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*cough cough* author #4! Try to have something in two or three days please!Hajji Giray I said:We have three and are eagerly anticipating the fourth
(apologies author #4 - my PM box is almost full so I'm responding here) It is not necessarily a coronation - perhaps inauguration, installation, imposition...
In other news, our entries will be posted Friday evening, whether there are three or four.
In other news, our entries will be posted Friday evening, whether there are three or four.
Looking forward to this!
Thanks for picking up the flag, Hajji!
I'm sure Coz will appreciate it, too. He's got a lot going on that keeps him away, I understand from an e-mail. But it sounds like he will be back when he can.
Rensslaer
Thanks for picking up the flag, Hajji!
I'm sure Coz will appreciate it, too. He's got a lot going on that keeps him away, I understand from an e-mail. But it sounds like he will be back when he can.
Rensslaer
Indeed I do Renss. Thanks for picking up the slack Hajji. I've been dealing with some RL stuff that does not leave me much time to visit and stay terribly active here (first time in a couple of weeks I have stopped by.) This project, if it keeps going, will most likely need new leadership. However that may allow me to be more active on the reviewing part which I have missed out on for some time. Good luck to all participants and I look forward to what Friday brings.
Good to hear from you coz and good luck with the project whoever picks up the mantle. I will be here waiting
And now I will be posting our first three entries in the Guess the Author for June. A fourth may or may not be on the way later today (will post if it appears)... please recall the topic, which is introduction of a new leader whether by inauguration, installation, imposition, coronation, etc.
And now...
*drum roll please!*
P.S. Will be available to run the July GTA if we start it early - I'm leaving on the 22nd, so the authors' names will have to be revealed then whether there are critiques or no.
And now...
*drum roll please!*
P.S. Will be available to run the July GTA if we start it early - I'm leaving on the 22nd, so the authors' names will have to be revealed then whether there are critiques or no.
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Author #1
She turned in her bed, and the power of her pain woke her up fully. Yelping slightly she bit her lip as to not disturb the unconscious figure next to her.
As the supine body moments later roared with another snore she let out a quiet breath of relief and crept out of bed. Draping a silken coat around her slim shoulder she stole across the room and slipped into the cool night air of the hall.
Avoiding the slumbering guards and maids prostrate on the floor she eased into the balcony. Shaking in the raw autumn wind she hugged her belly protectively, Soon my child, soon
The midwives had assured her that she was pregnant, even if she wasn’t showing it yet. However, she could see the fear for the child’s safety in their eyes. Shutting her eyes she leaned against the raw stone of the parapet. Strangely how things worked out. It had been only a year since she had arrived from her father’s house.
She remembered the day vividly, arriving at the side of her father, splendid in all her youth and silken gown, upon the white mare, every bit the symbol of the virgin bride. He had greeted them on the steps of his castle, the first time she ever saw her husband to be. Courteous and chivalric he had been, magnificent he had looked, strong and manly, the image of the proper husband for any young lady.
They had been married the following morning, oh how she remembered that day. The incense laded air of the church, the sound of the silver trumpets, the hoarseness of her throat as she accepted, the weight of the crown as she became his queen, the butterflies in her stomach.
Tears were running down her cheeks now, unchecked in the cold night, oh how she remembered. The dinner banquet, her anxious expectations of the upcoming night, the boisterous voice of her new husband as he drank her toast, again and again.
They hadn’t even danced.
Finally her husband had stood, on swaying legs and she had been led to her chamber by her new maids. Not one of her own had passed the scrutiny of her husband. She remembered so well, oh so well the feeling of loneliness as they withdrew and left her alone in that room.
He had arrived later, the noise in the hallway as his friends walked him to her room, the crash as he knocked over a chair. The sound of the key being turned in the door. She had shivered then, as she was shivering now at the memory.
Straightening her back she opened her eyes and looked defiantly into the night air. She remembered so well. He had groped at her, drunk, and when she shied away in surprise and fear, her romantic fantasies on how the night would be was shattered by the heavy hand that fell. She had run, but where could she go? As she grasped the locked door he had merely laughed. Drunk. He had gripped her hair, her long lovely golden hair.
She had fought him, she remembered proudly, fought him tooth and nail, but he had merely laughed as if it was a sport. In the end she had succumbed, and as she lain passive as he had mounted her and taken what he wanted, taken her like so much plunder. As he climbed off he muttered a final verdict upon her tears.
“No use girl, you are mine, by law and church.”
He had rolled over, and she had cried that night, cried for her broken dreams, for her home far away, and for the pain in her body.
Her shoulders sagged at the thought. He had left her alone after that, until the bruises healed, then called for her again. She had refused, she was queen as much a he was king, but there was no denying him. He had broken a door, and her arm that second time.
Yet she had lived on, a strange existence, at day the proud queen, at night…. She gulped at the thought, at night something quite different.
Not anymore she clenched her fist unwittingly.
The life under her heart changed it all. It was his, no doubt about that, the seed of his desires, if not his love. She sank to her knees on the cold stone slabs and hugged herself in despair. As much as he wanted an heir she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. She had tried so hard to hate it, to wilfully destroy it, but it had survived even his abuse.
Now, now with instincts and feelings she had long thought vanished she felt an urge to survive, for it, the child, to survive. Survive to be born despite the loving touch of its father, survive to live beyond an upbringing she could only too vividly imagine. A boy brought up in his father’s image, a girl brought up as a tool of politics and men like him
She almost spat, and the pain of her broken lip woke her up. Shivering she climbed to her feet. She had made up her mind. Not tonight, no, but when the future in her womb was showing, for all to see, then, then she would act.
The extended belly made it harder to move around. The midwives now claimed she was less than a month from the birth. He had not plagued her much as of late, it was as if he understood that his minstrels were not a blessing to the child.
He had been ecstatic when he had learned of her state. She smiled quietly at the thought, if he only knew. She had spent time with him, time as a queen, and he had accepted it, as had the council.
She almost spilled the chalice, swearing quietly at herself she righted it and waddled on, cumbersome, but determined. She paused in front of the door. She could hear the muted sounds from within. A slap and a muttered cry, her husband was entertaining one of her maids, he often did, and now more than before. She paused again, her hand resting on the handle. The girl would bear the brunt of any suspicion unwittingly. Steeling herself she opened the door, she was past caring, the life of a maid was not enough to stop her now.
He was surprised, and the maid quickly covered under a pile of skins, only her frightened eyes showing, but she had already seen the bruises, the workings of her loving husband.
Wordlessly she handed him the chalice, and he took it, drinking, smiling, unsuspecting.
She stole a quick smile as she turned to leave. Tomorrow she would ascend to the crown she had worn but in name since the day of her marriage.
Rule first for her unborn child, then as regent. A magnificent queen she would be.
She turned in her bed, and the power of her pain woke her up fully. Yelping slightly she bit her lip as to not disturb the unconscious figure next to her.
As the supine body moments later roared with another snore she let out a quiet breath of relief and crept out of bed. Draping a silken coat around her slim shoulder she stole across the room and slipped into the cool night air of the hall.
