tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72918555624483091282024-03-26T23:37:39.997-07:00Rob's RamblingsWriting projects and musings on the universeRob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-48268676637202219932023-07-30T07:25:00.001-07:002023-07-30T07:27:58.091-07:00Excerpt from The Dead Gods<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEDLZIVAvlFedZhQTEOnM6P3d4SkvqNTt3lbwDPxjIJW6hnNLkT3GiXMwuFVqp-kTtvcwY1FSgARbEidZuoH9F4ESHsRONl5KAkLyMWU-6v55IhMuWTdttaC1A6AwiEq3VSMVAfETdmEVc0mQ1bGciBAuqaaZzNRfWc72pIMvUYUm9HDLpaQ8TaUFZ4k/s327/91jQqFLed9L._AC_UY327_QL65_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="212" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEDLZIVAvlFedZhQTEOnM6P3d4SkvqNTt3lbwDPxjIJW6hnNLkT3GiXMwuFVqp-kTtvcwY1FSgARbEidZuoH9F4ESHsRONl5KAkLyMWU-6v55IhMuWTdttaC1A6AwiEq3VSMVAfETdmEVc0mQ1bGciBAuqaaZzNRfWc72pIMvUYUm9HDLpaQ8TaUFZ4k/s320/91jQqFLed9L._AC_UY327_QL65_.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“Kiri!
Come on child, I am finished for today. We are going home.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">Tunaka
stood up and straightened his back with a grunt. He wiped his dirt-encrusted
hands on his rough tunic. He had spent many long hours preparing the rich soil
that characterised the fertile pocket of the Dofr’ame forest. It was now a fine
tilth, perfect for planting. Tomorrow morning he would sow beans and pulses. In
the afternoon he would perhaps take his bow and hunt in the brooding forests.
Unlike the days of his childhood, the forests were now teeming with game. For
now though, the sun dipped towards the horizon. He could almost taste the stew
his wife had spent the afternoon preparing. He visualised it bubbling away over
the firepit. His stomach rumbled in anticipation; he had earned his supper
today.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">He
heard a giggle behind him and the pounding of tiny feet. He turned to see his
five-year-old daughter hurrying over from where she had been playing in the
dirt. Her smiling face warmed his heart, although he scowled when he saw her
intended route.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“Go
around, Kiri, not on the ground I have prepared!” he cried in mock frustration
and anger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">She
came to a sudden stop and then ran around the side of the prepared bed. She
sprung towards him and he caught her and embraced her in his arms. He revelled
in the fierce, tight hug she gave in return. Her smell mixed with the aroma of
the rich earth filled his nostrils, and he felt content and happy. His life was
more than he could ever have dreamed of at her age. Reluctantly, he set her
back down on the ground, kneeling down to her level.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“Come
on now, my sweetling, it will be dusk in an hour,” he said, attempting to dust
the soil off her clothes. “I need your help to carry the tools home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“Yes,
Ubaba,” Kiri replied, picking up a wooden rake and standing to attention like a
militiaman. “Why are you afraid of the dark? You always finish your work in the
fields before the sun has set.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“It
is force of habit, sweetling,” Tunaka replied, smiling as he signalled for Kiri
to begin the stroll home from the fields. As the sun settled low over the
horizon other workers could be seen leaving their fields and plots, journeying
to their homes and hovels clustered here and there amid the fields.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“I
asked my friend Tablis why,” Kiri said, as they walked together. “She said it
is because you are afraid of the ghosts that rise from the old city over
there.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">As
she spoke, she pointed to the shattered ruins of what was once the city of Acarross,
standing beside the river. Its once mighty walls were falling into disrepair,
still charred by the cleansing fires of nearly two decades before. So intense
were the flames that some parts had melted almost to glass. Some of the stones
had been robbed for building projects elsewhere, but the place had mostly been
left to its ghosts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">Tunaka
gave it a fleeting glance, no more than that. His gaze returned to their path
ahead. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">The place was imprinted on his psyche, a place of
monstrous evil, oppression and black cruelty. It was best not to cast one’s
shadow in that fell place; between that and the forest that was once the abode
of the foulness. </span></i><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">Tunaka
shivered despite the warmth of the sinking sun on his back. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">He
needed to remind himself that the evil was gone, that the demons of the past
were no more, yet always there was a gnawing doubt. He knew what was buried
