- Artist -
Winter Pendragon
​(Kate Kirk)
​
​
Portfolio
A compilation of short stories, and lyrics
by
Kate Cullen
Excerpt from Amidst The Shadows, Chapter Two (Ruins of Chaos)
The turn of the season came fast upon us at Skyhold, and all through the summer we enjoyed the endless days of blue skies and warmer nights with an almost childish delight, our troubles dissipating in the warmth of the season by the bright sun above and the soft soil beneath our feet. Shoots of grass sprung from the frozen grounds and there was life in places that there had never been before. The realm was changing before our very eyes and anything seemed possible under that blanket of hazy hope that shrouded our shoulders. However as autumn fell upon us, we could all feel the echo of summer calling out to us one last time as it was slowly drowned by the arrival of an unwelcomed intruder that was winter. Before we knew it, we were wrapped in furs and our breath was icy upon the air once more.
The blissful ignorance of our plight had been forgotten, and now we were being reminded once more that nothing ever ended, and although we longed for stagnation, it only changed evermore…..
The Gallery of Souls
written by
Kate Cullen
Upon the blue black hour of night, when all was resting peacefully, I rode my chestnut mare through that sleepy forest I had ridden through a thousand times before, on return from my journeys that day. Eager to retreat to my small cottage, it’s wooden boards and thatched roof humble, with my love residing within, awaiting for my return as he always did in the eve, I hurried towards our abode nestled by the edge of the trees.
Along the way, stumbling through bracken and leaf, along a carpet of green moss and jagged rock, softly creeping through the shadows of mist and broken light, I pressed on as the hours lulled by. Green eyes fluttering up, I looked to the canopy of silver stars peaking overhead through the branches above, time melting away, merging reality with dreams in swirling colours of grey and black, until I could not recall the way.
As I wandered onwards, shaking my head in frustration, as I desperately tried to clear my mind, I feared I would be lost forever. Yet finally I ambled out of that forest with a heavy sigh, emerging into a clearing that was not of my home, not greeted by my love, but a vast and open, barren plain.
Along that desolate land cursed by this winter eve, of rock and crag and icy peak, one lone castle stood its ground in the far distance of my sight. The path was long and winding, and curled up a hillside of grey shard stones, to a drawbridge that laid open and waiting, calling out to me. The darkness covered the plains unforgivingly, even with the full moon bright overhead, and I looked around for anything else to draw near, only there was nothing, nothing, only a small flicker of light from that lone, stone keep.
In solitary, I dared not turn back into that tumbling maze of the leafy wilds, and kicking my heels fast aside my steed, I rode hard into the night towards that one glimmer of hope. Galloping fast across that path, ascending ever upwards, I reached the castle standing tall and foreboding, surrounded by battlements looming far above. As I rode my horse through that tunnelled grey archway, across the drawbridge and into a stone courtyard bleak and bare, one lone figure stood his ground, greeting me in my hour of need.
“Greetings.’ smiled the stranger, ‘You are welcome to respite. For any who travel this far into the plains is in need of a place to stay for the night.’
Tall and cloaked in a coat as dark as the plains itself, his long black hair fell far down his shoulders, his skin as pale as the moon in it's waxing phase, his eyes like midnight piercing into the essence of my very soul.
Famished and fatigued, I gladly accepted, although my heart was beating hard in my chest. Dare I trust this man, so full of grace and pleasantries in his stride? Were it better to suffer the wilds of that forest, or to trust that he did not lie?
With arms outstretched, he beckoned me near.
‘Come.’ he murmured ‘Let us take cover from the bleak of night.’
Bumps covered my cold, shivering skin as I followed him through the large wooden doors of the keep, lead by a single flickering flame of a candle bright, imprisoned in a lantern swinging from his hand. With steps that echoed loud against the cobbled stones, we entered a great hall with a chandelier hanging overhead, but the room presented black, forsaken and empty. A drafty wind at our heels, we pressed forward through the hall.
‘It is so dark.’ I mumbled, my mind clouding over as I struggled to keep pace. Why was I here again? I remembered I was lost, but where had I come from and where was I going? The whispers of the hall lulled me into drifting blinks of heavied lids and drawn out breaths.
‘Just a little further.’ muttered my host, and I felt his cold fingers gently entwine through mine as I was led onwards, down that shadowy neverending hall of madness.
