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| Stories from Danilonius' world | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 17 2007, 10:13 PM (284 Views) | |
| Danilonius | Aug 17 2007, 10:13 PM Post #1 |
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Brackenwood Newbie
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I have the intention of introducing you to a little world that is developing in my mind through a bunch of stories. First out will be an excerpt from the diary of a survivor of the Empire's ill fated second expedition to the Northlands. And if you find some things confusing, blurred, unfinished or unclear, that is precisely how I feel too... so be patient (suggestions etc are of course always welcome) and maybe we'll be able to understand in the future. Marcus Torrei’s diary – Day 3 after the disaster The sound of voices awakened me. I opened my eyes and realised it was still dark. Damned, I thought, what on earth is the point of talking loudly in the middle of the night? But as the men – their deep, dark voices ruled out any possibility of it being women or children – continued speaking, I to my surprise found the words to be anything but familiar. Then it occurred to me. I was not at home, on the plains of Bir, but stranded in the Northlands, among savage heathens. Just as I had put some clothes on, one of said heathens entered the room. ‘Hah,’ he said, from behind his long and curly beard. ‘Duh kann ikj gå utr såan, freunth fa ofir vatngapj.’ I recognised the last part as the name they called me, and realised that the start was similar to friend, just like their word for the sun – Sohn – was close to our own. So they think of me as a friend of kings, I thought. Well, that’s a start at least. Then, to my surprise, the man – who for the record was a big man, with strong arms, a wide chest and sharp, blue eyes – started binding up my clothes, making them stick close to my skin, before throwing even more clothes in my hands. He put his large and rough hands to his sides, put a grin across his face and nodded. I put these clothes – they seemed exactly like the skin of the cow-like creatures they herded, and considering their brutality it wouldn’t surprise me if it indeed was coast of pure animal skin – on too, and the man’s smile widened. He put his arm around my shoulder, and led me out into the darkness. ‘Who are you,’ I muttered. The man gazed at me with questioning eyes. ‘Who are you,’ I said again, this time slower and pointed at him. He seemed to understand and laughed. ‘Ek e Olofr… Olofr Haugnirsønn, of Olifrættn,’ he explained. ‘Olofr,’ he said again and pointed at himself. ‘Good day Olofr,’ I said and continued while pointing at myself. ‘I am Marcus, Marcus Torrei.’ I then gave him my hand, but he didn’t shake it. He looked at it, seemingly puzzled as to why I had put it forward in such a manner. I pulled back the hand, deciding to overlook this rudeness as these barbarians probably didn’t know our customs. Olofr had led me out on the small plaza (I was impressed by that they actually had paved roads, which in fact seemed to be finely made, even here in a such a small village), and we were heading towards a small collection of men. The area was dimly lit by torches, the light being reflected and strengthened by the snow that covered everything but the road and some small paths to the doors of the stone hunts and cottages they live in. Like most men I’ve seen in the Northlands they worse lamellar armour made out of the silvery metal the expeditionary legionaries’ weapons had earlier found near impregnable, they had impressive war hammers and daggers (without any scabbard) in their belts, and I noticed a few intimidating halberds resting against the closest wall. Surely these heathens had mastered the art of creating and wielding tools of war, even if I was yet to see them using, or even being in possession of ranged weaponry of any sort. Olofr started talking as we approached the men. He mentioned the sun and my name several times. Mumbling spread, but most nodded, and it seemed Olofr’s word had quite some weight. I started wondering if he was an authority of sorts, as I realised he was the only one bearing a golden medallion – most of the others had a similar, in bronze. The men spoke more, and again I heard the sun being mentioned several times. This puzzled me, as according to the scarce reports of the first expedition and my own experiences, the sun rarely rose here, leaving the land in relative darkness most of the year. The men had stopped discussing and were all looking at me. I’ve never considered myself small or weak, but facing them I felt frail and puny, like a timid housecat meeting a fierce tiger. Still, I wasn’t afraid, as there was no evil in their eyes, but rather patience, curiosity and care. I felt secure and knew they would use their fearsome polearms to protect me rather than destroy me. Now, it seemed like they were waiting for