there.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“We
were an enslaved people once, Kiri.” he replied, as they trudged homeward, his
daughter carrying the rake over her shoulder like a spear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“Years
before your mother and I were blessed by your birth, we were captive here in
these same fields, fenced in by evil monsters that haunted the forests. Chained
by cruel men who once dwelt in that accursed pile of stones.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“What
happened to the monsters and the cruel men, Ubaba?” Kiri enquired, looking
suspiciously at the old city.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">“That
is a tale of how we freed ourselves from the terror of both. Of the days of
Nurarna and the northern warrior, Kaziviere, the Gutspiller….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">The
sun sank as he continued to tell the story and as they neared their home their
shadows grew long in the telling. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif"><br /></span></p>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-42255125488833171002021-12-18T10:12:00.000-08:002021-12-18T10:12:26.208-08:00The Scourge of God - A Review<p> The Scourge of God by C R May</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIp_CwfAJDMndYl9y5FOBeH_H4izyIPLzwLS-TN5ZXEP0W5y57z_CQyM8xGMogb5KT_EC5qFf9qO9XP570qvd084wsHfKtKQgdoamGuWR0cAl0PB7eUcfQJ7pf5nuZDIfIXfQalj954jBLDkQ4n9howeHGQEcKGruUhDWnbBOYdWiW5u34mpraOFTs=s500" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIp_CwfAJDMndYl9y5FOBeH_H4izyIPLzwLS-TN5ZXEP0W5y57z_CQyM8xGMogb5KT_EC5qFf9qO9XP570qvd084wsHfKtKQgdoamGuWR0cAl0PB7eUcfQJ7pf5nuZDIfIXfQalj954jBLDkQ4n9howeHGQEcKGruUhDWnbBOYdWiW5u34mpraOFTs=s320" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #050505; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"<i>Vidar, son of Woden,
Fenris bane: god of vengeance. Here, another man's son proclaims that he too is
keen to avenge his father."</i></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The late Roman Empire was an altogether different beast from
the heydays of imperium. Riven by internal strife and civil war, since 395AD
the empire had been split into the Western and Eastern Empires, centred on Rome
and Constantinople. This was also the period of migration, a domino effect far
to the east and sent tribes and peoples migrating west. Peoples saw the
relative comfort of the Roman empire, with its trappings of civilisation and
its established farmlands, and coveted them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For many years it had been Roman policy to keep the
barbarians beyond their borders fighting each other, as well as using their
services as mercenaries. With the pressures of the migration period, securing
the borders was proving an impossible task for the declining empire, both
militarily and financially. The empire cut its losses and abandoned the
province of Britannia, while adopting a policy to accommodate invading tribes
within the empire, as semi-autonomous regions to act both as buffer states and
police rebellious regions of the empire. After all, these tribes didn’t wish to
destroy the empire; they wished to enjoy the fine living that civilisation had
to offer. It was from these peoples that settled that formed the nations of
Europe, their memory retained in the names of countries and regions.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBhfblpQuJ61EnnNzF4BDj8oxk36oCfy23edCcBm2jxF5znPyTKdkQP39-XooR7q_8bzAzSOkEzOQjEloPhcpPpObsmhJq7RSgKgeuHd27pEQaTHqP2pCOsBpoVhfL9UcSrj2XLKvAvC4MEafgteS42DFhD2tpo6YKb6fCbUXl6JFNxSSOrv4Dk5Q2=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="1280" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBhfblpQuJ61EnnNzF4BDj8oxk36oCfy23edCcBm2jxF5znPyTKdkQP39-XooR7q_8bzAzSOkEzOQjEloPhcpPpObsmhJq7RSgKgeuHd27pEQaTHqP2pCOsBpoVhfL9UcSrj2XLKvAvC4MEafgteS42DFhD2tpo6YKb6fCbUXl6JFNxSSOrv4Dk5Q2=w380-h253" width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbarian Invasions - Wikipedia</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some peoples never reached an accommodation with the empire,
hence the modern meaning of the word vandal; the Germanic Vandals were never
accepted and migrated through Gaul (modern France), through modern Spain, to
settle in North Africa, ironically the area that once was Carthage. From there
they adopted naval tactics to pillage Italy and the coasts of the Mediterranean.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the same time a major military power had exploded on the
scene, whose name became synonymous with barbarity; the Huns. The Huns were a
confederation of nomadic tribes, originally from the Central Asian Steppes. Renowned
horse warriors armed with javelins, lassoes and bows they rode westward carving
out an empire in Eastern and Central Europe, with tactics very different to the
traditional warfare of infantry and cavalry armed with lance. The subjugated
the Ostrogoths, the Alans and numerous Germanic tribes such as the Gepids.