The soft black velvet of his coat brushed against the cold, stone floor. Swish, swish, swish past the dust sheets covering the furniture of the rooms we passed. Why were they covered, I wondered, if this man lived here? Where were the servants, and where were the candles to fill all these rooms with light and cheer?
‘Hush all those thoughts.’ whispered the man ‘Do not burden your mind with such things.’
His eyes were dark and held mine fast, stern as a master yet gentle as a breeze. A curl of his lips grew on the creases of his mouth, as he drew me further along. I dared not resist, or perhaps I could not.
Stumbling ever onwards, he led me to a stone spiral staircase, and we wound up that abyss of uncertainty and doubt, spinning round and round in my head like a brewing storm on the ocean. My thoughts, once whispers, now called out louder to me, revealing images of tortured souls screaming in the corners of the shadowy rooms I had dared not look before. They begged me to run, to leave this place. They screamed at me to wrench my hand away from the white fingers of death and run. Run. Run.
At the end of the steps, that spiraled higher and higher into a stone tower, passing narrow parapets looking out towards the cold bleak plains outside, we approached one lone door. With a click of a lock, and a twist of a handle, he pulled me swiftly into a room, lit softly by candlelight.
In this place, no furniture stood except one ornately carved, mahogany throne chair, six feet tall and arms carved with lion heads, singular and foreboding in the vast emptiness. However, on every inch of every space of the wall, a picture covered, hundreds upon hundreds, large and small frames, wide and narrow, tall and short, and each painting revealed a different scene.
The man passed slowly, analysing each and every one pensively, before stopping at one painting near the corner of the room. It’s large frame was etched with gold, and in it a landscape portrait of a tangled forest presented itself.
‘The forest would have kept you there. I could not let that be.’ he murmured ‘For you would have been lost and perished within it’s leafy embrace, and now I shall keep safe and alive for eternity.’
Turning to the throne chair, he pulled a long dress, red velvet and black lace, draped over it's arm. He walked up to me as I willed him away, my feet planted firm to the ground like a stone statue. An icy wind stirred around my ankles, scattering dust from the floor, as his cold fingers reached for my cloak, and pulling it softly from around my neck, he threw it to the ground. Piece by piece, he peeled away until my pale flesh was bare in sight, only to be replaced with that red velvet dress, that cinched my waist and presented ruched black lace petticoats peaking through the lifts of the hem below.
‘Come.’ he whispered, sweeping me up effortlessly in his arms, my hands around his neck, as he carried me to the corner where the picture of the forest hung.
My mind wanted to turn and run, but my body now forbade me, circuming to his haunting embrace. I could feel his breath warm on my skin, as his lips drew closer, his dark eyes falling into mine. Wanton lust drenched crimson like wine, unable to pull away, yet not wanting to as my darkest desires were sated, his lips touching mine.
A veil of darkness covered my eyes, as plumes of grey cloud drifted by. Falling and fading away, I knew not. Devoured and trapped, I could not say why. Why did I feel like I was drowning as he held me near? Why was my chest pounding and my blood slowly chilling with fear?
‘Hush now.’ he whispered, long white fingers stroking that painting in the corner of the room. ‘The fates may take you, let them try, but in my keep you shall never die.’
Leaning over that painting, his drew his lips close, towards a figure now in the picture, dressed in a red velvet dress, ruched with black lace petticoats, staring back at him in sheer horror.
He kissed my painted oil lips as I watched on helplessly, trapped in that cursed picture, looking hopelessly out onto that empty room. Once more in a forest, of twisted limb and gnarled root, alone and trapped for an eternity, in swipes and strokes of paint and dread.
With a faint smile, the man turned to leave, as silent as he came, as silent he went, his eyes darting over the other pictures on the walls as he passed by. And there I saw, it was not only me, encased in oil and watercolour, but hundreds upon hundreds of people staring out from the pictures, forsaken and in despair. On knees they sobbed, their hands cupping their faces, and ripping out their hair in torment and grief, rolled up into balls on the ground of their prison, ever alone and forgotten.
Bound to this room for time without end. Denied the blissful release of death in our imprisoned state. To perish only in our minds, without foe or friend. We, the haunted spirits of The Gallery of Souls.
