pillar rose from the earth, its weathered surface intriguingly overgrown with tufts of grass. Harrell’s gaze shifted downward, and there, by the base of the pillar, he noticed them: black giant mushrooms, their imposing presents a stark contrast to the delicate beauty that surrounded them.
As he stood amidst this scene of serenity, the sky above painted in calming shades of black, he felt a deep sense of connection to the history that lingered here. His thoughts still immersed in the enigmatic beauty of the scene. The stars above twinkled like ancient stories passed down through generations. The atmosphere resonated with the weight of time, as if the air held the echoes of lives lived and dreams pursued.
However, fate had another surprise in store for him, a secret pathway hidden within the ancient rock alignments.
As he ventured further, the air seemed to buzz with an unusual energy, a tingling sensation that crawled like ants under the skin. Suddenly, his surroundings began to blur and shift, as if reality itself were bending and twisting. The world around him shimmered in a mesmerizing display of colors, like wormhole hues falling from the sky.
A powerful force, imperceptible to the naked eye, worked its magic along the geo-magnetic leylines beneath the earth. It was a force that had remained dormant, waiting for the right moment to bestow its secret upon an unsuspecting wanderer. And that wanderer was Harrell.
As the world around him shimmered and blurred, a disorienting sensation gripped him. The air crackled with energy, and in the blink of an eye, Harrell found himself tumbling through time, hurtling back nine centuries to the year 1123 A.D. The modern world vanished like a fading dream, replaced by an alien landscape that whispered of ages long past.
With a sudden thud, Harrell landed on the rugged grounds of Castle Weinsberg. For a moment, Harrell lay sprawled on the uneven earth, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The scent of damp soil and crushed grass filled his senses, a stark contrast to the acrid tang of gunpowder he had grown accustomed to. The moon hung above him like a watchful guardian, casting an ethereal glow on the castle walls that loomed in the distance.
His heart raced, his breath ragged, as he realized the impossible truth: he had traversed through time itself. Before him stood a world vastly different from the one he knew, a world of knights and castles, of untamed lands and uncharted territories.
Pushing himself upright, Harrell's fingers dug into the moist ground, the sensation foreign and primal. He took a cautious breath, filling his lungs with the crisp night air. It was a different kind of silence that surrounded him now – the absence of sirens and distant explosions, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
Harrell's heart raced as he surveyed his surroundings, his senses on high alert. His senses were overwhelmed by the vividness of his surroundings. He had become an unwitting traveler in time, his presence a disruption in the tapestry of history.
Caught between awe and disbelief, Harrell surveyed the scene around him. This was a one-way method of time travel, a journey propelled by the ancient and powerful rock alignments he had encountered.
The castle before him loomed above him as a shadowy sentinel, its ancient stones weathered by time and whispers of history. The cool breeze ruffled his hair, reminding him that he was far from the sterile hum of his time's technology.
As he rose to his feet, his boots sunk slightly into the damp earth, the sensation grounding him in this new reality. The castle's towering walls seemed to whisper secrets of the past, and the distant sound of clanging metal hinted at a world teeming with activity.
As the reality of his situation settled in, Harrell knew that he was now part of a world that had slipped through the cracks of time. With each breath, he could feel the weight of history pressing down on him, a reminder that he was a stranger in a land that had long since vanished from the annals of modernity.
Tightening his grip on the strap of his backpack, Harrell began to walk toward the castle. He was hungry, thirsty, and needed a place to sleep. The moonlight illuminated the path ahead, casting elongated shadows that danced at his feet. He felt the weight of his past experiences – the burdens of warfare and a fractured marriage – pressing on his shoulders.
As Harrell walked across the expansive farmland that spread around Castle Weinsberg in 1123 A.D., he found himself immersed in a world vastly different from his own. The landscape was painted in hues of deep green and earthy brown, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moonlight. The air carried a rich scent of damp earth and the distant aroma of wood smoke, a testament to the simple and rustic life of the medieval era.
