Tag Archives: Fantasy

On Outlining A New Writing Venture (A post with no reason other than I was having fun with it)

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Sailing ShipOnwards, ever onwards (actually this sailing scene has nothing to do with the plot, but is a great allegorical device)

‘Tis said one picture is worth a thousand words. Thus in committing myself to this venture here is the outline of a basis for a story line…. with pictorial aids:

Set in the north central lands of the Oakhostian Empire:Confusing map That’s a Fantasy World Build Map???…Seriously???…….Yeah, looks like someone spilt coffee over a pizza with toppings.

In the small dukedom of independent Westerlythane, Grand Duke Alveraine’s youngest and studious daughter Lady Loryhana

Young Woman writing has been charged by her father to categorise and collect where necessary the affects of the recently deceased solitary, mysterious fellow Master Morovach,

Mysterious also known as The Great Exile and long had been given sanctuary in Westerlythane
This she dutifully accomplishes, while taking into her private possession a set of somewhat old and captivating tomes….
picture_mix04514

Meanwhile to the south in the Princedom of Olfreg (working title) handsome, genial heir to the land
Merklin Silc screenshot Frendlehanz must by tradition and princedom’s law marry before his 27th birthday. Rival ducal houses of the princedom are vying for him to chose one of their daughter.  With one and a half years to go for all sorts of complex reasons he must either chose between…
Alluring, vivacious and ambitious

Alluring  Lady Sielimdea of Ducal House Helbruchs

Or winsome, child of nature

Child of NatureAuroreya of the House Veredales

Even though he has dallied with both he is not very enthusiastic about sharing a life with either. Flustered by the whole thing, he resolves to clear his head by meeting up with austere military minded Lord Vulstrum
Untitled design - 1Who doesn’t actually know Frendlehanz, socially that is, and with no real idea what the heck the heir to the princely throne wants visiting up in his father’s small bleak dukedom.

Meanwhile…

In the rugged land of Thanbarch, north of Westerlythane and perennial foes of Olfreg,    Jerial Jerial daughter of ClanLord Crinach has been exiled in a benevolent sort of way to outpost duty as she caused a battlefield problem by acting as if she was a Captain and not deferring to her brother. Where she has been posted unbeknown to her or her family is a place of the Elemental Ethereal:

Ethereal

All these seemingly unconnected events have come to the attention of several folk or parties. Initially one investigator into and then purveyor of information concerning The Ethereal… Master Presvell

Presvell

Aided by his loyal servant Gealeva of alley and gutter heritage

Gealeava 6

Who together set out on a journey to the various lands wherein reside the previously mentioned characters.

On their trail and that of the Ethereal Manifestation is one doughty foe of evil,  the more dangerous heresies and also reviled by most of his brethren- Custodian Laverlake

Laverlake 2

In their wake will come various really unpleasant folk, twisted custodians, professional thieves, ruthless nobles and other unsavoury folk

Everyone of the above are or will come under the eye of the Empire’s State Within a State – The LifeGuard.

LifeGuard - 1

I can’t really say how many of these will be principals,  or those who will just have walk on parts or simply be set up for something to happen to them. There will of course be some hideous creatures and maybe one or a few unhinged dabblers in forbidden knowledge. Their appearances will depend upon the plot which as yet remains unfix’d and as usual in my experience will take form at the behest or whim of those characters who have an interest in influencing the writer.

Whether there will be more than one volume is something I would not, at this stage, possibly comment on.

But I have gone public on this particular start up (17th for the record), so I shall have to stick with it won’t I?

Writers: On The Risk of, Maybe Packing Too Much Into A Project

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After the sixteenth (or was it the seventeenth?) attempt at launching a new project there was a great temptation to indulge in the traditional Indy / Indie writer’s angst of episodic lamentations and cries of ‘ What is the point of it all’ and thence gloomy introspection.

Hamlet 1

However, it is also the curse / blessing within the Indy / Indie writer to be a’fix(ed) with the urge and need to keep on writing, and seek ever beyond the horizon fulfilment of that next, and in my case evasive big project. There’s six of the efforts marking up to roughly 100,000 words which are still archived in case there’s a need to ‘Copy & Paste’ useful chunks. And there is a new one which is tottering on the launch pad. You would think that with a pretty strong World Build there would be no shortage of material, inspiration and plot lines, so how come just ‘Might Have Beens’?

win_20210522_11_00_43_pro…Ponder….ponder…..ponder

On referring back to the previous trilogy….