Excerpt from Amidst The Shadows, Chapter 18 (For Duty Or Pleasure)
Freedom. Does it truly exist? We strive for it, chase after it like dandelion florets in the wind, and yet who of us grasps one of those feathery tufts in the palm of our hand, only to keep hold of it? To live in a world without responsibility or regard? To owe nothing to yourself, for there is nothing to be owed. To care for no other, for there is nothing to be concerned about, in this, our disenchanted state. Surely if this was freedom then this was no life at all? A life of meaninglessness, soaring the heights of complete and unconditional liberty. For from the moment we were born we formed attachments to this existence, and the longer we live the more constraints bind us. Take hold of us. Ground us. Perhaps some held us down in restraint, but not all the ropes were abominable. Some ensured we stay whole and did not fall apart, scattered to the wind in the name of freedom. We are not free, and perhaps none of us ever would be, but the alternative, somehow, seemed so much worse…
I recall an evening once with Cullen, back in Skyhold before I had fled, when he had told me about the legend of the first true King of Ferelden. Two men, Richard of Southron and Daniel of Bannorn, loosely joined in blood and each with a claim, were apart of two families that had long fought over the throne for many years. Daniel of Bannorn had recently claimed the throne by force, and in his determination to destroy all other ties to the crown began to rewrite the royal lineage of Ferelden, and in essence remove any hold Richard of Southron may have had over it.
As a result, Richard sailed across the Amaranthine Ocean with an army equal to King Daniel’s, determined to pledge his claim once and for all. As Richard landed on the shores of Ferelden, he fell to his knees, sinking into the sand as he cried out to the skies Judge me, oh Maker, and favour my cause. Richard knew he came to those shores to meet his destiny as equal to his demise. However it was his faith that forced his hand as he rode out onto that battlefield. Richard of Southron and Daniel of Bannorn met on the battlefield that fateful day, and it was there that King Daniel of Bannorn turned his sword to his opponent and proclaimed Today I fight like a king, or I die like one.
One man had put his faith in the Maker while the other had put his faith in himself. The only man that rode out of that field alive that day was King Daniel of Bannorn...
Later on I realised what Cullen had been trying to explain to me. Our actions were the only true cause we could put our faith in, not the vain hope of a higher purpose that would somehow miraculously intervene. As a man of the Chantry I was somewhat surprised by Cullen’s convictions, but as I began to see how the realm around us unravelled in bloodshed and chaos, I started to understand. Cullen knew our only hope relied on our own actions, and not the disillusioned convictions of faith. We had a weapon in our hands and we had to use it.
One Darkened Night
by Kate Cullen
lyrics written for Melbourne metal band 'The Outer', performed in the song 'One Darkened Night'
Thunder cracks as I draw near
Descending towards an eternal damnation
Yet who can bear this maddening fear
Twisted blackened trees beckon me forward
An icy fog engulfs me whole
Solemn and steady I more toward
The beginning of the end of my accursed soul
Faint whispers of those long dead
Welcome me to my demise
A darkened chamber to make my bed
Without remorse, regret or reprise
Floating down this river of blackest night
Damned and forgotten souls cry for peace
For where they dwell there is no light
In a twisted nightmare that never will cease
Thunder cracks as I draw near
Descending to eternal damnation
Yet who can bear this maddening fear
Twisted blackened trees beckon me forward
An icy fog engulfs me whole
Solemn and steady I more toward
The beginning of the end of my accursed soul
Faint whispers of those long dead
Welcome me to my demise
A darkened chamber to make my bed
Without remorse, regret or reprise
Floating down this river of blackest night
Damned and forgotten souls cry for peace
For where they dwell there is no light
In a twisted nightmare that never will cease
Mirrored images in a parlour of stone
Echoes a kingly pale white face
A shattered crown lies all alone
The beating heart quickens its maddening pace
Reality transcends into mere imagination
I Will Always Come Back
by Kate Cullen
Authors note: This short story was written in late March 2015 for a friend who was composing a song and wanted a story to go along with it. Suiting the style of medieval chivalrous romance genre of the High Middle Ages of Early Modern Europe, it is a short story regarding a knight, Sir Dante, having to leave his love and go to battle to fight the evil king, King Elias Bane in the lands of Afton Vale.
