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The Newly Titled. Chapter 1 Seeds, Eggs, Beer and a Game of Improvised family football! By Ross Lombardi

The Newly Titled
By Ross Lombardi
Chapter 1
Seeds, Eggs, Beer, and a Game of Improvised family football!

Let's paint a stereotypical picture.

Medieval style village,

Thatched roofs.

Gently curling white wood smoke.

Burly man, leader type busting into some poor peasant girls hut!

A small whimper from her as she wakes up startled and in discomfort.

Him standing over her, shouting at the poor female some commanding news in a gruff voice.

And her in a state of confusion responding with,

“What do you mean, titled?”

“I mean that you are no longer a peasant but instead now a duchess,”

“What? How?”

“Well, you know how the crown and state stick close together, closing off chances of foreign access!?”

“Errrr yes…?

“Well, your Mums knees did not do that!”

“You mean?”

“Yes, your mum seduced and shagged a Duke!”

Sitting in the peasant hovel various question popped into the once formally peasant now Duchess’s mind.

One of those questions was not “Was my poor mother forced,”

This may seem to be an odd thing, not to think in a feudal based economy under normal circumstances.

But as there were expanses of forest cleared because, her dear ole mum by her punching down all the trees in that area, then those sorts of circumstances no longer applied.

Why did she punch down all those trees when she has two perfectly serviceable axes available?

Well the reasons were


It was for a drunken bet,

(It was done without the aid or “Cheat” of any magic!)


Because those axes were each double handed battle axes that were not meant to be used for chopping wood.

Why did she have two huge two-handed battle axes? When most people only need to have one?

On single reason.

Dear ole mum dual wielded the pair of them, one in each hand!

Some said the battle-axes were wielded with a mystical and magical ancient power.

Which was partly true

In the sense that they were wielded with the most ancient and powerful of all deep and profound magic.

The magic used was more ancient than that of the Elementalist who threw fire, ice and lighting

The magic used was more ancient and mystical than that of the spirit shaman who talked to ancestor’s and took the form of animals.

The magic use was even far more ancient, mystical and deep than that of the witch's, mummies and necromancer’s who played with the sparks of hell itself!

It was such an ancient, mystical, deep, and difficult magic that most spent their entire lives trying to avoid the source of such primal power!

It was known as bloody hard work and putting in hours of painful, laborious, grinding practice in at every spare second.

She blinked a few times, the rest of her face expressionless.

“So, I am”

“Yes, you are now a Duchess.”

Again, she blinked a few times, the rest of her face expressionless.

“Of which land… exactly?”

“This one!”

The Man talking to her was her uncle (on her mother's side, obviously) who was also the local chief of their village.

He was not the head of the village, however.

The head of the village altered from month to month, or during particularly hot humid summers, from week to week.

The village head was not expected to do or say very much.

People would have been VERY surprised if they did!

The just had to stay in one place most of the time, very near the pub.

Unless a sudden game of football broke out, (without the use of a football!)

In which case the Head of the village was expected to perform as a vital contributor to the game.

You could even say, that the head of the village decides who won the game.

Then after the game, they just went back to their place very near the door of the pub.

The local head was usually, some thief that had been caught.

That is why the local inn was named the “Chopped off Head Pub”

The village Chief, Unlike his older sister, was a practical man.

He was not the sort of person that called a “Spade and Spade”, but rather the sort of person that said things like,

“I don’t care what you bloody use, or what you call it!”

“just get that bloody hole dug!”

“Those old pub signs are starting to stink!”

“Which reminds me,”

“We need to ‘appoint’ a new ‘Head’ of the village!”

“Do we happen to have any captured thieves left in the prison hole at the moment?”

The young peasant woman was sitting in rags on the floor covers in dirt, filth and vomit.

She looked sickly pale and was clearly in some sort of pain.

The light hurt her eyes and the stressed expression was of a person wishing they were dead

Her uncle looked at her impassively

“So, it was a good party last night, was it!”

“I guess so, I do not remember very much of it!”

“Well, the rags festival is a rite of passage,”

“get changed into some proper clothes and then meet with me with the head of the village.”

“Oh hell! Have mercy, I could not face another pint right now. Can we meet somewhere that is not the pub please?”

“You may be sick of beer right now, but its nearly noon and I have not had my breakfast yet!”

Then he continued,

“Then after breakfast at the pub, maybe go and get some food as well?”

The young woman was called Eggs

It was not the best name,

But growing up she had never been teased or picked on.

This had nothing at all to do with her uncle being Chief of the village.

His kids got extra doses of being picked on because of that!