After devastating the Eastern Roman empire and exhausting the area of tribute,
their king, Attila, turned his attention westward. The western empire had heard
dread reports of this <i>Scourge of God,</i> surely this was the coming
apocalypse, the battle to end all battles. Such a battle was that of the
Catalaunian Fields, also known as the Battle of Chalons, which took place in mid-summer
451AD.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-xLHcn49K9SwqAbwo-pUnplTQiR57tIv6EM9sixcDb0tBiMEgPudbecn__YHbsv_4bSNVKnHp-2tt4cowDjxSoFo4iinnHayCEXzWgcIEHkjOJP9_1hkjwU_DWIOz56DjPoCeEdABLUufbL0TcQB7slbcR-Cj2GHOvWqXHzge9UfT27-bWZxh5SQb=s1024" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-xLHcn49K9SwqAbwo-pUnplTQiR57tIv6EM9sixcDb0tBiMEgPudbecn__YHbsv_4bSNVKnHp-2tt4cowDjxSoFo4iinnHayCEXzWgcIEHkjOJP9_1hkjwU_DWIOz56DjPoCeEdABLUufbL0TcQB7slbcR-Cj2GHOvWqXHzge9UfT27-bWZxh5SQb=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hun Warrior</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Drawing upon a similar, rich vein as in his King’s Bane
series, C R May racks up the tension as his characters face taking part in,
arguably, one of the greatest battles in history. We experience the
conflagration through the eyes of Halga Hunding, a young Jutish nobleman, who
narrowly escapes a treacherous attack that claims his father and hearth troop.
With his elder brother long disappeared, responsibility hangs on Halga’s
shoulders. Swearing vengeance, and arming himself with his grand-fathers sword,
he escapes south with a small band of followers, seeking exile with his foster
father Hengist of the Angles. He finds Hengist overseas serving in Britannia,
however the Angle’s brother, Horsa, takes the young Jute under his wing. Horsa
advises Halga that he needs wealth and fame to draw to him the strength to take
back what was his. Such an opportunity can be found to the south where Horsa’s
military service has been requested by his liege lord, the king of the Sea
Franks. Halga agrees but must first mount a daring raid in the depths of winter,
during Yuletide. to free one of his father’s retainers, the female Hun archer
Arekan.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Travelling with Horsa, Halga meets and offers his service to
the Frankish king Merovech. King Merovech accepts his service and gifts him a
fine saex, naming it Long Knife. The Franks as members of the Foederati have
been summoned to serve the Roman Magistar Militiae, General Flavius Aetius.