I Will Always Come Back
My love, I leave you, for I must
Of sword and dagger, I put my trust
It pains me now to say goodbye
No more tears have I to cry
For battle is where I to and fro
Along the Summer Trail, a knight shall go
To fight the evil king Elias Bane
Whose hatred causes death and pain
We march under a banner of blue and white
For our ruler, King Valagant, we do fight
For valour and honour, we do live
Within our hearts, our lives, we give
Promise me, my love, that you’ll be safe
When I am fighting, never lose faith
For all the time together we lack
Know in my heart, I will always come back
A soft echo, a mere memory of a summer breeze, blew his loose black hair gently across his brow as he stood in the open burnt amber fields of his home. The steel plate armour of his Order shone brilliantly in the autumn afternoon sun, from cuirass, gauntlets, faulds and greaves, to pauldrons, cuisses, tassets and poleyns. The blue and white royal emblem of a dragon guarded his breast, and a silver longsword remained sheathed at his side. Sir Dante was ready to depart for the battle of the north. It was time.
A knight did not fear war, nor fighting, nor even death. Pure was his heart, gallant and true, dedicated to his Order. When King Elias Bane’s hand of evil was outstretched across the lands, sweeping chaos and destruction, King Valagant had called upon his army to battle, and Sir Dante was honour bound to take up his blade and serve his ruler. A knight of the Order of the White Dragon, Sir Dante did not fear his duty. He did, however, fear one thing...
‘I fear of being taken from you, my sweet Lilliene.’ he whispered as his dark eyes bore into her light blue gaze, cupping her porcelain cheek with his hand as the sun began to fall behind the blazing oak and ash trees ‘To never hold the sparkling gaze of your sky blue eyes, or touch your tumbling locks of golden sunlight. To think that you would wake up for the rest of your days alone in a cold bed without me by your side, never to hold you and comfort you until we are both old, and the lines of our skin reflect the plethora of happy years we had spent together. If nothing else, I fear that….'
Dante’s voice broke off as he held his love.
Lilliene silenced his worries with one single kiss, her lips warm and soft against his. He knew that she was just afraid at what might be, but she refused to worry him further by adding to his fearful sentiments.
Broken shards of light fell across the plains as he turned to fasten his pack, and he knew it was time. Time to leave his home, and all that he held most dear. Time to leave the sweet meadows full of maize, millet and rye, and travel along the Summer Trail north to the battle ground of Afton Vale. It was time to leave his sweetheart. His love. His life. Would they ever see each other again?
With tears welling in her eyes, they embraced one last time before Dante mounted his black steed, and Lilliene reached up to grasp his hand tight. It was the same hand that had held his when they were wed years before, in the very same meadow they now stood, on a sunny spring morn, a simple rope of knotted white and green tied around their palms, binding their love forever.
Lilliene threw him a sad smile, knowing Dante was a warrior, a knight that was honour bound to defend the king’s lands, but there was sweet sorrow in his righteous duties that they both lamented in when there was nothing else to be done. When they were forced to leave one another, and say goodbye one last time.
‘You are my love for now and forever,’ she whispered to Dante ‘and whatever the fates befall us I am yours forever.’
‘I will always come back.’ he prmoised her softly, his black eyes holding her blue stare with determination.
The knight’s fingers let go of her hand, and it tore his heart to feel her palm fall from his as his horse began to trot away, their eyes never breaking as he pressed forward until he had no choice but to turn ahead on the path that now befell him.
I will always come back
Down the twisting, rocky path through the tumbling grey slate shard hills of the Summer Trail marched an army heading north. With freshly sharpened steel, a league of five hundred men and women slowly and steadily moved forward, flying blue banners with a white dragon, King Valagant’s royal emblem.
Hundreds of fresh pieces of armour and weapons had been forged while knights, cavalry, foot soldiers, infantry, mercenaries and archers had tirelessly trained for this very moment. The warriors were hardened to fight effectively, carrying their cuirass and chainmail heavily on their backs wherever they went. A seasoned warrior himself, Dante knew that success did not merely rely on the numbers of soldiers, nor the courage they held in their hearts, but through skill, discipline and endurance.
The soldiers rode out to meet the enemy on the neighbouring lands, whose borders dwelt in the shadowy mountainside of Afton Vale. King Elias Bane was the ruler of those lands, and he had continued to overthrow more and more of the lands of their king, King Valagant, ransacking villages and murdering their kin. Now it was time to reclaim their lands and avenge their dead. It was time.
