Tobold and Hibalt are back for another adventure

Okay, I’ve had internet issues so I haven’t had a chance to update anything recently, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. I got a little bored the other day and I’ve come up with a few more adventures for my incompetent barbarians. So today’s post is the first part of their latest adventure.

Borderlands: The Brazen Horde Part 1

 ‘Stop pacing. We need to project confidence, or we won’t get the job,’ Tobold glared at Hibalt, ‘Don’t look so nervous, it’ll be fine.’

‘Nervous, who’s nervous? I’m not nervous. Are you nervous?’ Hibalt tried to do as he was told and ‘project confidence’ in his demeanour, but failed miserably.

 ‘No, you fool, I’m bored silly.’ ‘Do you think we’ll have to wait much longer?’ ‘How should I know? Why don’t you stare at the clouds like you usually do, and shut up?’

 ‘Ha, I like that! There aren’t any clouds to stare at.’

 The pair returned to slouching against the brass clad wall of the yurt. They’d been waiting in the ever diminishing queue since dawn and had finally reached the front. With nothing else to do they waited and watched the Brazen Horde (‘Now Recruiting! Don’t Miss YOUR Chance to join OUR Team!) stir in to life. Waiting with them under the broiling noon sun was a young man fresh from his Steppe tribe and searching for his first position. Thoroughly bored Tobold scrutinised his impassive, and impressive, features, checking out, for the millionth time, their competition. ‘The shiny armour is good, very professional looking, he might look good in a parade; wish my armour was like that, the breast-plate hasn’t got a single dent and I can’t see even a dot of rust, he must spend hours with the sand and polish; I should steal myself a set like that.’

Tobold chuntered on in this way for some time; meanwhile Hibalt was observing the man he considered to be the real threat – a weasel faced fellow with greasier-than-the-average-barbarian hair. He reminded Hibalt of a wet sewer rat, even down to the stink and slight skin disorder. He also looked familiar; Hibalt wandered, ‘had they been in the same tavern brawl? Nice sword though, whoever he was’. Being of a slightly philosophical disposition Hibalt decided that he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it and returned to staring at the empty sky. With nothing else left to think off he contemplated the twists of fate that had brought him to the door of Gorgo the Terrible, a legend among barbarians.

Joining the Brazen Horde had always been his dream; they were the best and didn’t often allow new members to join. Spotting the poster, and finding someone to read it to them, in the Blue Dragon (Voted Top Tavern by ‘Barbarian Magazine’ for five years in a row! Don’t miss Friday Free For All!) had been a stroke of luck.

Sometime after this, as the sun started to push long shadows across the ground a rather large individual wandered across to the group, travelling in a rather irregular manner as he bounced from yurt to tent to shack. He had the pained face of one who desperately need to relieve himself but couldn’t find the privy. Unfortunately he happened to bounce from the disk covered yurt in to the young man and then in to the weasel fellow. At this point he gave up, lifted his kilt and emptied his bladder all over his last bouncee.

‘Here we go,’ Hibalt thought, ‘Nice punch up, just the thing to relieve boredom. And that one might just get pushed off the interview list.’

The weasel man, somewhat irritated by being kept waiting and then urinated upon, drew his knife and stepped towards the immediate source of his irritation in an effort to protect himself from further drenching. The gentleman concerned blinked rapidly as the expression of profound relief vanished and he realised he was being attacked. Tobold and Hibalt looked on in amazement as the dullard leaned in to his attacker and walloped the knife away. The weasel screeched and the shook his arm, it had gone numb. He desperately backed away from his attacker, searching for another weapon as his attacker advanced. The weasel eventually backed in to Tobold, who grabbed him. 

Hibalt had decided that they should get involved but since the fight had come to them, prehaps they should try to restore order; it might impress Gorgo the Terrible, which was the most important thing to achieve that day. Duly reaching his decision, Hibalt stepped smartly between the weasel and the dolt and tried to calm matters, in the approved manner of all barbarians – he smacked the weasel in the chops and sent him crashing to the floor, or would have if Tobold hadn’t been holding the fellow upright.

‘Problem solved, sir, and who would you be?’

‘I’m Harmen the Brave. Have you heard of me?’

‘No, ‘fraid not. Should we have done?’

‘I’m in a famous ballad, I am. The Lay of Gorgo The Great.’

‘Oh, no I’ve not heard that one. Is it new?’

‘It’s been doing the rounds for five years now. How can you not have heard it?’

‘I have, it’s very good, full of excitement and adventure.’ Piped up the youthful Steppe nomad.

‘And who are you, young man?’ Harmen asked, though he couldn’t have been more that five years older.

‘I’m Cylus. I haven’t got a ‘the Such and Such’ yet. My mum says you have to earn that bit.’

‘How pleasant to meet you Cylus, I’m sure you’ll get your moniker soon, you look the type.’ Hibalt scratched and looked at the unconscious fellow, still being held up by Tobold, ‘And does anyone know who this is?’

