An Domhain Chronicles is a book authored by Nate Pyles. It a story that is better than the lord of the rings and more addictive than Harry Potter! © Copyright 1989-2004

Above is a photo of Nate and a map of Shamot (photo by Ned Sudduth, Map created from scratch by Nate Pyles)

Nate has been working on this book since 1989 and is getting ready this year to publish this epic fantasy novel.

Nate would love to hear from you. Send him an email to pylesglobal@yahoo.com

Hoary now those days of yore,
And men prorogue the Ancient and lore.
The tales are gone the whispers still,
the Old Ones sleep, in silent hill
Quiet now the bardic word,
the timeless truth that mortals heard

Yet a glow flickers, in the gloom,
stout with hope, against the doom.
The gamut of time, is nigh at hand,
and darkness quakes across the land.
For the torq of old, the crowning jewel
That established forever Ard Droaic’s rule,
Sought of old, will soon be found,
It will gather all, like a trumpet sound
And mankind will behold again,
The glory of Ri’s diadem,
Wold and weald and glen and sea
From darkness, shall at last be free.

A Celtic Fantasy Book

The Druid Orders, Boln, Lar and Deayl
The ancient three embrace.
And Baskeloth’s flame again wilt chose
Ard Droaic’s holy face.

THE TALE OF BASKELOTH

There are in the Great Northern Mountains, seven phoenix that dwell among the Ralm in the presence of Jove. These were birthed in the beginning from the sun when it was created for the pleasure of Askrothel, the Holy One. Each is representative of the Seven Races that Askrothel created in the beginning. The are: Aryzon- Tergyran- Werylcane- Baskeloth- Timnin- Seracooth- Bralgeth.

