Things have been quite busy for me lately. I've been learning the PDF spec for a project act work that's coming up. The project I have been on is producing PPML files to automate the printing process. It's a boatload of fun and quite interesting. Don't worry, not many people find it interesting, which is all the better for me. :)
Anywho, I've been getting questions about how my story is coming along. I haven't done anything with it recently (over a month), and the reason for that is that I've been busy. Getting an hour to sit and write where I don't feel like there's something else I'd rather be doing (to the point of distracting me from writing) is a bit of a rarity right now. I'm just not that well of a disciplined writer, so writing goes by the wayside. Also, I haven't been feeling the itch to write so much lately. Maybe it's because I'm quite interested in work.
Unfortunately, Marchan's horse decided it didn't like the dark water and stopped. He urged it again and it spooked, reared dumping Marchan on the ground, and bolted. Trevor turned his horse and followed Marchan's until it settled and he was able to catch it and return with it. As this was happening, Canod had reached the middle of the stream, when suddenly they heard a loud noise of water rushing and Canod urged his horse on. The river suddenly swelled and rose. Marchan had never learned to swim and so balled himself up against the rushing water as it came through the grass to him. He tried to hold his breath and felt the water roll him over and over again. He was just reaching breaking point with holding his breath when the water stopped and was gone. He lay on the wet grass, panting. He heard horses and men coming through the grass. He rolled to see them and discovered it was not Trevor and Canod. Any thought of fleeing evaporated as he jerked and discovered new pains all over himself. The men came up to him and one held a sword at Marchan's neck as another tied him up.
Marchan soon found himself carried through the wet grass, back upstream to the ford. He didn't know who had captured him, nor why. He didn't much care as he was in too much pain to care about it. His carriers put him down on the road and others were bringing Trevor and the two horses down the road. Apparently he had been far enough away. By this time, it was getting rather dark, though Marchan could see everyone, each one glowing as if by his own light. He looked around as best he could without hurting himself, but he could not see Canod.
'Who are you?' asked Trevor, 'And where are my friends?'
A man near him hit him, but another spoke as if with authority. 'Light the torches. Perhaps the other one will come to the light.' Marchan had trouble understanding the man as he seemed to speak very peculiarly.
Torches were lit and soon Trevor saw Marchan tied on the ground. 'What have you done to him?' Trevor exclaimed and started to run to Marchan.
'Back you!' said one and pushed Trevor down.
The leader spoke, 'He was washed away in the flood of water. Don't worry, he'll be fine, as long as no one does anything rash. Now, tell us your business for being here.'
'We're just travelling through,' said Trevor. 'Our guide led us here.'
'And where are you heading?'
'The Bay of Chittay,' said Canod, as he came into the circle of light. 'I am their guide and I will answer for them.'
'Oooh, and who might you be,' said the leader of their captors mockingly.
'Oh, no one at all, I assure you,' said Canod, 'but these are guests of your master Roger son of Crighton of the line of Gordon. You would not want your master to think you were mistreating his guests, nor their servants.'
'Ehh, now why din' ya say so,' said another of the ruffians, his accent was worse than the earlier speaker's.
After a bit more talk, of which Marchan was unsure he understood any, they were mounted on their horses and led across the ford and upstream to a tower. Inside the tower they found a large room with a roaring fire and a large supper.
And there's a little bone to keep you coming back for more.
February has gone by quite quickly. We've been running around trying to keep up to our busy schedule. Not that's it's too busy. But breaks are nice from time to time. A week and some ago we spent the weekend away, but even that got a little stressful for a while as we had gone to a B&B that didn't have space for us on the Saturday night. We had to find a new place for Saturday night. We went to one place and found it a little bit not like what we wanted. We then looked around and found another place which was just beautiful. It was a Victorian era home (which in Southwestern Ontario is saying it's old). Each room was furnished beautifully and the common areas were wonderful. High ceilings were throughout the guest areas.
Anyway, I'm sure you came to read some story.
The fire made Marchan realise he was cold and he started to shiver. The ropes tying him started to chafe his arms and legs as his shivering caused them to rub. The Lord of the Tower saw the new comers from his dias.
'Whataya there, Duncan?' he called out.
'Trespassers, M'Lord,' replied the leader of their captors.
'Guests of Roger son of Crighton!' called out Canod.
'Well which is it?' called a jester by the wall. 'Indeed,' he continued, 'if they be trespassers, that implies they be unwelcome, but if guests welcome is as welcome does.'
Marchan was surprised to discover that he understood the jester perfectly. Almost everyone else when making so long a speech was almost completely unintelligible. He pondered that as a debate arose around them between Canod and the captors, much to the amusement of the Lord of the Hall and his companions. The debate finally ended when the Lord of the Hall turned to Canod and said something that Marchan later understood to mean that Roger son of Crighton was in the gaol below the tower and Canod and friends would join him if they wished to be his guests.