Aetius is gathering a huge coalition army composed of Romans, Visigoths, Alans, Franks and Burgundians of the
Germanic Foederati to push Attila out of Gaul. Aetius himself had personal knowledge of the Huns and their tactics, having once been a Roman hostage in the court of the Huns, and even has them in his own retinue.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggLjN0N8GjP-u21MYRSzkwcdkAZFI0r1s3V86OSD2IkAQGAOIhYN2uD-9lSAUoAe41HPTemq3fMnFgQ0zpIQb3BZ9eak7BMHjcJb9j6a2Lrkd6i8hbgGM8Tz0ebDSRHEQo2iXi4h-p-gWvaZR-OAqLDDEtlJV6_Ow5JSYDkQVRzCA-n7l2zBBs4X53=s770" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="770" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggLjN0N8GjP-u21MYRSzkwcdkAZFI0r1s3V86OSD2IkAQGAOIhYN2uD-9lSAUoAe41HPTemq3fMnFgQ0zpIQb3BZ9eak7BMHjcJb9j6a2Lrkd6i8hbgGM8Tz0ebDSRHEQo2iXi4h-p-gWvaZR-OAqLDDEtlJV6_Ow5JSYDkQVRzCA-n7l2zBBs4X53=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Germanic Foederati - Angus McBride</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Halga must learn quickly the art of leadership, how he must
inspire the men around him by his actions, but with their companionship comes
the shouldering of responsibility. He learns this bitterly when a tavern fracas
crosses the bounds into seriousness and ends with the death of one of the
combatants.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eager to regain the favour of the Frankish king, Halga acquits
himself admirably in a skirmish between the Franks and the Gepid rear-guard, the
night before the great battle. Here Halga earns the name Long Knife and Merovech,
impressed by the Angles and Halga’s small Jutish band, he rewards them well
with mail, helms, shields and swords. Halga is now able to arm his comitatus as
a lord should.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then dawns the day of the battle itself as the vast
coalition gathers to face the Hunnish horde. You stare in wonder, through the
eyes of Halga at the armoured Alan horseman and the fierce warriors of
different nations, desperately throwing up your shield as the Hunnic archers
wheel and shoot arrows, again and again. It’s a relief when they withdraw, to
let their subject Germanic warriors crash into the shield wall. Here Halga and
his comitatus fight in their traditional manner as the complexity of differing
loyalties of each coalition is exposed with Frank fighting Frank, kinsman
versus kinsman, as the armies clash in a titanic struggle.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1mTjtVWrNlW4drmHzhT6fVXUPytSwBLfebrsEJBLMvg-ZTH83Ler5HyaZzMEuA_idYoiTC4tNPEk8ubm0chEzYrkXGqWR_AsHxVBHQHxrDWuGy54L_5qp4cRBEWFXIqkXk6LUnjQVFTbjbUbNY0vKnNap2tMEvWdaVQo3SuOxTgrk20TWnGvkYEz0=s768" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="768" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1mTjtVWrNlW4drmHzhT6fVXUPytSwBLfebrsEJBLMvg-ZTH83Ler5HyaZzMEuA_idYoiTC4tNPEk8ubm0chEzYrkXGqWR_AsHxVBHQHxrDWuGy54L_5qp4cRBEWFXIqkXk6LUnjQVFTbjbUbNY0vKnNap2tMEvWdaVQo3SuOxTgrk20TWnGvkYEz0=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aetius with Burgundian Bodyguard - Medieval Warlords Blandford Press</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of course, this great battle is merely honing the qualities
of Halga, beyond the coalition’s victory, the fall of night and the distant
horizon, there lies the need or vengeance, to fulfil his oath to Woden. As Horsa knew, the campaign has been the making of Halga, as we watch him mature from youth into a skilled leader of men.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The past is a foreign country”, so the saying goes, but not
to this author. Ever the wordsmith, C R May effortlessly recreates this heroic
world. Being of the era prior to the migration of the peoples who would become
the English: the Jutes, Angles and Saxons, the author angelizes the place names
of what is now Denmark. This creates a pleasant familiarity with the described
landscape for the reader. There is a closeness too with beliefs of the
characters. What is now myth and folklore is accepted reality in the
character’s mindsets, we are privy to. The gods are ever at our shoulders, our
actions felt beyond the confines of Middle-Earth. When Halga rescues Arekan, he
recognises that she has suffered, both mentally and physically, during her
captivity. Realising that she required healing, Halga takes her (and a captive
traitor) to see the Angle witches. What bloody deeds were done to accomplish the
healing remains a mystery, but only Arekan returned…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unusually for C R May, Scourge of God is (at time of
writing) a stand alone novel, but it fits in perfectly with the author’s anthology dealing with this fascinating, early medieval period, such as the previously mentioned
King’s Bane, and also the Sword of Woden series. <i>Scourge of God</i>
is a well-researched novel, the battlefield, armaments and tactics described in