After the Dirdyniad the Great Northern Mountains were formed separating the fair lands of An Domhan from the fell lands of Annwyn in the North. (They were called the Mountains of Eritoth.) In those days the great dragons were slaughtered and those who escaped, fled to safety into the black caverns of Ogof.
Thence did Askrothel place the phoenix upon Eritoth as guardians, keeping watch over these fell dragons, which are the serpents of Annwyn. These great birds lived lives of solitude flying about the high mountains, keeping vigil over the Great Northern Wastes, watching and guarding with an ever-wary eye northward to Annwyn.
Now there are seven regions of the mountains and each phoenix resides in their own particular region. Within the deep glens of the mountains, there are beautiful glades, each with a cool well; and in the tranquility of these glades, the phoenix reside. Each morning they bathe in the water of the well and sing a wondrous song. The song of the phoenix is so fair that in reply all the wild flowers in the heather of the mountain glens bloom in manifold witness. Such splendor displayed is rivaled by none, save the gardens of Tir na N’Og. Jove himself is said to listen on his great chariot as he rides across the sky; he is so enchanted by the song and the beauty of the heather.
There was a great dragon, Throg by name, who was sorely beaten by Baskeloth the phoenix in the Dirdyniad. In the days when Lord Drall began his sinister campaign to destroy Shamot, Throg was quickened and fought along side the Dark Lord and reeked havoc upon the land, killing all those whom he capriciously pleased.
Then in his fury, he flew northwards searching with reckless temerity for the one who humbled him twenty centuries before. Over great heights he sought, looking onto every peak, and into every valley, looking, looking for Baskeloth.
At long last he spied the ancient phoenix flying high over the great Fjords of Frøya. Ferociously did he attack the phoenix, fire and brimstone pouring forth from his great maw. High through the air they fought, fell and fair, striving, fighting, wrestling in the heavens.
The dragon was wild with anger and the phoenix, golden with age. As they sped high above the great Fjords, Throg flew higher and from his lofty situation, he rained inferno upon the phoenix in such measure that the fair bird was engulfed in flames. At that instant the Phoenix ignited, exploding into fiery brilliance, the likes of which no mortal has seen. Throg himself was thrown earthward by its force, his great wings singed to the raw.
The heavens shook as the flames waxed to greater heights and the sky grew crimson with fire. Throg of old cringed under the great pyre that he had made and flew swiftly away with great dismay and consternation, fearing his very life. Far to North he flew, deep into the dark recesses of the Northern Mountains. There stayed he in misery and fear, nursing his charred flesh and licking his wounds. Long lay he in the depths of the great mountains, brooding and scheming his fate.
Unwitnessed by Throg, from the center of the inferno a great egg was birthed, as yellow as gold. There from the great heights it plummeted from the sky, downward and downward until it plunged into the ocean depths below.
Now there was an old sorcerer who dwelt in the land of Sviod, near the sea. Cheblinin was his name. Many were the days he stayed there and none knew whence he came. Long and gray was his beard, and wrinkled was his darkened brow. A tattered gray cloak he wore and his stockings were shimmered with age. Deep in Tylvin Forest he dwelt, far into the Frøyan Fjords lay his cottage. (For the Tylvin forest grew within the Frøyan Fjords.)
He was an arcane man, full of devilry, sordid and contemptible. Greed dictated his actions and those who thwarted him were quickly destroyed. It fell out upon one day, that as he walked through the forests, along the ancient fjords, that he saw bobbing in the surf, a beautiful, golden egg that glowed with the radiance of the sun above. Enticed by the brilliant beauty of this egg, and confident that it held some great secret power, the vile Cheblinin waded into the shallows and snatched the egg from the water. When he brought it to shore he labored with its great weight, and brought it to his baleful cottage. There he began to delve with his dark arts, trying to discover the nature of this egg.
All that day and deep into the night sat he, and pondered over his old scrolls and enchantments seeking and not finding the truth concerning this egg. Spell after spell he cast upon it; vainly he tried to crack it, for he had hoped to eat the contents and grow powerful. Yet still the egg thwarted his craft and vexed him in great measure, so that his anger waxed and he was crimson with fury.