Canod considered this news for a second and annouced, 'For myself, I do wish to be the Lord Roger's guest. I am fond of him and he was kind to me the last I was here. Unfortunately, I am also responsible for those I am guiding that I teach give them the best they can get.'
The Lord of the Hall considered this and said something which Marchan later heard translated as 'You are a poor guide to lead your charges into as simple a trap as we have let upon you. But you have not been here recently if you think Roger is still Lord here. I am Lord here. You I will put in with Roger and your charges will be my guests.'
Canod was led away. As he left he called over his shoulder not to worry and that everything would be fine soon enough.
Now Marchan and Trevor were alone with people whom they could not understand. The whole interaction had been from beginning to end (aside from the Jester's words) a confusion of strange words. One of their captor's men came and started talking to them, but they could not understand and after some attempts at comprehension, both sides fell silent. Marchan and Trevor were put in a corner with a guard, untied and given food and water. As they looked they saw about the room signs that a good man had lived there. The walls were painted with beautiful and uplifting scenes, some of them Marchan recognised from stories his mother had told him. Some of the most beautiful and uplifting had been hacked with knives and blunt objects. On some were splashed rotting foodstuffs. The new residents of the Hall cared very little for their new house.
After a while, the jester came near them and capered a bit for their guard. By this time the feasting had quieted down and most of the feasters were starting to retire or find places on the floor to bed down. The jester did a twirl and suddenly had a small tube in his mouth. He blew through it and their guard started to sink down like he had fallen asleep.
The jester came over and held the guard so he still looked alert, then spoke in low tones to the travellers.
'You are from Turrisple, no doubt? I recognise your speech, for I once spoke it myself, and still do from time to time to amuse. It is very strange to the ears of those who live here and they find it funny. I love my Lord Roger and desire greatly to free him and I think with two warriors such as yourselves we can, if you are willing. Your friend well describes my Lord Roger when he says he was kind. He is kind to all. And that proved his downfall. The ruffians took advantage of his kindness to them and locked him up. Some few of his servants are still at the ready, but we are not warriors. Alas, the warriors they killed or trapped.'
After over an hour of hearing only a strange tongue the familiar speech of the jester was quite refreshing, but its content disturbed them.
Alas, I must now start work. I'll have to see if I can write some more soon.
Story
by alan on Sun 4th Feb 2007 4:05AM
Things have been quite busy for me lately. I've been learning the PDF spec for a project act work that's coming up. The project I have been on is producing PPML files to automate the printing process. It's a boatload of fun and quite interesting. Don't worry, not many people find it interesting, which is all the better for me. :)
Anywho, I've been getting questions about how my story is coming along. I haven't done anything with it recently (over a month), and the reason for that is that I've been busy. Getting an hour to sit and write where I don't feel like there's something else I'd rather be doing (to the point of distracting me from writing) is a bit of a rarity right now. I'm just not that well of a disciplined writer, so writing goes by the wayside. Also, I haven't been feeling the itch to write so much lately. Maybe it's because I'm quite interested in work.
Unfortunately, Marchan's horse decided it didn't like the dark water and stopped. He urged it again and it spooked, reared dumping Marchan on the ground, and bolted. Trevor turned his horse and followed Marchan's until it settled and he was able to catch it and return with it. As this was happening, Canod had reached the middle of the stream, when suddenly they heard a loud noise of water rushing and Canod urged his horse on. The river suddenly swelled and rose. Marchan had never learned to swim and so balled himself up against the rushing water as it came through the grass to him. He tried to hold his breath and felt the water roll him over and over again. He was just reaching breaking point with holding his breath when the water stopped and was gone. He lay on the wet grass, panting. He heard horses and men coming through the grass. He rolled to see them and discovered it was not Trevor and Canod. Any thought of fleeing evaporated as he jerked and discovered new pains all over himself. The men came up to him and one held a sword at Marchan's neck as another tied him up.
Marchan soon found himself carried through the wet grass, back upstream to the ford. He didn't know who had captured him, nor why. He didn't much care as he was in too much pain to care about it. His carriers put him down on the road and others were bringing Trevor and the two horses down the road. Apparently he had been far enough away. By this time, it was getting rather dark, though Marchan could see everyone, each one glowing as if by his own light. He looked around as best he could without hurting himself, but he could not see Canod.
'Who are you?' asked Trevor, 'And where are my friends?'
A man near him hit him, but another spoke as if with authority. 'Light the torches. Perhaps the other one will come to the light.' Marchan had trouble understanding the man as he seemed to speak very peculiarly.
Torches were lit and soon Trevor saw Marchan tied on the ground. 'What have you done to him?' Trevor exclaimed and started to run to Marchan.
'Back you!' said one and pushed Trevor down.
The leader spoke, 'He was washed away in the flood of water. Don't worry, he'll be fine, as long as no one does anything rash. Now, tell us your business for being here.'