‘Snitch the Thief. Please deposit him there.’ A new voice joined the conversation. They all looked round to the yurt door before Harmen scurried away. Tobold dropped Snitch in an ungainly lump as Hibalt and Cylus scrambled back in to the queue.

‘Who’s next please?’ The man scanned his list, neatly pinned to a piece of wood by a small knife.

‘That would be us, Sir.’ It wouldn’t harm their chances to be polite, Hibalt thought.

‘Ah yes, Tobold and Hibalt. Please come this way.’

They followed him in to the yurt and looked around the dim interior which was lit only by a single oil lamp. The air was smokey and rank with the smell of sweat, stale alcohol and confined bodies. In the gloom stood a great figure, half hidden by an elaborate desk. The figure stepped forward in to the lamp light, removed the equally elaborate headdress and cloak and put out his hand to them.

‘Gentlemen, good of you to come. Do take a stool.’ The man, who could only have been Gorgo, shook their hands and indicated that the make use of the conveniently placed, and rather low stools.

End of Part One

Hope you liked that, part two will be here soon, provided I don’t have any more internet access problems. Any feedback would be helpful.

Oh, dear, someone’s decided to do a remake of Conan the Barbarian

I’ve just seen a poster on the side of a bus, someone has done a remake of that eighties sword and sorcery extravaganza ‘Conan the Barbarian’. Conan originally appeared in a series of short stories written by Robert E. Howard in 1932 for Weird Tales. In 1982 Arnold Schwarzenegger starred in a film version, which was not bad I suppose (personally I preferred ‘Red Sonja’, a film also based on one of Howard’s short stories).

So in homage to the genre I have decided to write a short sword and sorcery snippet. I’ve never written S&S before, so there’s a good chance it could turn into a parody.

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Borderlands: Visit to Iderford

‘I’m bored, why are we here again?’ Tobold asked Hibalt, his nondescript travelling, raiding and drinking companion. They were walking through the riverside market place of Iderford after spending three weeks chasing a friend down the river Ider, from Iderhead, three hundred miles to the north-east.

‘Because, you great steaming nit, we have to find Gorgan.’

‘Why? It’s not as though she’ll still have your book. She’s probably sold it, traded it for beer or burnt it to cook her tea with by now.’ Tobold really wanted to find the nearest brothel that took Barbarian Card and spend the night in warm, clean-ish bed.

‘I don’t care, I’m still going to find her and get it back.’ Hibalt continued to look around him, searching for the four foot thief of books. It was not going to be easy, Gorgan could blend in, she could easily hide in a school and nobody would notice. Not that there were many schools out here in the Borderlands, but those strange new priests were opening up schools all the time. Not that they stayed open for long.

‘What’s so important about the book anyway, you never read it.’ Since neither of them could read.

‘Sometimes a scribe reads it to me. It has all sorts of useful advice. You know that time we were stuck in Candara and couldn’t find anyone who spoke Knuttish.’

‘Yes?’ Of course he remembered, it’s hard to forget a place when you have been chased out of it by armed men.

‘Well, the book had all these phrases in it, in Candaran.’

‘Yes, but we still got run out of town.’

‘Ah well, I think that was because I said the words wrong.’

‘Didn’t that priest tell you which words to use when we showed him the book?’

‘I forgot which words they were supposed to be.’

‘That explains it then.’

‘Shut up. I’m looking for Gorgan. She’s bound to have been here.’

‘We should ask around at the inns.’

‘You never get past the first three.’

‘Well, I like to be certain. I’m thourough.’

‘If you say so. You go hunting round the inns, I’ll try the market.’

‘Right, see you later.’ Tobold skipped gleefully away in a most un-barbarian-like fashion, to find the nearest pub.

Hibalt resumed his search. He found a likely looking stall-holder, calling forth his wares.

‘Excuse me, kind sir, could you tell me, has anybody tried to sell you a book lately?’

‘Look around, you daft thug, this is a second hand book stall, of course people have tried to sell me books, I just wish I could get people to buy ‘em instead.’

Hibalt considered reaching for his sword and running the man through, but then his therapist’s voice popped in to his head, reminding him about inappropriate reactions. Hibalt took a deep breath and counted down from ten. He tried a new strategy,

‘Sir, I am enquiring about a specific book, my book has a tattered red leather cover, with an etching of the Black Hills and Borderlands on the first page.’

‘Oh, a Red Book Tour Guide? We have one here sir, five pennies.’

‘No, that’s not my book, my book is special. But it’s very similar. My book was stolen from me, by a four foot siren.’

‘A four foot siren? Have you been drinking?’

‘Not recently, I’m on a program, to reduce my drinking. But I really want my book back.’

‘Okay, does it have any distinguishing features?’

‘Not really, a priest wrote my name in it once, when I tried to learn to read, and write.’

‘Well, that might be useful. What is your name?’

‘Hibalt Treebreaker.’