something. Waiting for me? ‘Hi everyone, I’m Marcus,’ I tried, while waving. I could hear the uncertainty shining through my voice, and as they remained silent I looked down, fearing I had done something wrong. But then laugher spread across the crows and Olofr gave me a friend clap on the shoulder (friendly, but it still knocked the air out of me). He then introduced me to them. I understood those he called Ola and Ofri had to be his brothers. The others were Gonarr, Gunnarr and Eil of Markættn (I guessed that was the name of their family), Halfdan of Hafriættn (I noticed there seemed to be something special about his family, as everyone gave a sign of respect at its mention) and Einarr, Eigir and Egill of Guinessættn. Ten good men it seemed. I wondered about their feudal standing, as their armour and weapons seemed to be what only nobility could afford back home. Still, their homes and clothes were simple and I had the impression of a complete lack of courtly etiquette. ‘E duh hunger,’ the man called Eigir asked. He then rubbed his stomach, and understanding what he meant, I nodded. Smiles spread across their faces and they lead me towards the largest building. As we got closer I saw smoke rising from a hole in the roof and the smell of fried meat entered my nose. Inside, there was a long table, with room for all the men and many more. There was a fireplace to the right and the walls were covered with hides. The exception was that on the opposite side of the fire, where a great map hung. I wondered where on the map I was, but didn’t attempt to ask as everyone was getting seated. It seemed they had their own chair and before sitting down, they put the armour and furs that covered them on a pole placed to their left. I was uncertain about where to go and which chair and pole would be mine, but Olofr – as if reading my mind – invited me to sit between him and Halfdan of Hafriættn, at the end of the table, with out backs to the map. The women came with food and placed it in front of us. There were great mugs filled with something looking, smelling and tasting like ale, plates with mountains of meat of several kinds – some white meat looking like chicken or turkey or another kind of bird, big chops of dark meat I felt certain was from the same cow-like animals they made thick, warm clothes of, long fried pieces looking like whole snakes – and there was berries and nuts and even honey. I was in awe at the amazing banquet, surely worthy of a king. It blew any doubt away – certainly these men were powerful lords. I guessed Olofr was master of these lands, and that Halfdan also was very important. Maybe his family ruled vast lands? Or maybe it even was the royal family itself? For I knew they had a king. I had heard the word “kong” being mentioned. If the word itself was similar, they way it was said surely gave it away, as everything someone took it at their tongue, it was obvious they talked about a great and mighty person. But I decided to let my thoughts rest and rather put my teeth to work. After we had eaten long and well (the men of the Northlands certainly had appetite) and the women had carried the empty mugs and plates away, the brothers Einarr and Egill started discussing wildly. Not wildly as in fiercely, but rather like two men that stood for what they said and wouldn’t go back on it no matter what the other said. Finally Einarr went silent and sighed. First I believed he was giving in, but then he did something odd. He put his finger at Egill’s chest and just when Egill looked down, he quickly raised the finger and tapped his brother’s nose. How childish, I though, a kid’s game and certainly not suitable behaviour far a nobleman, but everyone laughed and Egill raised his hands as if admitting defeat, though with a smile on his face. It was exceptionally strange, as they continued to joke around in the same manner for a long time. Am I trapped in a world where boys walk with the bodies of great men, I wondered, but then my thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of chairs. I followed their example, getting up and putting my gear on (though of course, I didn’t have heavy armour like them) and walked outside. We then went around the corner of the house and found an area covered with wooden planks. It reminded me of the floor in the training hall back home, where my brother had trained countless men including myself in the art of the sword. To my surprise, it seemed this place was used for the very same thing, as after some exchange of words Eil and Ola walked to each of the side of the platting, bringing their hammers and daggers up from their belts. I remembered that everyone had held their knives with the left hand during the dinner, but now the daggers rested in the right and remembering my brother’s words (keep the lesser weapon in the off hand) I wondered if all of them were weak-handed. And then the two warriors descended upon each other, fiercely swinging their weapons