And so the old sorcerer could do nothing. Weeks passed and the sorcerer vexed and weary finished yet another night of fruitless conjuring. Then in great frustration and anger, the twisted Cheblinin blasted the egg with a great and heated flame. The egg and the table upon which it sat were engulfed in a vast conflagration. As the first streaks of dawn showed through his cottage window, the egg hatched. From its shell amid the fiery embers of the incinerated table burst forth a great golden bird.
With great trepidation, the Old One stepped back, his ancient beard singed, and his cloak burned by the heat of the feathers. Never had he seen the likes of a phoenix before, and yet he knew that this was indeed a servant of Askrothel. Aware that a wooden cage would burn, and yea even a cage of iron melt, the wily magician conjured a great cage of stone to entrap the phoenix, for no other barrier could withstand its great flame.
Declaring himself a representative of Askrothel, the newborn Baskeloth entreated the sorcerer for his freedom. The sorcerer was taken aback, for this unnoticed messenger of the God had broached his dark domain. Fearing his safety and indeed his very life should the great bird be released, the warlock spoke many dark enchantments over the great bird, trying to extinguish its fire. Yet still the bird resisted most adroitly, and continued to entreat the old man for his freedom.
Weeks did the great bird rest in its cage of stone, and weeks did the Vile One study and conjure to harness this great phoenix, to tap into its great power. Yet with all his black art, he could not subdue or capture the power of Askrothel that resided within the essence of the phoenix.
Thus it happened in his anger and rage, the sorcerer with an invidious revengeful spirit cast a great spell upon the fair Baskeloth. Inspired by the stone cage he had wrought, he changed the phoenix's exterior nature so that its power would be subdued. So it was that the great bird was encased in stone and its glorious flame diminished. So it was that the great and wondrous bird was a dull and lifeless statue.
Years stayed the statue in the old sorcerer's abode, and the more years it stayed the more the sorcerer wearied of it, ever mindful of its holy nature. Vexed at his impotence to control the phoenix, he had marked the bird as a sign of his triumph, inscribing his mark "Cheblinin" across the bird’s great breast. Then beneath engraved he, in the ancient fell script of Grothnaah, "Conquered Baskeloth".
There came a time when some traders from Frøya came into his great fjord and the old sorcerer traded the statue for spice and salt. Glad was he to be rid of the statue; forever still it defied his art, a constant reminder of his failure and a symbol of Askrothel's sovereign power. The traders were glad to gain the granite statue, as a gift for their noble lord. Swiftly to the lord's palace it was sent, and within his great hall it was placed.
The years passed. As the centuries came and went, into many great halls and palaces was this great statue placed. Sometimes traded as reciprocity, other times it was taken as loot by military conquest, until at length it came to reside in the kingdom of Renwn. Old it became and ancient of days it seemed, the stone well worn and chipped.
It came to pass that there was a great king of Renwn, a man of great renown who desired to wed his son to the King of Trinia. So it was that the dowry for the daughter of the King of Trinia was to be such and such, but when he came to the court of Renwn, he saw that the King had the statue of the great bird standing on a dais near his throne.
The King of Trinia was full of wonder and desired the statue more than gold, and diligently sought the King of Renwn to give it to him for the dowry. The King of Renwn was loathe to part with such a masterpiece of sculpture, but at last relented and granted the king of Trinia his heart's desire.
So it was that a Frøyan merchant was traveling from Renwn to Trinia and was hired to carry the dowry upon his vessel. He did so gladly, for he was a man of business and desired to make profit in any way he could. He set off southwest, to the isle of Trinia. After many days there arose a great gale. Night and day they were driven northwestward, relentlessly so that the ships rudder was broke asunder. The crew cried out in dismay at the calamity that befell them for the ship had stuck the Trinian Atoll, where it stuck fast and then ripped in twain. All aboard were lost, yet the bounty of the ship's hold was safely held in the grip of the great atoll. And so the statue, containing still the fiery bird, passed out of the knowledge of man awaiting the fullness of time.