Avoiding the slumbering guards and maids prostrate on the floor she eased into the balcony. Shaking in the raw autumn wind she hugged her belly protectively, Soon my child, soon
The midwives had assured her that she was pregnant, even if she wasn’t showing it yet. However, she could see the fear for the child’s safety in their eyes. Shutting her eyes she leaned against the raw stone of the parapet. Strangely how things worked out. It had been only a year since she had arrived from her father’s house.
She remembered the day vividly, arriving at the side of her father, splendid in all her youth and silken gown, upon the white mare, every bit the symbol of the virgin bride. He had greeted them on the steps of his castle, the first time she ever saw her husband to be. Courteous and chivalric he had been, magnificent he had looked, strong and manly, the image of the proper husband for any young lady.
They had been married the following morning, oh how she remembered that day. The incense laded air of the church, the sound of the silver trumpets, the hoarseness of her throat as she accepted, the weight of the crown as she became his queen, the butterflies in her stomach.
Tears were running down her cheeks now, unchecked in the cold night, oh how she remembered. The dinner banquet, her anxious expectations of the upcoming night, the boisterous voice of her new husband as he drank her toast, again and again.
They hadn’t even danced.
Finally her husband had stood, on swaying legs and she had been led to her chamber by her new maids. Not one of her own had passed the scrutiny of her husband. She remembered so well, oh so well the feeling of loneliness as they withdrew and left her alone in that room.
He had arrived later, the noise in the hallway as his friends walked him to her room, the crash as he knocked over a chair. The sound of the key being turned in the door. She had shivered then, as she was shivering now at the memory.
Straightening her back she opened her eyes and looked defiantly into the night air. She remembered so well. He had groped at her, drunk, and when she shied away in surprise and fear, her romantic fantasies on how the night would be was shattered by the heavy hand that fell. She had run, but where could she go? As she grasped the locked door he had merely laughed. Drunk. He had gripped her hair, her long lovely golden hair.
She had fought him, she remembered proudly, fought him tooth and nail, but he had merely laughed as if it was a sport. In the end she had succumbed, and as she lain passive as he had mounted her and taken what he wanted, taken her like so much plunder. As he climbed off he muttered a final verdict upon her tears.
“No use girl, you are mine, by law and church.”
He had rolled over, and she had cried that night, cried for her broken dreams, for her home far away, and for the pain in her body.
Her shoulders sagged at the thought. He had left her alone after that, until the bruises healed, then called for her again. She had refused, she was queen as much a he was king, but there was no denying him. He had broken a door, and her arm that second time.
Yet she had lived on, a strange existence, at day the proud queen, at night…. She gulped at the thought, at night something quite different.
Not anymore she clenched her fist unwittingly.
The life under her heart changed it all. It was his, no doubt about that, the seed of his desires, if not his love. She sank to her knees on the cold stone slabs and hugged herself in despair. As much as he wanted an heir she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. She had tried so hard to hate it, to wilfully destroy it, but it had survived even his abuse.
Now, now with instincts and feelings she had long thought vanished she felt an urge to survive, for it, the child, to survive. Survive to be born despite the loving touch of its father, survive to live beyond an upbringing she could only too vividly imagine. A boy brought up in his father’s image, a girl brought up as a tool of politics and men like him
She almost spat, and the pain of her broken lip woke her up. Shivering she climbed to her feet. She had made up her mind. Not tonight, no, but when the future in her womb was showing, for all to see, then, then she would act.
The extended belly made it harder to move around. The midwives now claimed she was less than a month from the birth. He had not plagued her much as of late, it was as if he understood that his minstrels were not a blessing to the child.
He had been ecstatic when he had learned of her state. She smiled quietly at the thought, if he only knew. She had spent time with him, time as a queen, and he had accepted it, as had the council.
She almost spilled the chalice, swearing quietly at herself she righted it and waddled on, cumbersome, but determined. She paused in front of the door. She could hear the muted sounds from within. A slap and a muttered cry, her husband was entertaining one of her maids, he often did, and now more than before. She paused again, her hand resting on the handle. The girl would bear the brunt of any suspicion unwittingly. Steeling herself she opened the door, she was past caring, the life of a maid was not enough to stop her now.
He was surprised, and the maid quickly covered under a pile of skins, only her frightened eyes showing, but she had already seen the bruises, the workings of her loving husband.
Wordlessly she handed him the chalice, and he took it, drinking, smiling, unsuspecting.
She stole a quick smile as she turned to leave. Tomorrow she would ascend to the crown she had worn but in name since the day of her marriage.
Rule first for her unborn child, then as regent. A magnificent queen she would be.
Author #2
A knock upon his door made the young man stand up from the oil painting he was working on, “Is it time for supper already? It’s only 4 o’clock.” Robert said to himself. After checking his appearance in the mirror by the door, he opened the door to his “jail cell.” Instead of the stark white uniform of the cook, he saw an elderly gentleman in a ghastly decorated Itunain uniform, dark green with black shiny boots and a long handlebar mustache which went white as snow years ago.
“Ahh good afternoon. You are Robert Culvus, Prince of the Outer Coast if I am not mistaken.” Robert nodded, as he laughed to himself. He was the Prince of a made up region which was arguably belonging to Itunas, as well as Frescas. His mother, the Duchess, gave him the title for as the youngest of twelve children there was not much left to be the Prince or Princess of.
“Yes that I. May I inquire as to who you are? And as what my title has to do with anything?”
“Oh a thousand apologies sir. I am Grand General, Lord of the Southern Plains, Archduke of the Four Holy Cathedrals, Francis von Gustov. May I have some tea sent up as we talk?” Gustov said as he walked into the breakfast nook taking a seat in the warm sunlight.
“Certainly,” Robert moved to sit by the General as he lifted up a phone calling for the kitchen staff.
“I know not much news makes it your way, or the way of many of our prisoners. But you should be aware that the last remnants of your military has been defeated upon the battlefield. Now a serious dilemma has arisen.” Gustov stopped speaking when a cart was rolled in. A young woman, who was lovely and as Culvus knew quite well very generous in all things, poured tea and set out a plate of cakes. “Ahh thank you miss…?”
“Gloria,” Robert said. The old General grinned, and motioned the woman away. “Now where was I? Oh yes. With your army defeated a problem has arisen that cannot be dealt with.”
“And what is the problem exactly?”
“You mother, the Duchess Helena, as well as all three of your sisters have left the country. In doing so they have created a government in exile, so to speak. With such a government existing, and yet having no army or territory to call there own the question of how to create peace comes to mind.” Gustov said flatly as he sipped at the tea, his pinky high in the air.
Robert ate a thick chocolate cake with pink frosting before responding, “May I assume that all of my brothers have declined helping you in anyway?”
The general smiled, “Oh thank god. A man with a brain in his head. May we skip tiptoeing around the question?”