while stepping in and out, combining raw power with lightning reflexes and unmatched agility. I was immediately impressed by how both weapons coordinated with the movements of their bodes, revealing that these men had trained in the art of war since a young age – probably from the age of six or seven like the knights back home – and mastered it a long time ago. I was also surprised by how similar much of their movement was to Imperial traditions. Sure, there were pauses in the fighting when neither pushed for the initiative, but especially the quick thrusts and warding movements of the daggers were as if taken straight from one of our own manuals. With a sudden strike, I thought Ola had ended it, as he landed a fierce strike with his hammer on Eil’s chest. I was shocked by the strength and feared for the latter’s health, as certainly the attack would’ve bended even the most finely made Beyic plate. He was staggered, taking a step back, but as he bent downwards he laughed and seemed to congratulate rather than whimper in pain. He then lurched forward, bringing his hammer forward in a manner closer to a thrust than a bash, but Ola parried by hitting hammerhead against hammerhead and struck with his dagger. A perfect counter-attack I though. A defence that naturally leads to offence, the weapon coming forward as a result of the body twisting to meet the attack. But just as I though the dagger would be resting at his shoulder, Eil moved so fast a cat wouldn’t have time to react and made an awkward twirl with his own dagger. In a blink Ola stood there with an empty hand, but a blade resting against his shoulder. Everyone cheered and clapped – Eil had won. And as they put their weapons back in their belts, I realised how much longer the duel had lasted compared to one fought in the empire – or anywhere on the mainland for that sake. ‘Ma-kus,’ Olofr said. Realising he was trying to say my name (though failing miserably to pronounce the r), my eyes met his. He smiled – I felt it made him very attractive… for a female bear – picked up his dagger, pointed at himself, me and then the middle of the wooden floor. ‘No,’ I tried. ‘I’m no good fighter. I would just make shame upon the Imperial masters. And… and I don’t have that impregnable armour of yours.’ Olofr looked at me as if trying to decipher a coded message. Finally he seemed to have decided he understood and barked (he managed to make it both a commanding and friendly bark) an order to Einarr. He ran of with a speed I thought impossible to achieve on snow, jumped into a nearby shack and after a few moments returned with something in his hands. Olofr’s smile broadened as Einarr handed my sword and buckler to me. Now there’s no escaping, I thought. Now I have to duel this mountain of a man. He positioned himself with his right foot forward, the dagger in a warding position above it. His hammer rested right next to his left hip. I was uncertain about what to do. I positioned myself like I nearly always did, with left foot forward and the buckler extended above it. The sword I held back by the right hip, hiding it behind the buckler. Wild Boar, I thought. My brother always said I liked this single guard a little too much, ensuring I didn’t pay enough attention to the others. What other things did he say, I asked myself, hoping I would remember some ingenious trick to help me. The only things that popped up in my mind was the very basics – never be on line with the opponent, never lose him out of sight and the movement always comes before the sword. But as Olofr attacked, I forgot every single point. My feet didn’t move and I blinked. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my bed, with bruises indicating he had grabbed me by my throat and thrown me to the ground. What will they think of me now, I thought. I’m a coward and a weakling. Then I drifted back into dreamland. |
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| Idiot | Sep 15 2007, 08:42 PM Post #2 |
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Brackenwood Lightweight
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I like it a lot, but the way it reads is sometimes a bit dry. I think that might be something to do with the tense it's written in - it's difficult to write in the first-person-past-tense and keep the momentum of the story up, cause it feels like everything the narrator tells you has already happened. That means it's hard to get the reader to feel genuinely concerned for the character's safety - they're evidently still alive and in a position to tell stories, aren't they? I like the concept though, it's very original (hard to say that without sounding fake, but I mean it). You've done well with getting across the character's newness to everything. Are they an academic doing research, or just someone who's got lost? Either way, it looks like it's going to be a great story. Write more! |
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6:43 PM Jul 11