THE TALE OF SERKITHAR

Years passed and yet his heart was sorely grievous of the fate of his beloved lands. Longing drove him to prayer for his kinsman beyond the sea in Casega and he wondered at their fate. It was because of his pride that the elfish lords desired not to return to Alfheim before the Dirdyniad, he was the caused of so many innocent elves perishing by the swords of the satyrs. With a penitent heart and sorrowful countenance, he supplicated Askrothel entreating him to allow him to travel to that fallen land of Gilmore and right the wrong that he caused; He desired to defend and protect the Ædyrask, from the pernicious sons of Secrueth.
It came to pass one day as he sat praying at the edge of the pool of Tirnila in the forests of Alfheim, that from it’s depths a (Lethdieth) appeared to him saying,
“ Thy supplication is now answered, and thy trespasses are forgiven thee, oh chosen one. Hear now an understand: The work of darkness reeks upon the earth. and my chosen ones are fraught with the vileness of evil. Thy name shalt be called Serkithar Meleki, for thou shalt be victorious against the enemy. Thou shalt be the servant of Askrothel upon the black lands of Gilmore and thy vocation shalt be two fold: a sword shalt never depart from thee to purge the land of vileness. Thou shalt slay the wicked hosts of evil that roam at will about the land. Secondly, thou shalt be aid of the poor, the widows and orphans to show them goodness and love. I shall bless thee and thou shalt be restored all that was lost; I have prepared a wife for thee and she shall bear you sons that will serve with thee against the evil.”
“Receive now these sevenfold spirits: The Spirit of Askrothel, The Spirit of Wisdom, The Spirit of Understanding, The Spirit of Counsel, The Spirit of Might, The Spirit of Knowledge, The Spirit of the Fear of Askrothel.”
Raising Uthrayn from the ground, he bestowed upon him a claymore glowing with white luster, with runes of power carved upon it’s blade. "With this sword, the foes of darkness will flee from thee. You shalt purge the Dark Lord’s minions with violence” He then called forth a steed from the herds of the Alfheim. It was a reindeer of huge size whose antlers were black as ebony and his coat as shinny as silver “Behold thy steed. Thou shalt call him Tekdælic , as lightening strikes across the sky and lights the darkness, so shall he streak across the darkness of Gilmore, and fell hosts will quake at his brilliance.”
In time, Tekdælic sired seven calves and they become the steeds of Serkithar’s sons.
Thus it happened when he departed that Serkithar mounted his steed strapped his great sword to his back and rode forth from Alfheim. And a wonder happened; a great wind came of such magnitude that it bore him up, along with his steed, carrying him far across Esiar the Western Sea, to the shores of Gilmore. There Serkithar Meleki rode in great fury; clothed in white linen, his silver hair flowing in the wind. All that beheld him fled his presence, for awful was the sight of him that rode.
He galloped onward across the dark land, until he reached the shores of Loch Berimorr. Taking then a horn front his belt, he blew it with all his might so that the land shook by its thunder and the mountains trembled and the fell ones quaked at its sound and he spake in a fell voice,
“Arise Casega! I have come home.”
Then galloping northward with terrible hast, he espied a fortress along the eves of Eritoth; and he knew it to be Cedthi Malleset. Riding towards it he blew his horn calling aloud in Gaeslig for the lord of the castle, for well he knew it to be the dwelling of his elfin kindred. Therewith Froim the laird of Cedthi Malleset, strode forth in fear and trembling for he knew not who it was at his gate.
The great elf in glee, heralded himself as Serkithar Malleset, Hod Hëlæs of Casega, avenger of evil, defender of good. Excitedly Froim opened wide his gates and Serkithar rode in and dined with him that night. Yet mild was Froim’s joy for on the marrow, he had pledged the troth of his two daughters as concubines for the Satyrian lords. This agreement was with the intent to propitiate the satyrs, causing them to cease their plans of attack upon his castle; for the satyrs desirous of his daughters, said that he must either give them as concubines paying them an enormous dowry, or they would come raze his castle and murder him. Then all the elves in Cedthi Malleset would be their slaves.
Upon this baleful news, the sanctified Serkithar was wroth with passion, his cheeks glowed crimson under the torchlight of the feast hall. He arose in his anger at the doom of the fair elf and his daughters. Drawing forth this claymore and holding it high, he called the elves to arms. So great was his ardor, that elves of Cedthi Malleset arose that very night, and rode forth with him from the mountains and fell fury drove them onward. Claymore banished and his steed galloping forward, lightening cracked before Serkithar’s elves. He sang the ancient songs of Alfheim and before him the satyr host was smitten in such degree that none survived, for Serkithar was fierce with the anger of Askrothel and he shown forth the goodness of Tir n’Og. They drove forward through the stricken horde to the black gates of Kharoth the Satyrian stronghold. That night, the elves of Casega slaughtered the satyrs and razed their stronghold, burning their carcasses in heaps before it.
Telling them his tale of forgiveness and grace, Serkithar gave the elfish warriors his oath to protect the land. They forgave him and promised to serve with him in his duty. At the dawning of the new day amidst the pyres of Satyrian corpses smoking in the clear morning light, they rode northwest and utterly destroyed the remaining satyrs in Glen Erym. And Serkithar became a fell and terrible warlord against the vile minions that dwell in Endilhew. Yet he was gracious and loving toward those of his own race, and all the Ædyrask.