“I enjoy it to be honest, but yes we may discuss your proposal.” With that said Gustov reached into his vest pocket and removed a piece of paper with but a single paragraph on it. “This is a treaty between, what will now be, the Dukedom of Ringwald and the Itunas and Mecomdain alliance. It calls for military access, as well as assistance from this new nation. You of course will be granted all the rights of a sovereign nation. Of course said sovereignty will be based upon good relations between our nations respectfully.”
Robert smiled to himself, the memory of that day four weeks ago as vibrant as ever. Now he sat atop the throne that over six generations of Culvus Dukes, and Duchesses had rested upon. In the golden paneled room various nobles from Ringwald, Itunas, and Mecomda stood around in their finest gowns, suits, and uniforms.
At the steps below him knelt Grand General Gustov, and beside him was a younger man who was the new Field Marshall of the Ringwaldians forces. Robert smiled at his fourth to eldest brother Martian Culvus, who in return smiled back. His brother was more then happy to lead an army, he never was fond of the ins and outs of administering a Kingdom, he was more at home on some battlefield pistol in hand firing upon enemy troops.
Behind Robert was a Bishop who held the crown of Ringwald. Culvus decided the moment it was placed upon his head he would change it as soon as possible. His mother had taken the majority of the Crown jewels with her, but left enough to make Robert appear like the Monarch he now was. Of course the only crown available was meant for a Duchess, but it was the image of the ceremony that was important, not what went into it. The War had changed far too much already.
The War had been dragging on for nearly eight years now. The Kingdom of Itunas and its ally the Mecomda Principality, started the war as it marched into the Duchy of Ringwald in an attempt to strike the Dukedom of Frescas where no one expected it. This brought The Empire of Kasto and its allies the Kingdom of Butuls, and the Dukedom of Frescas into the fray. It was perhaps the greatest conflict the world had ever known.
Prince Robert Culvus, ninth heir to the Duchess Helena Culvus, saw the conflict first hand leading a charge of the Ringwaldian 1st infantry in a poorly planned charged against the entrenched Mecomdains. As his men fell around him by the breech loading rifles the enemy so prided themselves on, Culvus wondered why he ever agreed to lead anyone into a battle.
That was exactly two years ago, in the battle of the Forlorn Forrest. The Prince was arrested, but treated like the royal heir he was. In between playing polo with the other prisoners, and even dining with the officers of the Itunain and Mecomdain armies. As time went on the Prince began to enjoy his imprisonment. No fear of being attacked, or forced to attack out of some half hearted guilt towards patriotism. It was on such a day when Gustov paid him a visit.
He swept such thoughts from his mind, as the Bishop said a few words of praise, and laid the Royal vestments about Robert’s shoulders. The entire room moved as one kneeling in respect for their new ruler. The newly crowned Duke soaked all of this up. With a deep breath he stood up, “My people, today we have within our sights a chance for peace. Something this continent has not know for close to a decade now. I shall lead you all with respect and a kind hand. May we enjoy the prosperity our nation is renowned for.”
That wonderful day seemed to last forever. Too bad the Dukedom of Ringwald lasted an amazing twenty-three days. The Kingdom of Butuls, and the Dukedom of Frescas made a large offensive against the combined might of Itunas, Ringwald, and Mecomda. Of course such an attack was a failure resulting in more dead then anything else. This of course was all the Empire of Kasto needed to make a landing upon the beaches of Southern Plains. A quick retreat was called for resulting in half of Ringwald under Itunas control, and the rest under the yoke of Kastouan forces. Robert had the misfortune of being out for an early morning ride ended with his capture and imprisonment by his new enemies.
As before Robert Culvus was treated well. Given a nice little town house over looking the Southern Plains. He enjoyed it all, but missed what power he briefly held. His mother, bless her heart, sent him a letter saying how she still loved him, and was glad he tried to keep the crown within the family.
Over a light breakfast of oatmeal and dry toast, he received a knock on the door. Getting up Robert smiled when he saw an all to familiar sight. An old gentlemen in an ridiculously decorated Kastouan uniform, light blue, with shiny brown boots, and a neat black goatee. He tipped his long plumed hat, “ Good morning. I am Field Marshall Altus Riparian. And you are Duke Robert Culvus of Ringwald, Prince of the Outer Coast, correct?”
Sitting once more on the throne which six, no seven, generations of Culvus Dukes, and Duchess rested upon, Robert was delighted to receive yet another grand ceremony. Now the room was filled with nobles from Ringwald, Kasto, Frescas, and Butuls. On the steps before him his ninth eldest brother knelt down, the new Supreme General of his Kingdoms forces, beside him was Field Marshall Altus Riparian kneeling just the same. With a laugh to himself Robert Culvus, Prince of the Southern Coasts, Duke in Exile of Ringwald, was crowned King of the Southern Plains, and Emperor of the Outer Coast.
“Long live…” the room was silent for a moment until a man shouted out, “ the King!” Robert sat atop his throne laughing out loudly, knowing he must look ridiculous as the people around him shouted praise to him. With a small bow the new King, Emperor, Duke in Exile, and Prince wondered just how long his new kingdoms would last.
A knock upon his door made the young man stand up from the oil painting he was working on, “Is it time for supper already? It’s only 4 o’clock.” Robert said to himself. After checking his appearance in the mirror by the door, he opened the door to his “jail cell.” Instead of the stark white uniform of the cook, he saw an elderly gentleman in a ghastly decorated Itunain uniform, dark green with black shiny boots and a long handlebar mustache which went white as snow years ago.
“Ahh good afternoon. You are Robert Culvus, Prince of the Outer Coast if I am not mistaken.” Robert nodded, as he laughed to himself. He was the Prince of a made up region which was arguably belonging to Itunas, as well as Frescas. His mother, the Duchess, gave him the title for as the youngest of twelve children there was not much left to be the Prince or Princess of.
“Yes that I. May I inquire as to who you are? And as what my title has to do with anything?”
“Oh a thousand apologies sir. I am Grand General, Lord of the Southern Plains, Archduke of the Four Holy Cathedrals, Francis von Gustov. May I have some tea sent up as we talk?” Gustov said as he walked into the breakfast nook taking a seat in the warm sunlight.
“Certainly,” Robert moved to sit by the General as he lifted up a phone calling for the kitchen staff.
“I know not much news makes it your way, or the way of many of our prisoners. But you should be aware that the last remnants of your military has been defeated upon the battlefield. Now a serious dilemma has arisen.” Gustov stopped speaking when a cart was rolled in. A young woman, who was lovely and as Culvus knew quite well very generous in all things, poured tea and set out a plate of cakes. “Ahh thank you miss…?”
“Gloria,” Robert said. The old General grinned, and motioned the woman away. “Now where was I? Oh yes. With your army defeated a problem has arisen that cannot be dealt with.”
“And what is the problem exactly?”
“You mother, the Duchess Helena, as well as all three of your sisters have left the country. In doing so they have created a government in exile, so to speak. With such a government existing, and yet having no army or territory to call there own the question of how to create peace comes to mind.” Gustov said flatly as he sipped at the tea, his pinky high in the air.