detail. Above all the development of Halga's character is a joy to read. This novel is a rollicking read; an action packed tale that will grace anyone's bookshelf.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Scourge of God is available now at <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Scourge-God-C-R-May-ebook/dp/B09MCB9P7T/ref=sr_1_7?crid=3HMBO3BCL337J&keywords=scourge+of+god&qid=1639811125&s=books&sprefix=scourge+of+god%2Cstripbooks%2C62&sr=1-7">Amazon</a> as paperback and kindle.<o:p></o:p></p>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-56128310739227321282021-09-26T05:12:00.007-07:002021-09-26T05:50:25.371-07:00Medusa's Shame - The Sacred Throne Series Book 1 by Robert Southworth - A Review<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4hYX1cZQvjKX8j9L_JZoQJ4H8skHt1oz2DOIukbbvVqejWhgh48XjMyvPzUrwUAX6wgmw3lpnDOv5JBKkjoRTqhEXJZ9KQHO4NbxMSI9FN4kXpSvuwv5-7b4mLP1SYaylqdqNa9wXrU/s500/Medusas+Shame.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="322" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4hYX1cZQvjKX8j9L_JZoQJ4H8skHt1oz2DOIukbbvVqejWhgh48XjMyvPzUrwUAX6wgmw3lpnDOv5JBKkjoRTqhEXJZ9KQHO4NbxMSI9FN4kXpSvuwv5-7b4mLP1SYaylqdqNa9wXrU/s320/Medusas+Shame.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The Classical
gods are fickle entities; divine beings yet all too easily driven by the human
traits of jealousy, lust and vengeance. The inhabitants of Olympus demand their
worship and adoration from mortals, yet all too often see humanity as nothing
but mere pawns to play against one another, regardless of the resultant
tragedy, and so the story unfolds …<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Among the
hotchpotch of Bronze Age Greek city states stands the kingdom of Mycenae.
Its king, Atreus, wears the crown upon a troubled brow; his brother Thyestes
coverts the throne and moves against him in the shadows. Through treachery
Thyestes takes the city and throne, killing Atreus. The usurper would have
killed the princes Menelaus and Agamemnon as well, were it not for Atreus’
trusted general Pallas leading his charges out of the city.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Hunted, and
fearing for their lives, the princes are met by a mysterious hooded figure, who seems to possess uncanny abilities. Calling himself Thanatos, their guide leads the fugitives
through a maze of mines to seek exile aboard waiting vessels on the coast.
After a frustrating failure to seek refuge from King Priam of Troy, an embittered and vengeful Agamemnon joins his brother Menelaus in Sparta, where they are adopted
by the aged king Tyndareus. Knowing that Agamemnon seeks revenge against Thyestes
and to regain the throne of Mycenae, King Tyndareus names Menelaus as his heir.
Both princes marry daughters of Tyndarereus, Agamemnon to <span style="color: #202122;">Clytemnestra</span>, while Menelaus has
a somewhat difficult marriage to Helen, soured early on in their relationship
by Helen’s youthful impropriety. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">King Thyestes of Mycenae, would seek the deaths of his nephews and
increase his wealth and power in the process. He builds an alliance with neighbouring states, built upon
threats and coercion, to conquer Sparta...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Robert Southworth is an accomplished author of historical fiction, known for his works on
Spartacus and Jack the Ripper (See my review of The Ripper Legacies <a href="https://sunshard.blogspot.com/2020/06/the-ripper-legacies-by-robert-southworth.html">Here</a>) . In his unfolding Sacred Throne series, while
reinterpreting the world of the Illiad, he is able to cut loose from the
boundaries of historical fiction and introduce the fantastical. It’s a freedom
to be enjoyed and have fun with, and the author's enjoyment shows in Mr Southworth’s wonderful
tale.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In this world the gods and demi-gods walk among us. Centaurs haunt the
woods on the edge of civilisation and monsters can be summoned from the underworld and Tartarus by those with
the power to do so.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The characters come to the fore, the wise Menelaus, the brutal
Agamemnon (one would not want him as an enemy), the cruel and despotic Thysetes, the peaceable Centaur
Airlea, and the manipulative puppet master that is Thanatos; bending all
to his will, sometimes subtlety, but all too often not! The author weaves the
threads of his characters with a rare skill, brutal and bloody and yet also
humorous at times, creating a rich and colourful tapestry in the reader's imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">It’s always a good measure of a book when the reader positively devours
the imagery and tale, even more so when the eureka-like ending leaves the reader desperate
to continue the story, as pieces tumble into place. Medusa’s Shame is such a