'We're just travelling through,' said Trevor. 'Our guide led us here.'
'And where are you heading?'
'The Bay of Chittay,' said Canod, as he came into the circle of light. 'I am their guide and I will answer for them.'
'Oooh, and who might you be,' said the leader of their captors mockingly.
'Oh, no one at all, I assure you,' said Canod, 'but these are guests of your master Roger son of Crighton of the line of Gordon. You would not want your master to think you were mistreating his guests, nor their servants.'
'Ehh, now why din' ya say so,' said another of the ruffians, his accent was worse than the earlier speaker's.
'Ehh, Ah jus' deed.' said Canod. 'Ah wa' washt'way bah th' wat' 'n' jus' go' ba'.'
After a bit more talk, of which Marchan was unsure he understood any, they were mounted on their horses and led across the ford and upstream to a tower. Inside the tower they found a large room with a roaring fire and a large supper.
And there's a little bone to keep you coming back for more.
Crying game
by alan on Tue 27th Feb 2007 11:55PM
February has gone by quite quickly. We've been running around trying to keep up to our busy schedule. Not that's it's too busy. But breaks are nice from time to time. A week and some ago we spent the weekend away, but even that got a little stressful for a while as we had gone to a B&B that didn't have space for us on the Saturday night. We had to find a new place for Saturday night. We went to one place and found it a little bit not like what we wanted. We then looked around and found another place which was just beautiful. It was a Victorian era home (which in Southwestern Ontario is saying it's old). Each room was furnished beautifully and the common areas were wonderful. High ceilings were throughout the guest areas.
Anyway, I'm sure you came to read some story.
The fire made Marchan realise he was cold and he started to shiver. The ropes tying him started to chafe his arms and legs as his shivering caused them to rub. The Lord of the Tower saw the new comers from his dias.
'Whataya there, Duncan?' he called out.
'Trespassers, M'Lord,' replied the leader of their captors.
'Guests of Roger son of Crighton!' called out Canod.
'Well which is it?' called a jester by the wall. 'Indeed,' he continued, 'if they be trespassers, that implies they be unwelcome, but if guests welcome is as welcome does.'
Marchan was surprised to discover that he understood the jester perfectly. Almost everyone else when making so long a speech was almost completely unintelligible. He pondered that as a debate arose around them between Canod and the captors, much to the amusement of the Lord of the Hall and his companions. The debate finally ended when the Lord of the Hall turned to Canod and said something that Marchan later understood to mean that Roger son of Crighton was in the gaol below the tower and Canod and friends would join him if they wished to be his guests.
Canod considered this news for a second and annouced, 'For myself, I do wish to be the Lord Roger's guest. I am fond of him and he was kind to me the last I was here. Unfortunately, I am also responsible for those I am guiding that I teach give them the best they can get.'
The Lord of the Hall considered this and said something which Marchan later heard translated as 'You are a poor guide to lead your charges into as simple a trap as we have let upon you. But you have not been here recently if you think Roger is still Lord here. I am Lord here. You I will put in with Roger and your charges will be my guests.'
Canod was led away. As he left he called over his shoulder not to worry and that everything would be fine soon enough.
Now Marchan and Trevor were alone with people whom they could not understand. The whole interaction had been from beginning to end (aside from the Jester's words) a confusion of strange words. One of their captor's men came and started talking to them, but they could not understand and after some attempts at comprehension, both sides fell silent. Marchan and Trevor were put in a corner with a guard, untied and given food and water. As they looked they saw about the room signs that a good man had lived there. The walls were painted with beautiful and uplifting scenes, some of them Marchan recognised from stories his mother had told him. Some of the most beautiful and uplifting had been hacked with knives and blunt objects. On some were splashed rotting foodstuffs. The new residents of the Hall cared very little for their new house.
After a while, the jester came near them and capered a bit for their guard. By this time the feasting had quieted down and most of the feasters were starting to retire or find places on the floor to bed down. The jester did a twirl and suddenly had a small tube in his mouth. He blew through it and their guard started to sink down like he had fallen asleep.
The jester came over and held the guard so he still looked alert, then spoke in low tones to the travellers.
'You are from Turrisple, no doubt? I recognise your speech, for I once spoke it myself, and still do from time to time to amuse. It is very strange to the ears of those who live here and they find it funny. I love my Lord Roger and desire greatly to free him and I think with two warriors such as yourselves we can, if you are willing. Your friend well describes my Lord Roger when he says he was kind. He is kind to all. And that proved his downfall. The ruffians took advantage of his kindness to them and locked him up. Some few of his servants are still at the ready, but we are not warriors. Alas, the warriors they killed or trapped.'
After over an hour of hearing only a strange tongue the familiar speech of the jester was quite refreshing, but its content disturbed them.
Alas, I must now start work. I'll have to see if I can write some more soon.