Robert ate a thick chocolate cake with pink frosting before responding, “May I assume that all of my brothers have declined helping you in anyway?”
The general smiled, “Oh thank god. A man with a brain in his head. May we skip tiptoeing around the question?”
“I enjoy it to be honest, but yes we may discuss your proposal.” With that said Gustov reached into his vest pocket and removed a piece of paper with but a single paragraph on it. “This is a treaty between, what will now be, the Dukedom of Ringwald and the Itunas and Mecomdain alliance. It calls for military access, as well as assistance from this new nation. You of course will be granted all the rights of a sovereign nation. Of course said sovereignty will be based upon good relations between our nations respectfully.”
Robert smiled to himself, the memory of that day four weeks ago as vibrant as ever. Now he sat atop the throne that over six generations of Culvus Dukes, and Duchesses had rested upon. In the golden paneled room various nobles from Ringwald, Itunas, and Mecomda stood around in their finest gowns, suits, and uniforms.
At the steps below him knelt Grand General Gustov, and beside him was a younger man who was the new Field Marshall of the Ringwaldians forces. Robert smiled at his fourth to eldest brother Martian Culvus, who in return smiled back. His brother was more then happy to lead an army, he never was fond of the ins and outs of administering a Kingdom, he was more at home on some battlefield pistol in hand firing upon enemy troops.
Behind Robert was a Bishop who held the crown of Ringwald. Culvus decided the moment it was placed upon his head he would change it as soon as possible. His mother had taken the majority of the Crown jewels with her, but left enough to make Robert appear like the Monarch he now was. Of course the only crown available was meant for a Duchess, but it was the image of the ceremony that was important, not what went into it. The War had changed far too much already.
The War had been dragging on for nearly eight years now. The Kingdom of Itunas and its ally the Mecomda Principality, started the war as it marched into the Duchy of Ringwald in an attempt to strike the Dukedom of Frescas where no one expected it. This brought The Empire of Kasto and its allies the Kingdom of Butuls, and the Dukedom of Frescas into the fray. It was perhaps the greatest conflict the world had ever known.
Prince Robert Culvus, ninth heir to the Duchess Helena Culvus, saw the conflict first hand leading a charge of the Ringwaldian 1st infantry in a poorly planned charged against the entrenched Mecomdains. As his men fell around him by the breech loading rifles the enemy so prided themselves on, Culvus wondered why he ever agreed to lead anyone into a battle.
That was exactly two years ago, in the battle of the Forlorn Forrest. The Prince was arrested, but treated like the royal heir he was. In between playing polo with the other prisoners, and even dining with the officers of the Itunain and Mecomdain armies. As time went on the Prince began to enjoy his imprisonment. No fear of being attacked, or forced to attack out of some half hearted guilt towards patriotism. It was on such a day when Gustov paid him a visit.
He swept such thoughts from his mind, as the Bishop said a few words of praise, and laid the Royal vestments about Robert’s shoulders. The entire room moved as one kneeling in respect for their new ruler. The newly crowned Duke soaked all of this up. With a deep breath he stood up, “My people, today we have within our sights a chance for peace. Something this continent has not know for close to a decade now. I shall lead you all with respect and a kind hand. May we enjoy the prosperity our nation is renowned for.”
That wonderful day seemed to last forever. Too bad the Dukedom of Ringwald lasted an amazing twenty-three days. The Kingdom of Butuls, and the Dukedom of Frescas made a large offensive against the combined might of Itunas, Ringwald, and Mecomda. Of course such an attack was a failure resulting in more dead then anything else. This of course was all the Empire of Kasto needed to make a landing upon the beaches of Southern Plains. A quick retreat was called for resulting in half of Ringwald under Itunas control, and the rest under the yoke of Kastouan forces. Robert had the misfortune of being out for an early morning ride ended with his capture and imprisonment by his new enemies.
As before Robert Culvus was treated well. Given a nice little town house over looking the Southern Plains. He enjoyed it all, but missed what power he briefly held. His mother, bless her heart, sent him a letter saying how she still loved him, and was glad he tried to keep the crown within the family.
Over a light breakfast of oatmeal and dry toast, he received a knock on the door. Getting up Robert smiled when he saw an all to familiar sight. An old gentlemen in an ridiculously decorated Kastouan uniform, light blue, with shiny brown boots, and a neat black goatee. He tipped his long plumed hat, “ Good morning. I am Field Marshall Altus Riparian. And you are Duke Robert Culvus of Ringwald, Prince of the Outer Coast, correct?”
Sitting once more on the throne which six, no seven, generations of Culvus Dukes, and Duchess rested upon, Robert was delighted to receive yet another grand ceremony. Now the room was filled with nobles from Ringwald, Kasto, Frescas, and Butuls. On the steps before him his ninth eldest brother knelt down, the new Supreme General of his Kingdoms forces, beside him was Field Marshall Altus Riparian kneeling just the same. With a laugh to himself Robert Culvus, Prince of the Southern Coasts, Duke in Exile of Ringwald, was crowned King of the Southern Plains, and Emperor of the Outer Coast.
“Long live…” the room was silent for a moment until a man shouted out, “ the King!” Robert sat atop his throne laughing out loudly, knowing he must look ridiculous as the people around him shouted praise to him. With a small bow the new King, Emperor, Duke in Exile, and Prince wondered just how long his new kingdoms would last.
Author #3
Three gnarled, slightly trembling fingers hovered uncertainly above the small straw and lifted it gently out of its container and into the damp, dark air. It dinked lightly on the lip as it made its way out, guided slowly, tiredly by the shaky hand. Slowly it came into focus in the old man's eyes, which then looked quiveringly around the room from behind their wrinkled folds. The other four men looked back, the tension on their faces evident in the lines on the face and the thinness of the lips. One shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and his lips opened slowly and broke the silence.
"You drew the short straw, Litton."
So it was; Litton's fingers, still trembling, held the straw up in front of his face, and saw that it was indeed shorter than the other four. He exhaled quietly, looked mournfully down to the floor, and slowly, gently slid the straw into his shirt pocket. He looked up at the man who had spoken; the man spoke again, a ray of relief shining through his face.
"You'll have to give the Prime Minister the news, then."
The old man grunted and folded his eyebrows sadly, looking around the room at the other men, silently imploring them to take pity. They gave no sign. Litton shrugged and cast his eyes downwards, slowly turning and walking towards the door, his legs stopping mid-stride as he pondered his fate and then softly meeting the ground once more. He opened the door and, without looking back, stepped inside.
The Prime Minister was clad in a rather loud purple dress with the occasional - no, frequent - polka dot, and as Litton's eyes were cast on the floor the first thing he saw was the lace frilly edges on the bottom of the dress. The Prime Minister was wearing painful-looking heels, the kind so fashionable in days of old in which the toe is narrowed to an acute triangle. Litton's eyes flickered over the dark hose on the Minister's legs and flickered down to the ornate rug, slightly guilty. After a moment he convinced his eyes to jump to the Minister's beautiful eyes, but they focused on the false lashes.