It occurred to me amongst the total of 660,000 + words, aside from the traditional World Build, adventurous quests or tasks, conflicts and challenges set to three strong characters, the array of minor and not so minor characters with their own tales to tell there were a great deal of other themes and sub-plots which had found their ways in. Out of this grew the comic interludes, satires on common themes in fantasy novels, whole commentaries on various cultures and locations, parodies on traditional villain types, parallel realities, romances, personal sacrifices, allegories with various historical military blunders, the construction of an imperial administration and its agencies, threads which went in various directions and managed to tie up, entire family lives, one rather massive risk of a plot twist and a small tough ragged horse which travelled through realities without any explanation given. Along with some other stuff to do with lesser characters just put in because I felt like it suited the whole canvas, like my predilection to weave in John LeCarre style machinations of various government agencies simply for atmosphere.    

 And dear reader one has to ask ones’ self as you might. Was all of that necessary? In my defence, at the time it seemed so. When reading / listening to my favourite subject of military history as must be the case with other historical studies, there is encountered the factor of the importance of the small folk, not the Great and Influential, for without the small folk what would the Great and Influential achieve? Then there is the ‘Grit In The Machine’ factor which in the way of many a Grand Strategy, the overlooked seemingly inconsequential yet important item, the events of the second book hinged on such a quantity. These had, I reckoned, to be taken into account. And also how the events affected folks’ lives, motivations and own plans. Of course all and everything was necessary and fitted.

The problem with ‘Of Course’s being one might fit one type of book, ie factual history but might not work in a fictional setting, and that most important of persons, the reader could lose interest and particularly in Heroic Fantasy be looking for more dramatic interludes linking into one magnificent conclusion. Maybe.

I could of course cite the works of David Gemmel who would take minor and sometimes grimy characters and through the narrative elevate them, often against their will to major players. Brandon Sanderson and Joe Abercrombie are of the type of writer who populate their books with large lists of lesser characters who come and go through the narrative, sometimes returning when you least expect them and playing for maybe only a short while a vital role. They, Abercrombie in particular do not go in for Happy or Cleanly Ethical endings, which can be argued are most realistic. Me, I do veer towards clean, just and tidy endings, and the intention to do so without a Deux Machina (or several) might, just might have had an effect upon the whole narrative, for whereas I only had the haziest of ideas about the rest of the narrative that sort of ending  was a given. 

I could stand by all those decisions and maintain them by the dogged outlook beloved of a more stubborn sort of Indy / Indie writer summed up as ‘So what? If you don’t like It…Tough. It’s My Book’ . Somehow that might be avoiding the issue.

Is the reason why a new project is not taking off, because I have used up all my good ideas, scenarios, situations, themes and sub-plots? And will anything else be just repetition? There is an ‘Of Course’ there too. Since my work to date has had little to no success and in consequence a double edged truth would be; ‘Who would notice? Or care?’ . Now where that ties in with or contradicts the previous ‘So what? If you don’t like It…Tough. It’s My Book’ is another topic for debate. 

Thus having paused to muse over the whole business while doing my turn at the washing up and washing loading duties, I was left to conclude…… Was I taking ‘pantsing’ too far? Should I have laid out all of the ideas which came to mind and put some to one side for another day? Should I have edited the books into shorter volumes and instead of three weighty tomes have had six, or seven, or eight smaller volumes and attracted an audience who prefer shorter books with cliff-hangers? Did I cram far too much in. Truth be known from time to time the thought of dismantling all three, starting from scratch and taking that approach has occured….But…Ah me, the effort, seemed too much were I say thirty years younger…..

My advice then for anyone starting out, is by all means dive in and rattle away, letting your ideas flow like rivers, and the first drafts (there are always several) be a hodge-podges of all sorts of stuff, but then maybe step back and consider whether there is more than one book there, or maybe there should be more than one book there, which in turn will lead to more books.   

Maybe it is the genre…Fantasy…. Maybe we all would like to be a Tolkien and feel we have out own private Lord of The Rings simmering away. Maybe we should not give way to that lure. I can’t comment on Martin’s Ice and Fire series, they never appealed to me, but I would guess the same sort of conclusion would apply.