And so it was that Serkithar the Victorious One, dwelt Casega.
Thus was the beginning of the Serkithar the White; a saint to the Ædyrask, a foe to the fallen minions of Secrueth. From Beltane until Samhain he rode with the elves of Froim against the satyrs in Gegetha Fell were their blades and black was their wrath against these minions of darkness, and the Satyrian host fled before them. Serkithar became great in their midst and was feared by sons of Secrueth.
It came to pass that one day as he was by a brook he beheld a fair maiden with golden hair, whose skin was as white as milk and whose eves were as blue as the sea. And he loved her, whom was called Lithia a Valkyrie, one of the Lethdieth that dwelt upon the heights of Thel Naferia She was sent there by Jove to guard against the Throgral that have slithered from Annwyn under Eritoth after the Dirdyniad.
They were married and the prophesy was fulfilled, for the elf lord was restored what he had lost. And Lithia the fair , bore him children and Uthrayn of ruin, became Serkithar of mirth.
Now Casega was the realm of Serkithar’s dwelling; his stronghold was Galowi Malleset . And the elves that dwelt with Serkithar and Lithia were the Ket Hëlæs. Men called them the Ferrishyn in the vulgar tongue. From within the Ket Hëlæs, there was a warrior of elves that were so named the Fynoderee. The Fynoderee were they which fought with Serkithar against the satyrs, hobgoblins, and dragons.
Lithia bore Serkithar seven sons and Serkithar was restored that which his folly has lost him, and he began to understand grace. These sons became the lords of the Fynoderee. Now because Serkithar was endowed with seven characteristics that were descriptive of Askrothel’s nature, these distinctiveness become the names of his seven sons. And each of these seven sons were given a Zelim sired from Tekdælic the steed of Serkithar; Each zelim were given names that were anti-types of the distinctives of their masters; namely, the sevenfold characteristics of Serkithar. These were Serkithar’s sons along with their steeds:
The first was Tukær Pedatiderli , the Spirit of the fear of Askrothel. He was the eldest of the brothers, and rode with fierce countenance against the fell minions of Secrueth upon Endilhew. He was called Black Peter in the vulgar tongue, for dark was his wrath toward those whose deeds were evil. Yet, it was he that pursued goodwill and charity toward the widows and fatherless. It was said by those of the truth, that he was the most compassionate of all of the sons of Serkithar. An elf of great extremes, formidable in battle, and gracious indeed to the sons of Askrothel. His steed he named Kyubig, the Gaeslig name for love. He was given this ironic name signifying the divine correlation between the fear of God, and the love of God.
The second was Atiderli , the Spirit of the Askrothel. His steed he named Reshwæny , the Gaeslig name for dunder. He was given this name because Askrothel dwells amidst the thunder, making the clouds his chariot.
The third was Glerhenderli , the Spirit of Wisdom. His steed he named Maclarmy , the Gaeslig word for wisdom and the vixen. Great cunning and wisdom hath the fox; it is said she the wisest of the creatures that walk upon An Domhan.
The forth was Eherthderli , the Spirit of Understanding. His steed he named Læshun , the Gaeslig name for comet. Great understanding has one that travels through the heavens; and it was by this understanding that “Askrothel established the heavens” A comet travels through the darkness of the heavens, traveling through the vast expanse of space. It views the foundations of the earth, the depths of the void where the morning stars sing, the courses of Tally and Samyan, the movement of the clouds, the rain and the thunder.
The fifth was Lerminderli , the Spirit of Counsel. His steed he named Zeko , the Gaeslig name for prance; for Askrothel with fortitude at his right hand, ardor and zeal at his left, prances through the midst of heaven and executes his sovereign counsel proclaiming “My counsel shall stand, and I will do all my pleasure.”
The sixth was Melilthderli , the Spirit of Might. His steed he named Harnnot , the Gaeslig word for dash; for Askrothel will like a mighty hailstorm, burst upon his enemies, dashing them to the ground.
The seventh was Bælinderli , the Spirit of Knowledge. He steed he named Hemele , the Gaeslig word for dance; for knowledge is a dance in command of all. Knowledge moves with confidence through all and from it nothing can be hid. This is the contemplative perception of a wise man.
Thus Serkithar was the Hod Hëlæs over the Ket Hëlæs, whom men call Brownies, Ferrishyn, and Bwca. His dwelling was Galowi Malleset at the foot of Thel Naferia, on the eastern side if Casega. And Serkithar’s sons were great warriors, and their order was sanctified from the Ket Hëlæs. They were called the Îebol Holeme , the holy ones but men call them the Fynoderee.
The Îebol Holeme ride upon reindeer from Beltane to Samhain, blighting the servants of Secrueth by their fell blades, keeping the Rogral at bay. Serkithar is Hod Gingg, the Oak King. Then from Samhain to Beltane he becomes Hod Glurd, the Holly King. During the bitterness of winter, during Yule through Embolic, Serkithar and his Fynoderee, devote their time to helping the poor throughout the Great Northern forest of Endilhew. For the rest of the year, the Fynoderee are fell warriors. They blight the vile minions of Secrueth with incessant vengeance; never do they weary of battle, for they have a blood lust for goblins, satyrs, pixies and trolls.
Now the Îebol Holeme are composed of twain cavalries: The first is the zelim petti, that is the reindeer cavalry. The second is the zeocat petti, the horse cavalry. So great did these elves under Serkithar become, that their fame spread throughout all Gilmore and across the southern waters to Artep and men called them Brownies, or Ferrishyn.

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