Litton coughed. "Prime Minister," he said weakly but gaining in strength, "I have important news."
"Well, I suppose I can't be a society lady all the time," the Prime Minister replied gamely in his smooth baritone voice.
"Sir, Germany has declared war on Poland," Litton said, his right hand searching for something - a table, a post, anything - to rest on. "We are obliged to defend them against the German invaders, sir."
"That is so," the Prime Minister confirmed, examining his white gloves. "Would you like some tea, Lily?"
The old man flinched. "Litton. No, thank you, sir." The Prime Minister poured himself a glass.
"That Hitler," the Prime Minister said, degenerating into a working-class accent. "he does get my undies in a bunch times like these." Litton looked down and said nothing. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea? Suit yourself. I - where were we - tell me, be frank, my dear, do you think this string of pearls matches my personality?" The Prime Minister put it around his neck and clipped the clasp.
"I cannot say, sir," Litton frowned.
"I say, it's a jolly good thing I keep a mirror handy," the Prime Minister said, setting down his tea cup and walking with excellent balance over to the mirror. "Oh, yes, to the T." He beamed.
"Poland," Litton moaned, inside himself wishing he had a pistol to quietly slip inside his ear.
"Talk to - what's his name. You know I'm not much for this statesman business. Tell me again why we're allied with the Poles, my dear fellow."
"We signed an agreement that we would defend them, if the Nazis were to invade," Litton croaked, putting his hands together and begging quietly for mercy.
The Prime Minister saw this and cocked his head. "What are you saying?" The old man stopped and sputtered that it was nothing. "I see. I'm not really insane, you know. No. But really, this prime minister business just doesn't suit me." There was a short pause. "Really, that's horrible."
"You mean the Germans invading?" Litton asked, with hope rising in his poor old heart.
"No," the Prime Minister said, "this hat," holding up a large black-lace-rimmed spectacle studded with peacock feathers, which he had just pulled out of the armoire. He stuffed it back in. "Well, what do we do?"
"About the hat?"
"Poland, you silly goose."
"Well, Minister, it appears we have no course but to go to war with Germany, sir."
"Oh, war's no fun. Really! I say, isn't there any way?"
"No, Minister."
"That damn Churchill."
"Sir?"
"He's behind this, I know it. Trying to vindicate himself."
"Sir?" Litton was incredulous.
"Oh yes. I say, why don't you send that Hitler a telegram, asking him to please withdraw like a gentleman and otherwise we may have to halt trade with them. That would damage their economy, you know, not being able to dump all their sauerkraut onto our heads."
"Sir - Prime Minister - I have been asked to - inquire into your competence in the handling of these events, and to request your resignation in the event that you are unwilling to continue - "
"Now, my dear man Little, why would I be unwilling to continue?"
"Prime Minister, I have - I have - I must ask you to please be unwilling, sir."
"Who told you to say that? Churchill?"
"I - I - uh, no, not Churchill."
"It was Churchill!"
"Sir, your resignation speech has already been written for you, uh, sir."
"Damn that Churchill."
"Prime Minister, are you the slightest bit - paranoid?"
"Not the least bit, little dear. I'll do it. I'll do it for you, me love." Litton grimaced and rubbed his hands over his face; the Prime Minister cackled and adjusted a new hat. "Now come here and tell me how I look."
Three gnarled, slightly trembling fingers hovered uncertainly above the small straw and lifted it gently out of its container and into the damp, dark air. It dinked lightly on the lip as it made its way out, guided slowly, tiredly by the shaky hand. Slowly it came into focus in the old man's eyes, which then looked quiveringly around the room from behind their wrinkled folds. The other four men looked back, the tension on their faces evident in the lines on the face and the thinness of the lips. One shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and his lips opened slowly and broke the silence.
"You drew the short straw, Litton."
So it was; Litton's fingers, still trembling, held the straw up in front of his face, and saw that it was indeed shorter than the other four. He exhaled quietly, looked mournfully down to the floor, and slowly, gently slid the straw into his shirt pocket. He looked up at the man who had spoken; the man spoke again, a ray of relief shining through his face.
"You'll have to give the Prime Minister the news, then."
The old man grunted and folded his eyebrows sadly, looking around the room at the other men, silently imploring them to take pity. They gave no sign. Litton shrugged and cast his eyes downwards, slowly turning and walking towards the door, his legs stopping mid-stride as he pondered his fate and then softly meeting the ground once more. He opened the door and, without looking back, stepped inside.
The Prime Minister was clad in a rather loud purple dress with the occasional - no, frequent - polka dot, and as Litton's eyes were cast on the floor the first thing he saw was the lace frilly edges on the bottom of the dress. The Prime Minister was wearing painful-looking heels, the kind so fashionable in days of old in which the toe is narrowed to an acute triangle. Litton's eyes flickered over the dark hose on the Minister's legs and flickered down to the ornate rug, slightly guilty. After a moment he convinced his eyes to jump to the Minister's beautiful eyes, but they focused on the false lashes.
Litton coughed. "Prime Minister," he said weakly but gaining in strength, "I have important news."
"Well, I suppose I can't be a society lady all the time," the Prime Minister replied gamely in his smooth baritone voice.
"Sir, Germany has declared war on Poland," Litton said, his right hand searching for something - a table, a post, anything - to rest on. "We are obliged to defend them against the German invaders, sir."
"That is so," the Prime Minister confirmed, examining his white gloves. "Would you like some tea, Lily?"
The old man flinched. "Litton. No, thank you, sir." The Prime Minister poured himself a glass.
"That Hitler," the Prime Minister said, degenerating into a working-class accent. "he does get my undies in a bunch times like these." Litton looked down and said nothing. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea? Suit yourself. I - where were we - tell me, be frank, my dear, do you think this string of pearls matches my personality?" The Prime Minister put it around his neck and clipped the clasp.
"I cannot say, sir," Litton frowned.
"I say, it's a jolly good thing I keep a mirror handy," the Prime Minister said, setting down his tea cup and walking with excellent balance over to the mirror. "Oh, yes, to the T." He beamed.
"Poland," Litton moaned, inside himself wishing he had a pistol to quietly slip inside his ear.
"Talk to - what's his name. You know I'm not much for this statesman business. Tell me again why we're allied with the Poles, my dear fellow."
"We signed an agreement that we would defend them, if the Nazis were to invade," Litton croaked, putting his hands together and begging quietly for mercy.
The Prime Minister saw this and cocked his head. "What are you saying?" The old man stopped and sputtered that it was nothing. "I see. I'm not really insane, you know. No. But really, this prime minister business just doesn't suit me." There was a short pause. "Really, that's horrible."
"You mean the Germans invading?" Litton asked, with hope rising in his poor old heart.
"No," the Prime Minister said, "this hat," holding up a large black-lace-rimmed spectacle studded with peacock feathers, which he had just pulled out of the armoire. He stuffed it back in. "Well, what do we do?"