Riding a magnificent white mare suited in silver full plate armour etched with gold, King Valagant rode at the front of the column of companies. His presence at the head of the march lifted the morale of the soldiers as they followed their king into battle. A trail of blonde hair fell long over the royal sky blue cloak that fluttered from his shoulders, as he rode forward against the warm wind of the evening.
Five hundred soldiers united from across the lands, Dante rode with his fellow knights, The Order of the Dragon by his side. Valiant and true, they rode through the night, slowly but surely, warriors of the silver moonlight, flickering shadows between the trees, their lanterns and torches burning brightly, and at day break their shining plate armour blazed in the morning sun as furious as the courage burning in their hearts.
Upon reaching Afton Vale, the bluestone castle of Elias Bane overlooked the battlefield, looming ominously from the top of the mountain. King Valagant called out and the army stopped. The look in each soldier’s eyes held the same, of unyielding courage and determination, standing on the edge of the battle field. They were at the edge of their destiny, and they were ready to face it and seal their fate, once and for all.
King Valagant stood behind his army, a silver crown upon his head of two dragons entwined, and a blue and white dragon on the breast of his gold plate armour. With a sword pointing onwards, he addresses his army.
‘Men and women of the lands of free,’ Valagant roars ‘we stand here to fight the evil that has taken the lives of our people. Taken our lands. We fight for those we love, and we fight for those who love us. Let us make our enemies rue the day they ever crossed our path!’
The soldiers cheer with enthusiasm, and the low hum of the horns of battle sound in applause, before quieting down once more. The battle is upon them and they can feel the creeping fingers of death lingering near, it’s icy grasp drawing shivers on their skin. The cold air is crisp as the warriors wait in the fog of the battleground, in swirling grey plumes…….it is time.
Suddenly the cold fable fog of dawn lifts, the curtain to the theatre of their doom rises, and they find themselves facing hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers. It is the army of King Elias Bane, weapons ready and waiting with blood thirst in their eyes, the banners of a black wolf held high. Horns sound and a flurry of legs begin to shake the ground as they rush towards Dante and his comrades. The battle has begun.
The sound of weapons clash and horses pound the ground, the galloping hoofs tremoring the land, and the smell of blood, cold steel, sweat and fear lay thick in the air. What evil has drawn them to this field, where only death can prevail? Yet this cannot be, and Dante will not let it be. With a courageous heart the knight rides hard into the thick of the fight, sword drawn in the frost of the morning as his grasps his reigns tight. Cold sweat beads on his brow as he presses forward, ready to strike, and strike hard.
Blade outstretched, he gallops into the heat of the battle, narrowly dodging an iron arrow heading for his shoulder, and the blood curdled war cries of a northern warrior echo before him. Black eyes drawn forward, Dante holds his sword fast as the wild eyed soldier swings his weapon up at the knight. Dante backs inches away from the triple headed flail, holding fast to his saddle, and narrowly misses the swarm of angry heads threatening to bludgeon and crack his armour and bones.
The trebuchet fires before him, the God’s stone thrower aiming for his people, and the field is ravaged with an earth shuddering boulder, flung towards his men, knocking them backwards as it sinks deep into the ground. Bloodied and wounded, soldiers scream out in pain and agony, and the once soft brown ground covered in green moss, and leaves now soaks deep with red, as red as the wine of the God of Death. For it is he who celebrates on this field today, as men from both sides fall. They are his guests and he is a host that does not wish anyone to part from this feast.
Golden crown adorned and wild red hair ablaze, like dancing flames, a king charges forward on a brilliant cream horse. It is King Elias Bane. With a pounding heart Dante knows what he has to do. Digging in his heels he charges forward, his black steed bolting towards the evil king. Their swords meet, and the sting of the force of their blades throbs in his hand but Dante holds fast and true to his cause, turning his horse to face his enemy once more.
Drawing back to each other’s gaze, the knight and the king charge once more, drawing closer and closer in a flurry of hooves. Their swords clash again, only this time the blade of Elias bounces off Dante’s sword and comes down hard against his shoulder, forcing the knight to fall from his steed and onto the ground. The air escapes his lungs as Dante hits the ground hard, searing white pain soaring through his shoulder. In the furious haze of battle Dante’s eyes dart around to see the enemy king approach him on horseback, sword at the ready and blood on his mind, a crimson speckled coat on his face.
