War of the Houses
This is a story that happened in the Harry Potter Universe roughly 900B.C. All spelling errors in speech are intentional and should be read as such. Also, this story is written in AMERICAN English with the exception of armour. If you wish to judge based on British English, I suggest reading a different story. However, if you are Scottish and wish to help me with my suede accent for Godric(whom is Scottish) that would be wonderful.
"Highreh, my armour!" Godric boomed as he stood in his tent, a large golden goblet in one hand and his red, disheveled hair dropped about his broad shoulders. As he brought the goblet towards his mouth for a drink, a small elf suddenly evaporated holding a brilliantly wrought set of golden armour. Startled, Godric accidentally released his goblet, causing wine to go flying all over his great beard and undergarments. Highreh quickly put down the armour and grabbed a towel from atop a dresser to his right before moving in to clean up the mess all while mumbling "Srry, Highreh is so srry sir. Dn't mean to startle sir." Godric, drenched in wine, glared at the elf with his piercing green eyes before bursting out into laughter. Puzzled and still attempting to clean up the mess Highreh muttered "So srry sir, would you like Highreh to git a new set of unders sir?"
"No, of course not. Why in the hell would you suggest such a thing! I have a duel to be gettin to. Now where is my armour?!" bellowed Godric looking around the tent, the spilled wine completely forgotten. "Ahh, there it is. Now would you stop tryin to clean this and help me ino it already?"
"Course, sir" Highreh squeaked as he quickly dropped the rag he was frantically mopping the floor with and scrambled towards the golden cuirass lying on the floor. After a few minutes of buckling and vainly attempting to tighten straps, Highreh was able to get Godric into his armour.
"Aye! Now where is that blasted sword, I swer it has a mind of its own." With that, the empty scabbard at Godric's hip filled with a perfectly fashioned silver sword adorned with a massive ruby.
"Sometimes I think that wee Ragnuk was secretly cursin me when he gave me this wretched thing. What use is a sword that can never decide were exactly it wants to be?" thundered Godric as he grabbed the flask of wine at his bedside and lumbered towards the door. "Hurry up Highreh, I won't be late for a duel."
"Course sir, o course. You forgottin your wand sir."
"Well I suppose I'll be needin that. Thinks might get a little crafty" Godric grabbed the wand and, amused by his own joke, began to laugh as he ducked outside the tent. Highreh grabbed the towel and went back to cleaning up the spilt wine.
As Godric exited his tent, a soldier whom had been standing guard for the majority of the dreary morning fell into a solute, his clenched fist coming up to his heart. He was covered in rustic iron plating, full on dents and scratches, and a pair of worn leather boots. His black cape, which bellowed behind him in the bone chilling wind, was discolored and shoddy. His lower half was covered in a dark mud that seemed to be working its way into his boots. The only clean thing about his attire was a wooden shield which had been immaculately painted with the Gryffindor coat of arms.
"Calm dwn there boy. What ar you so worked up about."
"The French sir, they are just across the valley" the soldier responded, pointing to a massive grouping of tents far out in the distance.
"Aye, and theve been there for four days and will stay there till we're good n ready to attack. Those Frogs don't have two wizards to rub together. Now, who r ya boy and where is Bartemius?"
"He is ill sir, I have been sent to escort you to your duel."
"Ha! That man could never hold his drink. Now I see you are bearin my insigna, what family are you from?"
"Weasely sir."
"Figred as much, your Irish blood showin" responded Godric, indicating to a red strand of hair that had escaped the soldiers helmet. "and that armour is ridiculous. Why don't ya fix it eh? I can't be goin to a duel with you lookin like that."
"I….can't sir."
"Well why in the hell not!? Oh…." Godric, suddenly quieting and moving in close to the soldier whispered "You a muggle?"
"No, of course not sir" responded the soldier, startled by the statement.
"Then what is the problem, fix your darn armour and come with me!" boomed Godric as he shoved through the soldier and down the hill that his tent was situated on.
"I don't have a wand sir" admitted the soldier as he jogged to catch up with the lumbering Godric.
"Yer becoming more of a hindrance than yer worth Weasley" said Godric as he suddenly spun around and drew his wand. A stream of blue magic burst forth from its tip hitting the soldier in his chest. The dings and scratches of the armour began to vanish as it was polished to sheen. His previously shoddy cape grew outwards and turned a midnight black color. Even his helmet was set aright as it tightened around his head to the appropriate size. As the blue light faded, the only thing that remained of the Weasely's former appearance was the mud that was stubbornly sticking to his pants and boots.
"That's better, aint it boy. Srry bout the mud, I never could get that spell right. Now we have a duel to be gettin to" finished Godric as he once again went lumbering down the hill.
….