"About the hat?"
"Poland, you silly goose."
"Well, Minister, it appears we have no course but to go to war with Germany, sir."
"Oh, war's no fun. Really! I say, isn't there any way?"
"No, Minister."
"That damn Churchill."
"Sir?"
"He's behind this, I know it. Trying to vindicate himself."
"Sir?" Litton was incredulous.
"Oh yes. I say, why don't you send that Hitler a telegram, asking him to please withdraw like a gentleman and otherwise we may have to halt trade with them. That would damage their economy, you know, not being able to dump all their sauerkraut onto our heads."
"Sir - Prime Minister - I have been asked to - inquire into your competence in the handling of these events, and to request your resignation in the event that you are unwilling to continue - "
"Now, my dear man Little, why would I be unwilling to continue?"
"Prime Minister, I have - I have - I must ask you to please be unwilling, sir."
"Who told you to say that? Churchill?"
"I - I - uh, no, not Churchill."
"It was Churchill!"
"Sir, your resignation speech has already been written for you, uh, sir."
"Damn that Churchill."
"Prime Minister, are you the slightest bit - paranoid?"
"Not the least bit, little dear. I'll do it. I'll do it for you, me love." Litton grimaced and rubbed his hands over his face; the Prime Minister cackled and adjusted a new hat. "Now come here and tell me how I look."
Author #4
There had been a time when the kingdom had not suffered. There was always a time before. But all of this changed when the new king had risen to power. He was an arrogant man who saw all things as his personal possessions, even people. If he broke a toy or a person it mattered not to him, he threw it into the fires of the forge the same. None were above that as was shown the year before when he tossed his wife into the forge when his urges overwhelmed her.
Ah the years have frowned upon the once great kingdom. Having lost half its lands to others when the king demanded something or another of them and they refused it was in a pitiable state. The iron mines of the east, the great port city of Nivec in the south, the Great Wild Wood in the east, and most importantly the gold mines of the north, all was lost when the king decided to treat other nations as he did his subjects. The people still in the kingdom of Rancef longed too be in those lost parts.
But now good tidings have spread throughout. The king has finally died and a new man has been chosen by the Houses to be king. He is a youth that is both strong and wise for his year and many hope that he shall bring a golden age that has not been seen for 1,000 years. His name is Lapeonon. But if they knew his wishes then many would fear him and scorn him as a man with no mind to call his own.
For you see he has always looked at the other kingdoms of Rautasi, and Gandeln with scornful eyes and wished that they would admit their inferiority. Matters did not help that the old king was a Rautasin. And of course he had a hate of nobles that few others could surpass. Of course none of them knew that since each of them wanted nothing more than someone that wouldn’t kill them for speaking out of turn. If only they knew what was going to happen.
And now that man was going to be the new king. A king to make all others quail in their boots at the sound of anything resembling him. A king to make all foreigners pay tribute in homage to this man and hope that his hungry gaze does not see them in any way possible. Ah how they would weap if the knew.
And now Lapeonon was going to take the Leopard Throne and try to add all others to his collection.
I myself now weap for Rancef and my countrymen as I leave to another, hopefully more peaceful place.
There had been a time when the kingdom had not suffered. There was always a time before. But all of this changed when the new king had risen to power. He was an arrogant man who saw all things as his personal possessions, even people. If he broke a toy or a person it mattered not to him, he threw it into the fires of the forge the same. None were above that as was shown the year before when he tossed his wife into the forge when his urges overwhelmed her.
Ah the years have frowned upon the once great kingdom. Having lost half its lands to others when the king demanded something or another of them and they refused it was in a pitiable state. The iron mines of the east, the great port city of Nivec in the south, the Great Wild Wood in the east, and most importantly the gold mines of the north, all was lost when the king decided to treat other nations as he did his subjects. The people still in the kingdom of Rancef longed too be in those lost parts.
But now good tidings have spread throughout. The king has finally died and a new man has been chosen by the Houses to be king. He is a youth that is both strong and wise for his year and many hope that he shall bring a golden age that has not been seen for 1,000 years. His name is Lapeonon. But if they knew his wishes then many would fear him and scorn him as a man with no mind to call his own.
For you see he has always looked at the other kingdoms of Rautasi, and Gandeln with scornful eyes and wished that they would admit their inferiority. Matters did not help that the old king was a Rautasin. And of course he had a hate of nobles that few others could surpass. Of course none of them knew that since each of them wanted nothing more than someone that wouldn’t kill them for speaking out of turn. If only they knew what was going to happen.
And now that man was going to be the new king. A king to make all others quail in their boots at the sound of anything resembling him. A king to make all foreigners pay tribute in homage to this man and hope that his hungry gaze does not see them in any way possible. Ah how they would weap if the knew.
And now Lapeonon was going to take the Leopard Throne and try to add all others to his collection.
I myself now weap for Rancef and my countrymen as I leave to another, hopefully more peaceful place.
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I'm always afraid of commenting on these because I can't think of anything to say. But I can say that I did enjoy reading these, even though the fictional territories in the second piece got confusing...
Author #1: Quite good. My quibble is that it appears tha we suddenly skip ahead several months, from the beginning to the end of the pregnancy. I see the wedding is a flashback, but unless I misread, she is remembering it shourtly after she discovers she is pregnant, and then the second half of the story takes place when she is almost at term. I would have placed something to indicate the time change. Otherwise this was a very good story, I thought.
Author #2: Entertaining. As Anonymous4401 said, the names of the countries were hard to keep straight, but this may merely be due to the fact that the story is short and we don't have hundreds of pages reminding us.
I would have had a bit more detail on the Duke's recapture. All in all, pretty good, and amusing.
Author #3: Haha. I presume this is not a historical PM? I worry for Litton. Good job developing a mad incompetent man. This was a very good story.
Author #2: Entertaining. As Anonymous4401 said, the names of the countries were hard to keep straight, but this may merely be due to the fact that the story is short and we don't have hundreds of pages reminding us.
I would have had a bit more detail on the Duke's recapture. All in all, pretty good, and amusing.
Author #3: Haha. I presume this is not a historical PM?
I worry for Litton. Good job developing a mad incompetent man. This was a very good story.
Author #1: The history is well told in her memory in this piece. Though I admit, the ending seems a bit jarring in terms of a timeline. At first I had assumed she was in early pregnancy, but near the end she is less than a month from birth. But the intentions are clear and her tale of revenge is a wonderful way to convey the introduction of a new leader.
As well, the language is nicely done. The prose has a nice flowing feel to it. Dreamy as is her memory. Nice.
Author #2: This second piece has an almost “Mouse that Roared” feel to it. Lots of rich detail and grandiose dreams, all based on illusion. However, I must admit that I became confused a time or two when trying to determine this or that place, kingdom, etc. The introduction of the back-story was a little clumsy for my taste. It seemed to come out of nowhere in the middle simply to explain why the scene was happening, though I did like the juxtaposition of the intro and ending and using the same type of scene set up.