Anyway, the muses are tugging, the collection of characters might well have the inclination to nag at me to get going and shove a whole lot of their own ideas onto my table. Who knows, maybe this time I will get past the 75,000 word barrier and start to really once more have fun writing, and perhaps a bit of restraint?

Who can tell what lies beyond the next paragraph? 

A Suitable Horizon -November #BlogBattle- Cemetery

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Cemetry

Foreword: Never waste a good World Build, I say. If you have read previous of my entries to Gary’s site then some names and places might seem familiar, all part one piece of Creation. Links to some other associated tales shown at the end of this one….

          The wind chilled and ceaseless whispered across the plane drawing up eddies of harsh small grained sands into waves which when catching anyone stung the skin and assailed eyes, nostrils and mouth. Only in the distance did there seem to be some promise of shelter, those tall, plain and blue grey hills. Surely they would have proper cover, rocks, caves, and things like that. Somewhere to hide from the harsh light of a cold sun.
          Here on the plane, there were only patches of stonework implanted and through the administrations of the constant wind at odd angles, some having given in and now lay flat.

          He could not recall how he had arrived here, so far from the lush green of his favoured country estate. The journey had started out with a simple afternoon stroll to give one an appetite before dinner. There were bits and pieces of memory of a sudden heavy downpour, confusing him in the noise and overwhelming deluge, amongst the slipping and slithering he had thought he was journeying back to his manse, somewhere though in the growing mud he had tumbled into a ditch, of great depth to end up here, standing, looking, feeling the sting of the sand. With no seeming option he stumbled to the hills.

          The stones being flat and of various curvatures indicated design, with very faint markings indicating script. At another more fortunate time he might have studied these, this however was no occasion for such indulgences. He stepped on.