book. Bravo Mr Southworth, this reader eagerly awaits book 2!</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Medusa's Shame is available as kindle and paperback at <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/MEDUSAS-SHAME-SACRED-THRONE-BOOK-ebook/dp/B09D2X4MF1/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=medusas+shame&qid=1632656500&qsid=258-6216208-8198767&sr=8-1&sres=B09D2X4MF1%2CB08HCRX843%2CB00IHDVXLM%2C0316438529%2CB00WH8Z3NM%2C155643233X%2CB07W6SM2K7%2C1529104645%2CB01C1VAXA2%2CB01LYJ13DV%2CB07MN2D8N8%2CB07Y1ZKFQ7%2CB07B5Y8RXL%2CB084GP7X3P%2CB08JD7NDT3%2CB086GWZ54P">Amazon</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">You can view all of Robert Southworth's work and enjoy his regular blog pieces at <a href="https://www.southworth-author.com/home">Robert Southworth-author.com/home</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #202122; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxzhwKvbpq7ZeYfq51ZZU187Ng3y-baKq2xgQCRydtC2YlOa2nS8ALIA7CtSZjZy6YZrAKdvoHT0aAG78PiKjML0wtRdwzbnKipmdTJxbzAQ2Zakss84_1pzsHp9l1nCuBi7C0-AGCfY/s1920/received_1285219811891883%255B1900%255D.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxzhwKvbpq7ZeYfq51ZZU187Ng3y-baKq2xgQCRydtC2YlOa2nS8ALIA7CtSZjZy6YZrAKdvoHT0aAG78PiKjML0wtRdwzbnKipmdTJxbzAQ2Zakss84_1pzsHp9l1nCuBi7C0-AGCfY/s320/received_1285219811891883%255B1900%255D.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br />Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-7748272863400962522021-09-06T09:40:00.019-07:002021-09-07T01:40:59.497-07:00Future Humans<p> <span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">It was during the period of the C20th and C21st that persistent reports of sightings of the UFO phenomena entered the sphere of public knowledge. The development of mass media communication brought such reports into the mainstream, albeit being a fringe interest at the time. Such reports were treated as far-fetched, especially those involving actual physical encounters. However certain aspects of these sightings exhibited a number of consistent aspects, namely the so-called saucer shape to these extraterrestrial vehicles and the description of the vehicle of their occupants; the “grey alien” trope.</span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{af88ecdb-0a26-491d-a1ef-183e80528803}{114}" paraid="1686071556" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">It was following the end of the major global conflict of 1939-45, and the paranoia of the following cold war between the power blocks of the time, that the number of sightings entered the mainstream consciousness. This conflict, in a century marked by bloodshed, was brought to a conclusion with the use of nuclear weapons. The standoff between the one-time allies during the Second War World (as it became known) was renowned as being one of Mutually Assured Destruction, as both political and economic power blocks developed increasingly sophisticated and powerful weapons of mass destruction. M.A.D. kept the peace, in that a catastrophic hot war between the two sides was averted, however, wars were waged via proxy states in the less industrialized countries instead. To such countries the relative peace enjoyed by members of the “nuclear club”, made the acquisition of these weapons appear desirable, despite the huge financial costs involved in their development. The risk of nuclear annihilation was long held to be the catalyst for the interest in humanity shown by these “extra-terrestrials”. The famous Roswell incident of 1947, with the initially reported crash of a vehicle, and capture of occupants (living and dead), occurred nearby a US nuclear bomber airbase, reinforced this belief.</span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{f52ab4aa-a589-43a3-8278-0349c220ebaf}{25}" paraid="1171461593" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">Evidence of visitation was long ridiculed and looked upon as fringe subject. As well as vehicle sightings, reports of human and animal abductions, involving medical experimentation became commonplace. It was long held that Govts were privy to knowledge of such events despite vehement denials. Despite career risking whistleblowers making public these govt investigations and coverups, the media kept up the pretense that such events were outlandish and open to ridicule. However, some information was still able to seep into the public consciousness. Believers were frustrated by the slow drip feed of information; however, it became clear that Govts worldwide were very aware of these visitations and were following a set roadmap of releasing knowledge to the general public.