The landscape of Devon is that of beautiful rolling countryside, the fields and moors scattered with wildflowers and boulders which perched atop of the crest of the hills which rolled across the land like monstrous waves, carrying the grasses ad flowers along in its flow. The sky was most often a clear blue while birds such as finches and larks danced about the sky, their wings reaching out to the rays of the sun which gazed down upon a beaten track.
Cheering and the dulcet tones of many men could be heard as they rode in rows of five or six along the beaten track, fresh from the victory of battle that ravaged their lands from plunderers and marauders. Their chest plates glinted in the evening sun and their armour creaked with the steady rocking of the mighty stallions, their weary hooves finally sensing familiar land that they could call home. It had been an overwhelming victory for the town and one that many men felt they owed to one man in particular, Godric Gryffindor.
He was the swordsman of the town; often teaching the young ones how to yield their weapon with deadly accuracy and skills, it was he who would be called to lead a battalion of men to a victory yet at this battle he had really earned his reputation. Faced with larger crowds it was his quick thinking and what many believed an amazing stroke of luck that got him and his men from a peril that should really have resulted in the death of many, what they didn't know was that a branch of enchanted wood lay under his travelling cloak and it had aided them all into victory and one of the toughest reputations in England. Very few people ever challenged the town, when they did they brought as many people as they could possibly muster, often outnumbering the town two to one.
So they marched along the beaten track, their banner raised high and trumpets sounded as the great Godric Gryffindor marched his men home.
Later that night the local pub was bursting at the seams from the news of their victory, pint after pint was pushed in front of Godric as he recounted again and again his remarkable defeat, with every new pint came a more miraculous story as the pub cheered and laughed along with him. Many backs were clapped and the village pushed and shoved to hear the story from the words of what they thought was a mighty warrior, his sword tucked into his belt at his side as it always had done.
Drink after drink was guzzled by Godric, his face getting redder and redder as pint after pint was downed, his voice booming louder and louder as he got ever dizzier. After re-telling his story for what must have been the hundredth time he pulled his wand from his robes, brandishing it before him, bellowing uproariously.
"AND THEN I CURSED 'IM! LIKE THA' AN' THA'" he roared, poking the nearest bloke to him when his clothes caught light.
Everyone in the pub silenced, their eyes on Godric who was busy poking everything with his wand and consequently setting it alight, they edged away slightly quite unable to take in what their war hero was doing as he looked at the all with glee upon his face. "Do you know what I did to him then?" he asked looking quite out of his mind. Nobody answered, it seemed that every individual was trying to find the words to say but failing as the bloke next to Godric desperately tried to put himself out. "I DID THIS!" Godric bellowed. "STUPEFY!"
The man on fire fell to the floor with a resounding thud which sent up a little dust cloud, some of the flame extinguished yet he remained smouldering quite still upon the floor. The pub goers, however drunk were now looking at Godric in terror, starting to whisper between themselves. The sulky knights that had been sitting in the corner feeling under appreciated were toying with their sword hilts, tense and alert.
"WHA?" asked Godric quite dumbfounded and completely drunk out of his mind, swaying dangerously towards the crowd, some of which were backing towards the door. "Wha? You never seen magic before?" Godric asked with a goofy smile.
It was what everyone in the room had been silently waiting to confirm most of them had doubts and put it to their drinking but it had come from the man's mouth, many of them ran from the pub yelling at the top of their voices alerting the whole town to the presence of magic. Others squared up to the man who had just saved them all from a terrible defeat while the knights drew their swords and advanced upon the drunken wizard who was armed with both a sword and a wand quite unaware of having given away his secret to the whole town. The landlord hastily retreated into a back room away from the fight that was sure to come; many of the stragglers did the same, hiding behind anywhere that they could.
It was twelve against one, nine soldiers and three town folk, one of them quite as drunk as Godric himself. Their weaponry was still dirtied and bloodied from battle, their wounds still causing them pain as they advanced upon Godric who seemed to have realised a little of what they intended, there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he stumbled back away from the drawn blades before realising that he had one too. Drawing it from its sheath he plunged into the group of men intent on attack, lunging and parrying as his blade sought to defend him while his wand sought to disarm them or stun. Jets of light shot about the pub from the end of hi wand, as he cast all manner of spells to defend himself. Metal clanged against metal as they fought against each other for the first time, one soldier lay stunned upon the floor, and another had lost his sword. A stray stunning spell smashed a great casket of water, soaking them all as they slipped across the flood, the deluge brought Godric back to some of his senses and he fought harder and harder, trying to head towards the door.
Two of the soldiers worked together, trying their best to push him back, back against one of the corners as the great wizards sought desperately to escape without killing them. They managed to back him up against one of the structural beams where they were aided by some of the others who had not been claimed by a stunning spell. It was like some great, bloody dance as they all sought to avoid one another. Godric, now somewhat aware of his situation took a great lunge at one of the knights with his sword, swinging about so as to avoid another, the blade came in contact with the structural beam. With an almighty creak it started to splinter as Godric tried frantically to pull the blade free as the others sunk into his flesh. The sound of splintering wood filled his ears as the blade came free and the beam snapped in the middle, in an almighty deluge of dust, wood and rubble the ceiling collapsed, bringing in most of the building with it.
Coughing and spluttering Godric pushed an overhead beam off of himself with an almighty heave, battered and bruised he was dazed and confused. Throwing back his head and shaking himself slightly into his senses as the screams of the locals reverberated through his head. He heaved himself from the debris, not even sure of what he was doing but knowing that he had to run, that those yells did not mean anything good.
So Godric Gryffindor ran, his sword broken in the rubble of the pub, his wand still tightly clenched in his hand as his robes billowed out behind him, melting into the darkness, screams of horror ringing in his ears.