Dear ole mum had not been around for over 10 years now.

Her mum was not known to be dead, just missing.

In a world like this one, anyone missing for over one year is usually assumed dead.

That did not mean they did not pick on her because they had been sorry for the abandoned child of the village.

Because while it is that “Usual” in a world like this one, for anyone else missing for over one year to be assumed dead.

But in her dear ole mums case who had been missing for over 10 years, they were instead assuming that some poor, battered and bloody full plate armoured knight was lying on a pile of his friend's corpses and that dear ole mum was standing over him naked with a very disturbing look on her smiling face!

They did not spare Eggs because of compassion but out of terror of her mum!

She did not get picked on because her dear ole mum was the sort of nut case that punched down a forest with her bare fist (and no magical help) for a bet.

Singing and giggling to herself

“If you want to get the wood, you have to punch the trees!”

No one wants to piss off someone like that!


A young evil-looking man dressed in black was sitting on a throne made of skulls.

The throne was not purchased, it was created by the young man himself from his most challenging past enemies.

Scary looking henchmen surrounded him, all huge and large and looking like they could easily snap the man on the throne like a mere toothpick.

That could never happen though.

They were all clearly terrified of this young man.

You could almost hear their bowels churning ready to let loose in fear.

You would be able to hear the bowel churning much clearer if it were not for the screams of tortured heroes in the dungeon below.

This young man clearly looked like the sort of archetype super evil villain you'd expect in this sort of novel.

“What do you mean the title of the land has been given to someone else?”

The large oger gulped.

“The king has granted the title to some peasant girl”

The young man's eyes narrowed.

“A girl? As a male heir that land is rightfully mine!”

“That’s why I had the old Duke killed,”


“Who is this little bitch of some cheap slut?”

The oger gulped again, colon on standby to launch a poo of terror all over the floor!

“The name is Eggs”

The young man laughed, there was no real joy or humour in it.


“Have her killed and be done with it!”

“Bring me her stomach so I can inflate it and use it as a seat cushion for this uncomfortable skull throne!”

“What do we know of this little shit!”

A super extra-large oger, the oger guard captain bent over and gently whisper into his master ear,

The young man's eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments, and a green glow briefly showed!

“I decree that this girl….”

“…Should be left alone, or maybe send her some sort of gift?!

The news giving oger smiled and said,

“Yes a ‘gift’ for her,”

“Gift like one of our death squads, assassins, poison or perhaps a curse?”

Again, the green glow from the young man's eyes briefly showed,

At this point, the message ogers head imploded instantly, and the body slumped to the floor.

“I meant gift as in a bag of gold, even more, land or a pledge of allegiance.”

The guard captain looked confused


The young man turned and snapped at his captain,

“Her mother punched down a forest with her bare fist for a bet.”

“Without using magic!”

“No one wants to piss off someone like that!”

This young man may clearly have looked like the sort of archetype super evil villain you'd expect in this sort of novel, but he was not stupid enough to touch a single hair on the head of the daughter or the dreaded dear ole mum!”

All the wealth, rich lands, titles and prestige was not worth that level of risk!

The young man quickly went through the last few minutes in his head,

Then he remembered using words like “Slut” “little shit” and “Bitch” coming from his own mouth,

With the opening pit of regret deep in his belly, he let his eyes flash an extra bright green,

His beloved loyal guard captain,

all the other guards,

all the prisoners

And every Beatle, rat and bird within possible earshot of the things he said all had their head imploded.

Then he turned his power on himself for the first time ever and wiped his own memory of what he had said to make double sure,

He left the memory or what he had done and enough information to make sure he did not investigate why, but only that.

He remembered that he had wiped his own mind.

He remembered that he had killed all those around him.

He remembered that Eggs was super dangerous (although he could not remember why) and that Eggs anything to do with her should not be touched or interfered with in any way!

He may no longer understand why, but he knew that if he had resorted to such an extreme measure, then it was for a very good self-preserving reason!

That was good enough for him!

He was the one and the only person he fully trusted with his life!

Back at the Village,

On a rough bench outside of the pub.

The village chief was enjoying his liquid breakfast with his niece who had just found out that she was now a Duchess!

“So, what does a Duchess do exactly”

The Chief rubbed his chin.

“I think they send people round all the other villages to collect money from them then use it to look pretty.”

Eggs rubbed her eyes,

“The other villages give the Duchess money. Why don’t we ever do that?”

The Chief looked at Eggs with semi rolled eyes.


Eggs shook her head, wincing in overhung pain,

“Sorry, stupid question,” then the raised her mug.