Perhaps a better way to have done this would have been to set his history before his meeting so that as Gustov is talking to Culvas, we are in on what the discussion means from the start.
Reading this gave me many wry smirks at the subtle humor. And certainly an intresting angle on becoming a leader. The attempts one will make to gain and keep power, eh?
Author #3: Funny. I pictured Graham Chapman as the PM. Seemed fitting. A new leader is clearly needed as this one seems to have fashion a bit to much on the brain. But a question – was the PM supposed to be merely a cross dresser or actually mad? The ending hints at the second where I might have found the former more humorous.
And a suggestion. Now before I say this, understand – I have this same problem when I write. Too many adverbs. Stephen King actually suggests going over your work after you write a bit and striking out almost every word that ends in –ly. As an example, your piece begins:
Whereas you might have written it like this:
Of course, just a suggestion, but I tend to think the second reads with less “business.” It’s more straight forward while still giving description to the movements and demeanors of the character(s).
If there is an author #4, I’ll come back and critique that as well.
Bravo to everyone that participated. Well done and brave of you to place your work out there for criticism. And thanks again to Hajji for picking up the mantel here and keeping this project running along.
As well, the language is nicely done. The prose has a nice flowing feel to it. Dreamy as is her memory. Nice.
Author #2: This second piece has an almost “Mouse that Roared” feel to it. Lots of rich detail and grandiose dreams, all based on illusion. However, I must admit that I became confused a time or two when trying to determine this or that place, kingdom, etc. The introduction of the back-story was a little clumsy for my taste. It seemed to come out of nowhere in the middle simply to explain why the scene was happening, though I did like the juxtaposition of the intro and ending and using the same type of scene set up.
Perhaps a better way to have done this would have been to set his history before his meeting so that as Gustov is talking to Culvas, we are in on what the discussion means from the start.
Reading this gave me many wry smirks at the subtle humor. And certainly an intresting angle on becoming a leader. The attempts one will make to gain and keep power, eh?
Author #3: Funny. I pictured Graham Chapman as the PM. Seemed fitting.
A new leader is clearly needed as this one seems to have fashion a bit to much on the brain. But a question – was the PM supposed to be merely a cross dresser or actually mad? The ending hints at the second where I might have found the former more humorous.And a suggestion. Now before I say this, understand – I have this same problem when I write. Too many adverbs. Stephen King actually suggests going over your work after you write a bit and striking out almost every word that ends in –ly. As an example, your piece begins:
Whereas you might have written it like this:
Of course, just a suggestion, but I tend to think the second reads with less “business.” It’s more straight forward while still giving description to the movements and demeanors of the character(s).
If there is an author #4, I’ll come back and critique that as well.
Bravo to everyone that participated. Well done and brave of you to place your work out there for criticism. And thanks again to Hajji for picking up the mantel here and keeping this project running along.
Entry #4 is up!
Now for some of my opinions...
Author #1: Wow, sneaky, a powerful story powerfully wrought. The King seemed like a stupid frat boy who awakened the cunning in the woman. Passions, motives, anger, and a gloomy, brooding atmosphere. Very effective writing; the flashback works well - it is subtly written and not overly history-lectury so it does not descend into what television writers call "flashing arrows". Now I wonder how our queen will fare...
Author #2: Some flashing arrows might have been handy in this one. The numerous fantasy countries got to my head, although some were clearly intended ironically or amusingly, and the flashback wasn't as smooth as Author #1's (apples and oranges, sorry). There's no denying, though, the inventiveness of this author's mind, and the amusingness of much of the story. I couldn't help thinking of the movie "Big Fish", because of ideas of creating grandiosity and glory out of nothing much, although I'm not sure the connection makes much sense at all. Very probably all these imaginary places were quite deliberately imaginary to enhance the feeling of being sort of ironic, meaningless nations.
Author #3: The main joke of this piece is knifed in quite cleverly after the stuffy, dry, gloomy opening paragraphs, which may have been designed for contrast and to keep the reader unawares. I'm going to have to go along with coz1's comment though - slowly killing readers with quickly tiring adverbs is sadly detrimental to this drearily opening first paragraph. Another thing, about the end of the piece - it seems to have been tacked on to a story about a different topic, perhaps an excerpt from an HoI AAR?
One more thought. Was this supposed to be Neville Chamberlain? In any case it was a funny passage.
Congrats and thanks to all the authors who participated! I have yet to read thoroughly entry #4, but a critique will (hopefully) be forthcoming.
EDIT: PM box cleared out! Well, at least it's down to 26
Now for some of my opinions...
Author #1: Wow, sneaky, a powerful story powerfully wrought. The King seemed like a stupid frat boy who awakened the cunning in the woman. Passions, motives, anger, and a gloomy, brooding atmosphere. Very effective writing; the flashback works well - it is subtly written and not overly history-lectury so it does not descend into what television writers call "flashing arrows". Now I wonder how our queen will fare...
Author #2: Some flashing arrows might have been handy in this one. The numerous fantasy countries got to my head, although some were clearly intended ironically or amusingly, and the flashback wasn't as smooth as Author #1's (apples and oranges, sorry). There's no denying, though, the inventiveness of this author's mind, and the amusingness of much of the story. I couldn't help thinking of the movie "Big Fish", because of ideas of creating grandiosity and glory out of nothing much, although I'm not sure the connection makes much sense at all. Very probably all these imaginary places were quite deliberately imaginary to enhance the feeling of being sort of ironic, meaningless nations.
Author #3: The main joke of this piece is knifed in quite cleverly after the stuffy, dry, gloomy opening paragraphs, which may have been designed for contrast and to keep the reader unawares. I'm going to have to go along with coz1's comment though - slowly killing readers with quickly tiring adverbs is sadly detrimental to this drearily opening first paragraph. Another thing, about the end of the piece - it seems to have been tacked on to a story about a different topic, perhaps an excerpt from an HoI AAR?
One more thought. Was this supposed to be Neville Chamberlain? In any case it was a funny passage.
Congrats and thanks to all the authors who participated! I have yet to read thoroughly entry #4, but a critique will (hopefully) be forthcoming.
EDIT: PM box cleared out! Well, at least it's down to 26
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Author #4: I have to admit, this piece seems lacking in something of substance as far as a tale goes. Yes, it describes what exposition we need to know, but that seems all that it does. It sets up but does not deliver, if you know what I mean? I get the feel that it was perhaps rushed, thus its shortness. It certainly introduces us to a new leader, and that was the assignment, but I can't help but think that more could have been pulled from the premise.
Perhaps, instead of listing the past, it might have worked better by showing it - i.e. have the person speaking discussing with another these issues, or some such. It may have had more meat that way.
Once again - I applaud the effort of all for putting their work out there to be blindly criticized. It's not an easy process. Beers for all for a job well done.
Perhaps, instead of listing the past, it might have worked better by showing it - i.e. have the person speaking discussing with another these issues, or some such. It may have had more meat that way.
Once again - I applaud the effort of all for putting their work out there to be blindly criticized. It's not an easy process. Beers for all for a job well done.