</span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{2b37c233-9578-48ae-9d10-8c5f7452c8a7}{244}" paraid="494889047" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">Some unofficial investigators (so called </span><span class="NormalTextRun SpellingErrorV2 SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-image: var(--urlSpellingErrorV2,url("data:image/svg+xml;base64,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")); background-position: 0% 100%; background-repeat: repeat-x; border-bottom: 1px solid transparent; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">UFOlogists</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">), fed by </span><span class="NormalTextRun SpellingErrorV2 SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-image: var(--urlSpellingErrorV2,url("data:image/svg+xml;base64,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")); background-position: 0% 100%; background-repeat: repeat-x; border-bottom: 1px solid transparent; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">rumours</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> regarding the captive E.T. discovered at Roswell, put forward the suggestion that these “grey aliens” were not actually as they appeared to be. Far from being aliens, they were humans from the far future, with the means of inter-dimensional travel across time and space. Such claims were vilified by certain sections of the UFO community, who refused to believe this. These aliens were interstellar naturalists, collecting biological samples. But all those that encountered such beings were struck by their odd insectoid mannerisms.</span></span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{fd8b827d-7903-4788-8bd8-3c4921d68fe7}{221}" paraid="1239017576" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">However, this raised further questions such as why were some families targeted across several generations, and what would the connection be with the nuclear arms race, unless the unspeakable was due in the near future? The</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> targeted families seemed of no real consequence, being very average; why wouldn’t the “visitors” approach chosen families of renown?</span></span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{86158e87-009a-44bf-94bd-b1ddbcfec490}{21}" paraid="1810712331" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">Other clues were hidden in plain sight, in retrospect. In 1954, just seven years after Roswell an international grouping of governments embarked on building a Large Hadron Collider in Cern in Switzerland. This was a vast civil project, which didn’t come online until 2010 (excluding the abortive magnetic quench attempt in 2008). The building of this particle collider, not only possessing the ability to recreate the moments after the big band but also to open portals to other dimensions, began decades before the technology to operate the facility was available. As the knowledge of physics took great leaps forward, Cern was compatible with the new technology, such as quantum computing. If there were some who questioned this fortunate coincidence, it wasn’t made widespread. Some recorded strange, and unnerving atmospheric anomalies (many seemingly saucer shaped craft) above Cern published on the internet, which were quickly disavowed as computer generated images.</span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{62d97290-3b84-4573-964c-54ee3260b03f}{218}" paraid="1314519409" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">Despite the continuing narrative the world’s population were becoming increasingly aware that not all was at it appeared. People began questioning the reality as described in the world’s media, which was in opposition to their own observations. Politics became oddly extreme, despite the Western power block winning the cold war during the late 80’s and 90’s, the peace dividend was squandered in pointless wars. In the C21st a new cold war began to form as a rising economic superpower began to assert global hegemony, economically and militarily. This coincided with deep intersectional rifts forming in western societies in the early C21st; to such an extent that even questioning biological certainties became the status quo. Onetime open and liberal societies were on the point of self-destruction. </span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{33e280b6-267c-4741-b7a3-8039cc9acf71}{33}" paraid="1239100071" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">At this point, as reality became increasingly frayed, a global Coronavirus pandemic took hold in 2020. The narrative of this pandemic itself was questionable from the initial nightmare images shown in the country of origin, which weren’t echoed in other countries, to the extreme measures enacted by economy destroying lockdowns. Its origin was a source of contention, from a so called wet market in Wuhan or an actual manufactured virus in a lab, the narrative remained fluid and subject to change, yet forcefully adhered to across all media outlets. One theme was common, which was repeated across borders, which was the insistent application of RNA based vaccines. Many had questioned the wisdom of mass introducing synthetic RNA into the human genome, as the long term effects were an unknown. Across the media such dissenting voices were ruthlessly silenced. Two shots to acquire immunity required a booster and as the C21st progressed Govts inflicted biannual boosters on their population. This began to have a profound, </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">long-term</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> effect on human biology.