She really did not want another beer but did not want to seem impolite to her uncle,

Besides, he was buying.

She could not conceive ever feeling so rough, so hungover or tired that she would ever refuse a free pint.

“To dear ole Mum,” she said groaning

“To my dear ole Sister,” her uncle replied in a joint toast!

“So,” Eggs continued, “The other villages pay the protection money?”

“Yes” replied the uncle, although squinting his brow because he did not really understand why himself.

“But they call it Taxes not Extortion”

“Tax-es” repeated Eggs, trying to word out for the first time in her own mouth.

“So basically, I am, the local warlord collecting tribute!?”

“That does not sound right to me,” replied her Uncle and Chief, “I think our systems different,”

“In what way,” asked Eggs,

Again, the Chief's brow furrowed even deeper with the struggle to put the understanding together.

“I seem to think, that because our lot writes stuff down in a book and call it a ‘law’ that for some reason that makes us a kingdom and not a warlord.”

“Hang on? So ‘IF’ I wrote down on a bit of paper because I am the Duchess, that all pigs have to be painted green once a year.”

“Then people would have to do it because I happen to be the one that wrote it?”

“Errrrr, perhaps, Maybe, I’m not really sure, I forgot you could read and write,”

“Mum made me learn, she said it made treasure map reading possible and tomb traps easier to avoid by reading the writing on the walls!”

They both raised their glasses in an unspoken second toast to dear ole mum.

Something plopped into the mug of the chief from above and made them both glances up.

Then they looked down at his mug.

A piece of dead flesh, very possibly a bit of an ear, bobbed up to the top.

“I think we need a new village head,” said Eggs to the Chief,

“Well as I have to change the sign anyway, we might as well use up the sign we have, Fancy a quick game of football?”

Later that day,

After wiping all the bits of designated fallen, improvised, football from their boots.

“So, you will have to go to the Keep”

“What! Why? I have done nothing wrong! Won't my mum become furious if they arrest me?”

“You are not being arrested you, idiot! ‘The Keep’ is your home now, You own the bloody thing!”

The chief involuntarily shuddered at the memory the last time the dear ole mum of Eggs “objected” to an arrest.

Put it this way, Her objection was NOT in a strongly worded letter!

The chief had seen a battle or five and had been in a few wars, but nothing he had ever seen was as horrific as that incident!

I only now just occurred to him that is when the Eggs mum must have first met the Duke, her father.

“Did they ever repair that Keep since Mums visit?” asked Eggs innocently

“I don’t know” replied her uncle the Chief from a very private dark place far, far away. He shuddered again!

“I never could bore to go back there!”

Eggs knew better than to ask.

“So that place is mine now? Just like that? Were there not any male heirs?”

“If there are then for some reason, none have come forward and the king did not look very hard. He just instantly chose you!”

“And the King is?”

“He is your boss; you are supposed to give him some of those taxes you can collect. A sort of rent? It all seems a bit weird and confusing for me.”

Eggs tried out her second new word of the day,


“Why did my mum never tell me the Duke was my dad. I am assuming you did not tell me because you did not know yourself”

“A better question is why did the Duke not come forward and be a father when your mother left?”

“That’s easy, would you want to risk pissing off my mum?” Eggs replied,

“Fair point” the Uncle conceded.

“But you don’t know about manners, or being a lady, or any of that stuff!

“How will you manage?” He continued,

“Who will you trust?”

“I have to stay here! I won't be there to help you!”

“I know there is the fear of your dear ole Mum, but how much can that, or will that, cover all the possible things that could ever happen to you?”

“Those rags from last night’s party are the closest thing you have ever gotten to even wearing a dress, skirt or anything else that was not hoes, pants or leggings!”

“I don’t know when, if ever, I will see you again!”

They gave each other a hug.

Eggs to see the worry and upset in her uncle’s face.

“Cheer up Chief” she soothed.

“How about before I go, Both of us do some craftwork together.”

“A joint activity for the two of us to share. Just you and me!”

“Some quality time!”

“I will get the old craft table out now and will wait until the morning before going to the…. To my keep.”

“How will that make you feel?”

Her uncle replied with a slight nod and tried to smile.

“What project shall we do?” he asked.

“Well,” Eggs replied,

“We did find out earlier today that the Pub needed a new shop sign to stick onto the nail above the door!”

“Let us make a new one for the pub together! ”

“I'll set up the craft table while you get your justice axe and collect the materials we will need for the project”

The Chief sniffed up a tear and again tried to force a smile.

Chapter 2

Working while tired.


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