‘Right, well if anybody tries to sell me a Red Book Tour Guide with the name Hibalt Treebreaker written in it, I’ll keep it to one side in case I meet you again. What did you say the thief looked like?’

‘Four foot tall, blond hair, big boobs, large sword. You can’t miss Gorgan, pretty as a picture, she is.’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘Oh and sometimes she dresses as a priestess, just to confuse people.’

‘What a strange woman.’

‘Yes, but so much fun. We used to go on long raiding holidays when we were younger, you’d never know it now.’

‘Have things gone wrong between you?’ The trader couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t often that a barbarian felt the need to confide in him; usually they just robbed him and ran away.

‘Yes,’ Hibalt started weeping, ‘It all started when we argued over raiding the Temple of Sweetest Flowers in Manchura, she said we should because it was a symbol of female oppression, and I didn’t want to because the last barbarians to raid the Temple ended up hanging from the trees like bunting.’

‘What did you decide?’

‘She went off to raid the temple and I didn’t see her for three months after that. I thought she was dead. Apparently they thought she was a novice and it took her that long to escape.’

‘There, there, I’m sure you’ll sort it out. Why don’t you go and have a quiet pint over at the Blue Bull? My cousin’s the barman there; they have the best ale for miles.’

‘I told you, I don’t drink.’

With that the morose barbarian tipped up the hapless traders’ bench, scattering books and ancient scrolls all over the road.

‘That’s more like it,’ thought the trader, ‘I know where I am now.’  He then called for the watch and Hibalt had to dash for the river.

Tobold had been enjoying a pint in the beer garden of the Blue Bull, smiling at the barmaid and exchanging tall tales with other visiting barbarians, when Hibalt dashed past followed by five burly watchmen.

‘Do excuse me gentlemen, I really must go, my sidekick appears to be in some sort of trouble. See you around.’

With that he gripped his sword hilt, and gave chase.

————-

Safely back in their vessel and several miles downriver Tobold finally stopped rowing, turned in his seat and looked at Hibalt, who was manning the steering oar,

‘Well, what have you done now?’

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Sorry about that, I couldn’t help myself. 1000 words of silliness. It’s entirely possible Tobold and Hibalt will make another appearance, when I decide what they’re going to do next.

Surprising Inspiration, or, where I get ideas from

It’s not always easy finding ideas and sometimes we all get writers block, but there are ways to get through it. You have to dig around and find the ideas malingering in your mind. But where?

When I get really desperate for ideas I try a few things, and these are some of them

  • The Name Game – Go throught the alphabet, two letters at a time, and invent names e.g. Annabelle Buttler, Charles Day, then mess the names around and try to see if they spark something off
  • Something similar is to write a list of occupations in one column and then an list of hobbies in another column. Cut them up and pick out one from each, e.g. guitar playing, pharmacist or skiing, cook, and see what can be made from them. Combining this with the name game gives you a couple of characters, jobs and hobbies, and you have a start.
  • Facebook is another place to look. Try having a scan down your friends status updates. People are very frank on Facebook, and can sometimes write very odd stuff. Your friends random comments can give you a great jumping off point for an article or story.
  • Short story competitions – look through back issues of writing magazines or on the internet, some have themed competitions for stories and poetry. Take the theme and write, even if you have no interest whatsoever in entering the competition. Last year I found such a competition and wrote a piece, it took me so long, since at the time I didn’t have a computer and had to type the competition entry up at the library, that I missed the deadline entirely. I’ll probably go over it at some point and either enter it for another competition or possibly post it on here.
  • Similarly, go through any old stories/articles and try to look at them from a different angle – play ‘what if’.
  • Paintings, prints and photographs. These capture moment in time -how, why, what, where, when.

Thats a few of my ideas, probably you’ll have your own stratagies, but i hope these help.

 

Written following a conversation with one of my friends who is currently struggling with writers block – inspiration from and for Ellie. Good luck, chuck.

Fantasy short story

No I’m not posting a short story today, another day maybe.

I’ve just emailed my entry for the www.fantasybookreview.co.uk fantasy short story competition. I found this competition while browsing through a copy of Writer’s News a couple of months ago and had to enter it. I’ve never entered a writing competition before, until recently i’ve only ever writen fiction for pleasure, either because i wanted too or because certain small members of my family nagged me until i told them/wrote them a story.

Fantasy book Review is a really good website if you’re into fantasy (i read lots of that) or science fiction (not so much). Have a look, there’s all sorts of interesting things on there.

Welcome to my writing blog

This is my first blog about my writing. It’s purpose is to showcase that writing.

I already write as a contributing writer on www.suite101.com, and have writen several articles on that website. I like to write both fiction and non-fiction, occaisionally peotry but not often. I enjoy researching for non fiction articles and for the background information required for some of the fiction I write. I am working on several projects at the moment.

I will be posting short stories, excerpts from longer works and occaisional articles.

Feedback and constructive criticism is welcomed