          As he neared one particular tall stone, he saw, the unmistakeable sight of a booted foot, idly flipping back and forth, encouraged he took up his pace, drawing closer he could discern a soft singing although in an unfamiliar accent, thus the words unclear.
          ‘I say,’ he called out ‘I say,’
          The foot stopped and a woman peaked around the stone, her face albeit weather beaten and bearing some lines indicated a continuing fairness of features, bright blue eyes sparkling, strands of blonde hair paling with age wafting in the wind. She waved in a tiny lady-like manner. Tipping one finger to the battered brim of a functional hat.
          ‘Hey, y’all. Welcome,’
          And rose fully into view, absently dusting sand off of travel hardened clothing befitting, he thought, some person of the roads and byways.
          ‘Welcome?’ he quested, uncertain as to just what that boded. The place was hardly a domain to instil feelings of ease and comfort. And the woman’s continuing bright smile was giving him unease.
          ‘Yes,’ she drawled out the word, he detected a delight, his stomach lurched. ‘Now my manners. Introductions, Ah am Captain Arketre Beritt of the Imperial LifeGuard, an’ being semi-retired, on a detached duty workin’ with folks whose identities are somewhat elusive. Still, orders are orders, an’ they are affable enough, well to me that is. Ah’m here to expound the situation,’ she paused the smile taking on the hint of a leer ‘To clarify matters,’
          His response came out as mostly stammer but with a measure of bluster.
          ‘Just what do you mean? I demand clarification. Have I been kidnapped? You should know I am Lord Halbrodol, with connections at the Imperial Court. I have stood as one of the thirty Ceremonial Witnesses at the Emperor’s side as he proclaimed an Imperial Judgment. On no less than four occasions. Explain yourself,’
          ‘Halbrodol,’ was her response with fore finger and thumb bracketing chin and eyes fixed on an indeterminate point ‘Halbrodol,’ she repeated to herself adding ‘Should have asked earlier o’course,’ and quite deaf to his subsequent outbursts continued with a murmured internal discourse, ceasing with a stap of the fingers. ‘Of the House Gouner. Yeah that’s it. You and your cousin were riding around with Duke Vydrak at Seige of Pradelch, not doin’ much as Ah recall, just posing and sayin’ yes to folk in a higher rank,’ she squinted ‘An’ then a few years down the road you turned up thankfully late for the Battle of Yermetz , one of the strutters and poseurs, Ah had to punch one of them for bein’ disrespectful to my regiment. Yeah House Gouner, always snufflin’ about for profit or doing little or nothin’ for the folks on the land you owned or kept orderly for higher-ups,’ she tapped the brim of her hat ‘LifeGuard has files on the little scavengers like your family, just in case your started getting’ big ideas. But you folk never do. Do you? Part of the supports,’ she stopped, squinted at him again ‘What the High Holy y’all been splutterin’ an’ fussin’ about. An’t y’all realised yet, you’re less than the sand grains here abouts?’
          ‘Did you not hear what I said?’
          She threw back her head letting out a harsh bark of a laugh, enraged he lunged at her, she side stepped, tripping him up in the act, his head striking the stone she had been sitting behind, leaving him whimpering. She continued.
          ‘No Ah did not. Since you have not got the common sense to ask me the Whys, Hows and Wherefores what got you here, let me explain to you. Somewhere along the way you died, how Ah care not, or mebbe y’all got sucked up by forces, again Ah care not. And not you are here,’
          Her voice was cold, the flippant mockery gone and he had not noticed those lines on her face, the sort which when he had seen them on men at social gatherings he had distanced himself from the fellows. Nonetheless in this current circumstance of continuing confusion and doubt he could not still his voice.
          ‘I have done nothing wrong,’
          ‘Was waiting for that. As Ah see it the Ethereal and Afterlife get all mixed up, mah wife knows more about it. Anyways there’s heavy symbolism here, y’see the stones,’ she turned hand sweeping in one gesture ‘What do they remind you of then?’
          Having been introduced the possibility of death, prodded by question a stark, draining realisation came upon him.
          ‘Tomb Memorials,’
          ‘That’s right. Memorials to all those duties and responsibilities you shirked, forgot about or did not just think whether you had them,’ she gestured to the front of the stone, bidding him forwards; as much as he was already loathing her mocking or dismissively judgemental way, he could do naught but obey; here in this horrid place.
          At the front she was crouched, with gloved hand brushing away the thin smear of sand.
          ‘See? Peer deeper and y’ll make out the faintness of writing. Look here, the name of the village where everyone was drowned or caste out onto the cold winter’s road when the flood came along the river you were asked to have dredged. See here the list of the folk who suffered a famine in the subsequence for loss of stores. All while you were away partyin’ and entertainin’,’ one finger pointed at him ‘All on you. Come hither,’
          Despite his feeling this was not his fault he was drawn, as if a halter about his neck to a small stone and which she knelt and by one beckoning gesture pulled him closer until he was kneeling even closer.
          ‘You can’t see, but you can hear. Can’t y’? Small weeping sounds of orphans beaten, abused and taken as slaves, all within your jurisdiction. One you could not be bothered to look into. You just wrote off your officials had inspected and not taken bribes. Not even made the effort to take your own slice of the bribes. Signed off not bothering. You had princes to fawn before,’
          Thin cries and screams cut into his ears as small knives, his fists would not block them
          Unable to break the chain of judgment he was pulled to a broken memorial, jagged and pitted.
          ‘This bears witness small dispute between two communities over lands. Words lead to blows, which in turned to farm tools being used as weaponry, farms burnt, livestock and folk slain. The local sheriff asked for help, but you took advice to let it burn itself out and take hold of the land for your own,’
          The smell of burnt wood, roasted flesh mixed with more hideous sounds, at an urging to block his senses with the sands he crammed handfuls into his mouth, nose and ears, to no avail. All under the cold gaze of the captain.
          ‘That don’t work here lord. These sands are not as compliant as your past pleasures. All gone now,’
          ‘What could have I done,’ he pleaded sands burning into his bent knees ‘I was but a mere lord. I had no influence,’
          The captain leaned over the ruined tombstone, silhouetted against the sharp glare of the sun.
          ‘Y’all could have at least cared,’ she growled ‘You carried more abilities to take some actions, not like all those remembered here. They looked and hoped for some assistance,’ the coldness gave way to a growing anger ‘You might not have pressed them hard, directly exploited them, you might not have waged war on them or sold them to others. You did damn all though and by accounting of ledgers of Life, Misery and Death, that still puts you on the debit side. Doesn’t fit you into one of the Five Hells. Puts you here instead. In the place where you get to reflect. Take a look. A good look,’ 
          ‘A good look,’