Author #4: Good premise. However, it does not go far enough. The narrator does not seem emotionally involved. Perhaps more (personal) moaning before the end when he announces he is bitter, or try going about the narration a different way, like, as coz1 said, dialogue.
Thanks to the four writers who put their pieces out there.
Thanks to the four writers who put their pieces out there.
Author number 1:
There was this part that made me wince...
Minstrels? Can't be a native English speaker. It should have been ministrations, which is what I believe the author intended. Also, the sudden jump in time forward a few months could have been transitioned a tad smoother. It was fairly well written, overall. The introduction of the poisoned chalice is a time honored tradition and like most bad guys, he never saw it coming. I am presuming that the 'king' believed that he had intimidated and cowed his 'bride'. Therefore he probably thought he had nothing to fear. Sometimes power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Still other than the time jumping transition issue I liked this one the best.
Author 2:
The Count becomes a Duke after his nation loses a war. Then there is another war which his nation again loses. And he becomes a KING? If I hadn't read it I wouldn't have believed it! How can incompetence be rewarded so grandly? He leads a poorly executed charge in the first war and is captured. Then because his mother and sisters had fled and his brothers uncooperative he is given apparently MORE territory and gets to be a DUKE? This makes no tactical sense to me. What enemy nation would GIVE his defeated foe MORE land and urge a dukedom upon them?
Let alone when another war comes along and the nations is SPLIT between two opposing forces! How in the world can his opponents make him a KING? With apparently even MORE LAND? I don't understand the logic of it. Yes they are fantasy nations. I, too, had a bit of difficulty figuring out who was whom and doing what with and to whom. Yet it was somewhat entertaining.
My only thing is that apparently the entire group of nations around there are populated by idiots. Which can happen, certainly. Just look at real history and you can see that. But all in all, this was a confusing and confounding story. It wasn't that it was poorly written. More like it was constructed in bits and pieces or some good stuff with little parts to glue it all together.
I know, this is a tad harsh, I suppose. But this is REALLY stretching the premise of this month's piece. I think with some reworking this story could be much better. Perhaps with an injection of humor and more obvious bumlbing by the characters this would be wonderful satire.
Author 3:
Good lord, getting rid of this foppish oaf is absolutely paramount. If there is any way to find a way to completely lose a war before starting to fight it, this PM would manage it. Thank the lord people are moving in to extend an 'offer' to resign so that England can prepare for the oncoming onslaught that will be WWII. They are obviously supporters of Churchill, who is going to be the guiding force of Britain. Apparently this is a caricature of Chamberlain, and even though it was a bit over the top....I enjoyed this one quite a bit, and the over the top part wasn't bad. In fact, I almost expected it to go even MORE that direction.
Author 4:
Can't be an English speaker. Which isn't necssarily a bad thing. But this sentence really doesn't make sense to me. I don't think I quite understand what they are meaning here. There is a forge, and broken stuff gets thrown into it. it is that it doesn't make sense altogether. Oh well. That wasn't all that important, I suppose. A bad king dies, only to be replaced by one which will apparently be far, far worse. Which is quite unfortunate and not all that remarkable in history. The biggest problem I have is that this piece is very short. It is almost like the writer just tossed it off as quickly as possible. Time constraints probably made this happen. There was much information given in a short span of verbiage. The only problem is that it is so dry and fact filled that it is more like a diary entry or perhaps a musty scroll with a scrap of history quickly scrawled upon it, only to be forgotten.
Again, I know I sound harsh. I don't mean to be. But this had potential. It really did! There is glimmerings of wonderful things here that only need to be polished and the story expanded. With sparkling prose to intersplice with the dry information this story would be fantastic. Alas, it was not to be...
There was this part that made me wince...
Minstrels? Can't be a native English speaker. It should have been ministrations, which is what I believe the author intended. Also, the sudden jump in time forward a few months could have been transitioned a tad smoother. It was fairly well written, overall. The introduction of the poisoned chalice is a time honored tradition and like most bad guys, he never saw it coming. I am presuming that the 'king' believed that he had intimidated and cowed his 'bride'. Therefore he probably thought he had nothing to fear. Sometimes power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Still other than the time jumping transition issue I liked this one the best.
Author 2:
The Count becomes a Duke after his nation loses a war. Then there is another war which his nation again loses. And he becomes a KING? If I hadn't read it I wouldn't have believed it! How can incompetence be rewarded so grandly? He leads a poorly executed charge in the first war and is captured. Then because his mother and sisters had fled and his brothers uncooperative he is given apparently MORE territory and gets to be a DUKE? This makes no tactical sense to me. What enemy nation would GIVE his defeated foe MORE land and urge a dukedom upon them?
Let alone when another war comes along and the nations is SPLIT between two opposing forces! How in the world can his opponents make him a KING? With apparently even MORE LAND? I don't understand the logic of it. Yes they are fantasy nations. I, too, had a bit of difficulty figuring out who was whom and doing what with and to whom. Yet it was somewhat entertaining.
My only thing is that apparently the entire group of nations around there are populated by idiots. Which can happen, certainly. Just look at real history and you can see that. But all in all, this was a confusing and confounding story. It wasn't that it was poorly written. More like it was constructed in bits and pieces or some good stuff with little parts to glue it all together.
I know, this is a tad harsh, I suppose. But this is REALLY stretching the premise of this month's piece. I think with some reworking this story could be much better. Perhaps with an injection of humor and more obvious bumlbing by the characters this would be wonderful satire.
Author 3:
Good lord, getting rid of this foppish oaf is absolutely paramount. If there is any way to find a way to completely lose a war before starting to fight it, this PM would manage it. Thank the lord people are moving in to extend an 'offer' to resign so that England can prepare for the oncoming onslaught that will be WWII. They are obviously supporters of Churchill, who is going to be the guiding force of Britain. Apparently this is a caricature of Chamberlain, and even though it was a bit over the top....I enjoyed this one quite a bit, and the over the top part wasn't bad. In fact, I almost expected it to go even MORE that direction.
Author 4:
Can't be an English speaker. Which isn't necssarily a bad thing. But this sentence really doesn't make sense to me. I don't think I quite understand what they are meaning here. There is a forge, and broken stuff gets thrown into it. it is that it doesn't make sense altogether. Oh well. That wasn't all that important, I suppose. A bad king dies, only to be replaced by one which will apparently be far, far worse. Which is quite unfortunate and not all that remarkable in history. The biggest problem I have is that this piece is very short. It is almost like the writer just tossed it off as quickly as possible. Time constraints probably made this happen. There was much information given in a short span of verbiage. The only problem is that it is so dry and fact filled that it is more like a diary entry or perhaps a musty scroll with a scrap of history quickly scrawled upon it, only to be forgotten.
Again, I know I sound harsh. I don't mean to be. But this had potential. It really did! There is glimmerings of wonderful things here that only need to be polished and the story expanded. With sparkling prose to intersplice with the dry information this story would be fantastic. Alas, it was not to be...