As he moved, Harrell could hear the distant rustling of leaves, the faint murmurs of night creatures, and the occasional hoot of an owl perched high in the trees. The field was vast, stretching out before him in gentle undulations, each mound covered with crops that swayed in the night breeze. The soil beneath his feet was cool and slightly damp, a reminder of the recent rain.
In the distance, homes dotted the landscape, their thatched roofs sloping against the horizon. The windows were covered with simple cloth coverings, designed to keep out the cool night air while allowing a gentle breeze to filter through. Small gardens abutted the homes, showcasing vibrant flowers and useful herbs.
As he walked, Harrell’s senses were bombarded by a symphony of sensations. The soft whispers of the wind, the earthy smell of the fields, and the distant sounds of farm animals stirring in the night filled his consciousness. He felt an odd mixture of wonder and disorientation as he continued to explore this unfamiliar world. He walked across luscious foliage and grain crops. He wasn't as out of breath as he feared. He focused his mind on the scenery around him. He'd read and watched enough science fiction to know time-travel, but nothing in reality could prepare him. How could he be here? Maybe he laid in a coma, and this was his mind filling in the blanks.
Suddenly, as he walked across the field, he realized he was naked except for his bag. The vulnerability of his situation hit him like a shock. Just as confusion settled in, his encounter with two women disrupted his thoughts.
Before him stood an elder woman named Agnes and a younger maiden named Sophia. Harrell’s foreign appearance elicited curiosity and concern. The elder of the two quickly shielded the younger maiden’s gaze from his nether region. How scandalous he must seem. It's always a shame that women's first encounter with men is the lowest denominator of behavior and intent.
The elder grabbed her apron with one hand, and with an expert flourish took it off and tossed it to him, ”Geht es dir gut?” (Are you alright?)
Harrell stood unwilling to speak. He had o clue what she said nor the language she spoke. His ignorance of foreign languages grew to the forefront. He pantomimed, what he prayed was a universal hand sign, that he had an issue with speaking and understanding.
“Oh, er muss dumm und taub sein. Muss einer dieser Kreuzzugsritter sein.” (Oh, he must be mute and deaf. Must be one of them Crusade knights.)
“Aber Agnes, wo sind seine Kleider? Sein Pferd? Warum ist er allein?” (But Agnes, where are his clothes? His horse? Why is he alone?)
“Hör auf, Sophia zu reden. Hol deine Brüder und sag dem jungen Abbo, er soll das Schloss informieren. Wächter Metfried sollte kommen.” (Stop talking Sophia. Go fetch your brothers and tell young Abbo to go let the castle know. Guard Metfried should come.)
“Aber Agnes, wo sind seine Kleider? Sein Pferd? Warum ist er allein?” (But Agnes, where are his clothes? His horse? Why is he alone?)
“Hör auf, Sophia zu reden. Hol deine Brüder und sag dem jungen Abbo, er soll das Schloss informieren. Wächter Metfried sollte kommen.” (Stop talking Sophia. Go fetch your brothers and tell young Abbo to let the castle know. Guard Metfried should come.)
Harrell thought this must be a Germanic dialect. He really wishes he'd grabbed one of the tourist language pamphlets. He was at the mercy of these ladies.
"Meine Güte. Du bist in einer traurigen Verfassung.” (My goodness. You are in a sorry shape.) The elder woman began to walk around me, no shame in her expression. My body had grassy scratches and blackened from this bend in time-space fabric.
“Wie lange warst du in der Sonne? Deine Haut ist so dunkel.” (How long have you been in the sun? Your skin is so dark.) She continued inspecting me as more people began to make their way from the fields to see who the fuss is over.
Ich habe noch nie ein männliches Mitglied wie Ihres gesehen. Wo bedeckt es? (I’ve never seen a male member like yours. Where is its covering?)
“Liegt das an Ihrer Religion oder auf Anordnung Ihres Leibeigenen?” (Is that because of your religion or by order of your Serf?)
Harrell didn't recall much after that. Strange, the things you remember when you fall unconsious.