          The words echoed, the images turned from letter to faces, questioning and gaunt, accusing and bitter tear stained, each sight a claw to his being. He cried out in pain and staggered back, tripped over a fallen stone, upon which lists of names in five columns marked the passing of many innocents, his face fell into hot, biting sand, the sun’s unrelenting heat upon his face. One piece of relief, her shadow over him.
          No relief from the voice though.
          ‘That’s all Ah have to tell you M’Lord. Welcome to your new home,’
          And she crouched by him again, a whisper like a blade.
          ‘Don’t try and spend your energies trying to get to those hills. They are a lot longer away than y’d guess. And anyway what lurks up there. They’s worse than being out here. It’s not so bad. Y’all not be alone. Once you get used to it, y’ll see shadows of folk like you wandering about their own patch of Retribution. Misery shared, apparently is a misery halved. Enough of you here abouts to minimise it to just a very bad itch or a running sore,’
          She roughly patted his back.

          He looked up.
          She was gone.
          And he?
          He hoped he would go insane, at some stage and lose his senses.

          ‘Hey Kitlin. Ah’m back,’
          Her tall dark haired wife embraced her, The Captain relished the comfort.
          ‘How was it darling Flaxi?’
          ‘Going’ there regular don’t make it easier. An’ Ah keep meeting these other folk about similar businesses. Like this dead hero, who now goes about helping goodly folk near death to go one way or another. It’s a crowded place beyond this world. Makes you appreciate what y’all have,’
          ‘Aye. Truly. But to cheerful things. I managed to master steak pie for supper. Mistress Whtly’s recipe. Wash your hands. Sit down and tell me all about it, and I’ll do the rationalising for you. I keep telling you there’s more to that Ethereal and Afterlives than we reckon,’
          ‘Rationalising Ah could do with. This tour of duty is makin’ me fret about Death,’
          A hand grasped hers and stroked it.
          ‘You, my love, care about ordinary folk. That goes a long way,’
               Beritt thought those words would be suitable for her tombstone memorial.

Dreams and Duties #Blog Battle : May – Revest

Those Jagged Remedies (June#BlogBattle-Scar)

More Than Faith October #BlogBattle-Dream

It Should Go Without Saying #Blog Battle : February – Axiomatic

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Inevitable Couple

Henron Oy Mahtec trudged up the hill to the small lodge of Fyraen, Sage of the village. Henron’s problem bordered onto the head-shaking, pitying sort of sympathy afforded to a man of some rank in the community. At least currently of some rank, if this problem wasn’t sorted, though. A daughter carrying an axe. Of course, women should be formidable, remorseless, battling when defending children, home or over the body of a fallen husband, father, brother, or lover. But insistently, consistently carrying weaponry by choice and wearing trousers?

He knocked on the door, the required seven times, the voice carved by age but still with vitality bade him enter.

‘Henron,’ on hearing that, inside he sagged with relief. For a Sage to address you by your first name only was a badge of some note. He was still respected.

He joined Sage Fyaen crossed legged, across from the long low table currently covered by a long parchment scroll.

‘Now to business,’ Fyaen began while reading left to right ‘I have thought deep on the issue and on the conversations with you and you and your daughter Acseorana,’ the conversational tone grew serious, as did the expression ‘In consequence it was necessary to consult Lore and to conduct mid-night observances,’

Oy Mahtec’s innards tightened, those words were preparation for bad news.
‘To lighten this I can assure you, your wife and also in advance Chief Ragelow none of this is your fault. It is mere chance, which could happen to anyone, but your daughter has become subject to the attentions of a Kwyrki, mischievous little creatures,’

Oy Mahtec made three religious signs.

‘Possessed?’ he gasped which caused the sage to wave a hand dismissively.
‘No. Influenced. That’s how Kwyrkis gain their entertainment. This one must have alighted on our village some while and bided its time. A skilled one I reckon, judging by the tangle it wove through,’

‘How so? What? Why?’

‘Why? For its own sake. As for the rest. Kwyrkis will weave circumstances and coincidences into something unforeseen. Working backwards this one I deduced chanced upon your daughter’s name, Acseorana. An innocent one, being a flower which blooms soft yellow and white associated with cheerfulness and serenity, if pronounced correctly,’ he emphasised the syllables ‘A-ses-orana’ then held up one hand ‘But if you use the easterly accent the ‘c and ‘e’ become harsh. First syllable A-x-si, and that bears the abbreviation of her full name. Add that to your family name Oy Mahtec ‘Of Steadfast’, ‘he shrugged ‘Axsi of Steadfast. It is a route in for a Kwyrki to wield influence, particularly on a youngster and a maiden too,’ he shook his head, again the sympathy ‘Oh they are deft, pesky and worse arbitrary in their doings,’

Oy Mahtec’s head dropped. All the usual advice, admonishments, lectures and pleadings been to no avail. Well, at least there was a reason. Not that anyone accepted fatalistically the arrival of any of the Sly’s various folk.