Heart racing, Dante feels for his sword but it is nowhere to be found, having escaped him when he fell. Closer and closer the king approaches and Dante remains isolated and weaponless. As the king lunges towards him, Dante raises his gauntlet to protect himself from the unforgiving blow from up above, the blade sliding up the metal cuff and cutting deep into his unprotected hand. The knight falls to the ground, clutching his wounded hand, the same hand that held his beloved Lilliene during their last goodbye….
I will always come back….
His deep black eyes fixate on the king and with blood pouring from his hand, and determination in his heart, Dante raises to his unsteady feet. Ignoring the blinding pain, he withdraws a dagger from his calf sheath attached to his right greave, rushing the short blade out in front of him towards an exposed part of the king’s upper thigh. It pierces his enemy’s flesh and the king cries out, losing his balance on his mighty cream horse, falling to the ground.
Red faced and furious, Elias rises to meet the knight, swinging his blade against Dante’s armour in blinding rage. The steel pounds against his breast plate with a deafening clang, and pushes the knight back with brutal force. The knight knows his life is but a chance now, but he must fight and he will not give up until his last breath evades him. In a final act of hope, Dante draws a deep breath before lunging forward again, pressing himself against the king, this time securing his small blade into his enemy’s neck.
Songs of red terror and a maddening waltz of crimson fill his mind as King Elias Bane reels back in horror, the mortal wound reducing him to gasps on his knees. A silent blanket covers the field, hundreds of eyes turning to see what Sir Dante has done, suddenly aware of what cannot be undone.
Dante reaches to the ground, dark eyes fixed and hard on the man before him, and he draws the blade of his enemy, before standing once more. With both hands wrapped tight, knuckles white around the hilt of the ornate bastard sword, Dante runs him through and the final breath evades the evil king. The battle has been won. Elias Bane has been defeated.
Six crows fly off from the trees overhead, the emerald sheen of their blackened wings flap heavily in the early morning, soaring over the oak trees south towards Dante’s home. His eyes dart towards them and a sigh releases from his lips….
I will always come back…..
Drenched In Eternity Of Blushing Red
by Kate Cullen
written for Melbourne metal band Athenor,
performed in the song 'Drenched in Eternity of Blushing Red'
Drenched in eternity of blushing red
Violet plumes of smoke, fill my head
Intoxication beckons near
As shadows engulf my nocturnal fear
A broken sword lies down beneath
An empty heart, a broken sheath
Shattered glass like broken tears
Brings to life your wildest fears
Burning stakes of sunset flame
Echoes screams of tortured blame
They cannot save themselves from lies
Blood pouring from the heavenly skies
Taste the body, taste the bread
Place a thorn upon your head
Forget forgiveness, it has no place
In the haunted spirits face
Frozen streams of silver frost
Keep the evil bound and lost
Yet beams of sunlight from the day
Start to melt the ice away
Her frozen gaze turns to haze
Nameless riddles in a maze
To place a kiss upon her head
Transforms the living, to the dead
They see them here, they see them there
In velvets, lace and red affairs
Their tinted lips of crimson wine
Of standstill dreams in a gilded line
Haunted Soul
by Kate Cullen
written for Melbourne metal band 'Athenor'
performed in the song "Haunted Soul'
Where did you go? I never know
Falling through my fingers, I couldn’t grow
Your whispering soul and haunted beat
Left me to fall beneath your feet
Under the moon in it’s faded phase
Crimson wine laps in a daze
Aloft, afloat I can’t go on
Alone to muse an unheard song
I search for you but you’re not there
You never find me, you never care
So still I haunt this darkened place
Away from hope, close to disgrace
We the lost will never be saved
Left to wallow and then to fade
For those who pierce our hearts have fled
Leaving our souls to bleed out red
There’s no more time for you and me
I cannot see, we cannot be
The years go by, you never come
As all my dreams become undone
The touch of your lips echoes my past
A faded smile, an blackened heart
All the words you spoke so clear
Are mixed and blurred in blinded fear
Dreams that decay each time I sleep
When all I dare to do is weep
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