‘Now take heart man. I will work upon a means to drive this creature from our village. In the meantime, it would be best to utilise your daughter’s affliction in carrying an axe. Put her to chopping wood, small portions of course that current blade is modest and large arms do not suit a girl,’

Her father managed a smile.

Even so.

‘Axi’ Oy Mahtec. It would soon surface, and stick.

Acseorana huffed and channelled her irritation into sharpening the axe edge with a stone. Next to her the small female seated on the rock tutted as they dispelled the image from the pool.

‘Would ye have heard such convoluted hoo-hah? As if any Kwyrki worthy o’ the name would be wasting their time on that sort of business?’

‘That wot I am? A waste of time?’ grumbled the girl at which the little female tutted.

‘Sush now maidy. There’s the trouble with you young girls, being after paying excessive heed on words of men prone to gabbling approximations on things they don’t understand. Now wasn’t I telling you being the second child of the third child of the seventh generation’s direct line? He being a powerful warrior with the war-shafted iron twin head. Coragh The Sturdy. Ah, wasn’t he a grand sight to see in battle,’ the little green female stared wistfully back into another time.

‘But by generational calculations I come from one hundred and twenty-eight different folk, mostly farmers,’ Acseorana in addition to being stubborn was most pedantic when it came to calculating ancestors lines, eschewing the selective picking of ancestors most folk did.

‘Strong blood flows straight and true maidy. It does not care what hangs between the legs or sprouts from the chests and innards of a human,’

Acseorana didn’t have a response for that. She was still trying to get to grips with this visit from an Eolas? They actually did sit and tell you all sorts of things, because they felt it important. Some creature out of folklore telling her about bloodlines. Meanwhile her dear Pa and that old crusty discussing another creature from tales?

What was a girl supposed to accept? She gazed at the long slender haft and the small, slender axe head. This felt so right in her hands.

The next morning, at the gentle insistence from her father to make use of her current habit, Acseorana was sent out to a nearby copse to chop thinnish wood as kindling. Villagers would bother her, not since she had inconvenienced one of the lads with her axe haft between his legs.

She was relieved there was no sight of that chirpy Eolas; leaving her alone to her own thoughts. Couldn’t folk just accept the fact she liked this axe? And did elderly women have to knowingly make remarks about her tydes.

She was about to take one hefty swing at a general inoffensive fallen branch when a far off unfamiliar strumming sound somewhere to the northern edge of the copse, distracted her, even more so when followed a male voice in song. Curiosity edged with annoyance bade her move closer to the source. There was a young man.

Seated on a fallen tree, the source of the music being something she reckoned was a lute, his voice was reasonable, though the lyrics were a bit obscure, possibly to do with wandering. With axe lowered casually in one hand she came into his view, causing him some surprise.

‘Good morning,’ they chorused, he a bit shaken, she somewhat strained.

Then one of those awkward pauses strangers indulge in when feeling there were more pressing topics than weather.

‘Acseorana Oy Mahtec,’ she announced, ‘I am of the village Ait ar Bith, a myle back,’

‘Irrendan Fe’Tybale,’ he returned ‘I am visiting at Áit Eigin,’ a nervous laugh ‘Also a myle back. I understand I am supposed to be suspicious of you,’

‘And I.’ Acseorana responded with confident giggle ‘Am not supposed to shake hands with you without counting my fingers afterwards,’

Another pause as each considered the item they carried, she spoke first.

‘I’m chopping wood. Everyone is disagreeable with me about this,’ she lightly swung the axe ‘So I make myself useful until they let me be,’ she narrowed her eyes ‘Fe? That’s a noble ‘thingy’ isn’t?’

‘Honorific,’ he offered ‘Yes. My father is not too pleased his younger son, interested in The Arts and not matters Military. He sent me out here to talk with Myranagh an old Sage he knew years back. The old fellah for some unaccountable reason retired to his village of birth,’ Irrendan managed to convey a shrug with a chord on the instrument ‘To discuss this with him,’

Acseorana with axe on her lap sat next to him.

‘Did you?’

‘Oh yes,’ and grimaced ‘And you are not going to believe this,’

‘Challenge me,’ Acseorana said, in light of recent events her mind was very open.

‘Well it seems there truly are Kwirkys,’ he began, such was impact of the synchronicity, not that she was aware of the concept that Acseorana could not help but interrupt.

‘And because your first name came be shortened to something peculiar which when added to your family name leads you down this path, which has been arranged by a Kwirky,’

He gawped, she extended her hand and said.

‘Also known as Axi’ Oy Mahtec. Apparently,’

He took the proffered hand and gently shook it

‘Irrey Fe’Tybale, Apparently, ‘Do you know what yours is supposed to mean?’

‘Not a Frib’. No,’ she said ‘Anyway it’s all of a load of hoohah. That’s what this Eolas told me,’ Acseorana made a quick diagonal cross gesture over her heart ‘Honest to DevoutDay, s’true. I did meet one. They told me, it’s all to do what flows in the blood,’

‘An Eolas. High Holy. You don’t think I could meet them?’

‘I dunno. This one is a female and seems sorta sproggly about men. Bit unfair really,’ Acseorana considered the matter, and brightened ‘If she turns up I could mention it. If not,’ she nibbled her lip ‘We could meet here tomorrow and talk things over and they might turn up?’

Somewhat heartened by that slight hopeful turn in her voice and look in her eyes he agreed.

‘And Sage Myranagh is quite eager to talk about ballads and the underlining tones of duty and allegories. We,’ he paused now ‘Might be able to extend the daily visits and try and sort this out,’

Of good heart they went their separate ways.

Acseorana returned to her village, axe tucked into a belt, a large weight of kindling across her shoulders and whistling jauntily.

Opinion on the girl was divided; several ways, so much so she was quite left alone. The village Sage Fyraen was mystified.

Until he was contacted in sageful ways by Sage Myranagh who relayed the circumstance of the young very lesser noble sent to him by a perplexed father. The two discussed the matter at much length and decided observation was needed and also study of lineages.

Meanwhile the young pair met each day to chat about this and that, sharing opinions and eventually kisses.

Since village gossip spread as fast as any powerful weather event, nothing was kept secret. However, by then both sages warned the Village Chieftains, Elders and Senior old women to leave well alone.

Irrendan extended his stay, and his father was glad to have him out of the way.

The winter was hard and brought raiders, such was the lacklustre of the local lord, the two villages were left to fend for themselves. They put together a determined but seemingly unimpressive band, hardly the bandit leader thought opposition for seasoned ravagers.

And yet inspired by the stirring songs of the bold balladeer and the ferocity of the axe wielding girl courage blossomed forth and many a raider’s blood stained the snows. Tales spread across the region and the villages of Ait ar Bith and Áit Eigin were not troubled again.

At the news that spring of a wedding Lord Fe’Tybale rode swiftly to find out what The High Holy his younger son was up to.

There to be greeted by several stalwart village men, and two sages who spoke at some length about the blood lines of Coragh The Sturdy and his loyal minstrel Faynemoor.

Just to prove the point runes were caste several ways. Fe’Tybale, ever the man to be pragmatic and imitate the actions of a tough tree in a storm, bent and gave his blessing to the match.

After all, he thought, when you put the events and facts together, the conclusion was inevitable, one might say self-evident. Things could well turn for the best.

And they did. His son firstly became a respected wise leader of two villages, then replaced a local lacklustre lord. The unspoken but acknowledged fact being his stalwart warrior wife.

Because Time does not work in the same way for everyone.

The Eolas met with two somewhat grumpy Kwirkys. In A Place.

‘Spoilt our fun. You did,’ one said

‘Yer,’ added the second ‘Having it all work out advantageous. Whispering to them Sages,’

‘Ah. Away with ye. You great pair o’ lumpen heads. Can you no see? Warrior Girl. Thoughtful Bardish fellow. Descendants from legendary folk of yore. That is certainly an unavoidable event. You were just playing your part,’

There was much grumbling by The Kwirkys. More so because they knew.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that an unconventional young woman in possession of warrior talents must be in need of a thoughtful artistic young man as a spouse”