</span></span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{2ee5e7c8-1482-4e9c-8ea7-cda94bf38d04}{163}" paraid="575153310" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">The change was barely noticeable at first, but as countries across the globe introduced social credit systems and authoritarian control of their populations under the guise of climate concern, only the compliant continued with careers, especially as AI and robots caused mass redundancies amid the mass of the population. Procreation was only possible under license, the universal basic Income and enforced pod habitation made the traditional family life impossible. The vaccinated compliant became increasingly of one thought, developing a “hive mind”. It would take centuries for the physical changes to take shape of diminutive size and greying skin tones.</span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr BCX8 SCXW171102504" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web", Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{56f456b6-1d26-4027-b02a-933ca1491a22}{128}" paraid="1011151894" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="TextRun SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-contrast="none" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US">It became clear that the future inter-dimensional visitors were indeed humans (if they could still be described as such) and that they had been drawn to the point in history when their branch of evolution began. It remains moot as to whether these future beings were merely observing this change or were the actual architects of their future evolution.</span><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></p><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{56f456b6-1d26-4027-b02a-933ca1491a22}{128}" paraid="1011151894" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"><br /></span></p><p class="Paragraph SCXW171102504 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{56f456b6-1d26-4027-b02a-933ca1491a22}{128}" paraid="1011151894" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline;" xml:lang="EN-US"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBJcPohehI7g7_jjy2h2iIv6Yyvsw8Svkeg2XCfBEMdoa8JGHtQmWvDcDPboJBBqGA71Bh8lNsVXWVhIN1bRkwDBTsX2MuqXw7TawzjzUH30FFwTwDeojk9RBV-uAv3x_LKDGKczhZIg/s1024/grey_alien_by_harnois75_d21nfpq-fullview.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBJcPohehI7g7_jjy2h2iIv6Yyvsw8Svkeg2XCfBEMdoa8JGHtQmWvDcDPboJBBqGA71Bh8lNsVXWVhIN1bRkwDBTsX2MuqXw7TawzjzUH30FFwTwDeojk9RBV-uAv3x_LKDGKczhZIg/s320/grey_alien_by_harnois75_d21nfpq-fullview.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grey Alien by Harnois75 deviantArt</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span class="EOP SCXW171102504 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"201341983":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI Historic_EmbeddedFont", "Segoe UI Historic_MSFontService", sans-serif" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; color: #050505; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 20.5042px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"><br /></span><p></p></div>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-47261774944903230702020-07-21T05:19:00.001-07:002020-07-21T05:25:44.478-07:00The Day of the Wolf (Erik Haraldsson III) by C R May - a review
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkPO5ZbtmvANfZvy0s-io5GThQVu_XVVcFVcMfJwVJT_MKjim8GzTNAkCJcSEh2jRBkJgTIh6PHYWQ98tUTiOefYkrulTkjS1sv0FbFJLnaJ90rdQ627_Z4uvZ9c1QEyPlm1HqSud3iA/s346/DoTW.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="230" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkPO5ZbtmvANfZvy0s-io5GThQVu_XVVcFVcMfJwVJT_MKjim8GzTNAkCJcSEh2jRBkJgTIh6PHYWQ98tUTiOefYkrulTkjS1sv0FbFJLnaJ90rdQ627_Z4uvZ9c1QEyPlm1HqSud3iA/s320/DoTW.jpg" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>The Day of the Wolf</i> is C R May’s final book in his Erik
Haraldsson trilogy. Erik Haraldsson goes by the better known (and descriptive!)
name of Eric Bloodaxe. Perhaps you are aware of Eric, if you have ever visited
the Jorvik Viking Centre, or maybe you remember him from Michael Woods’
excellent TV series and book <i>In Search of the Dark Ages</i>? He is
remembered as the last king of an independent Northumbria; his demise at Stainmore
signalling the end of the Viking Age in England. <i>The Day of the Wolf</i>
ably stands alone as a novel, but you would be doing yourself a disservice not
to read <i>Bloodaxe </i>(see my review <a href="https://sunshard.blogspot.com/2018/05/bloodaxe-erik-haraldsson-book-1-by-c-r.html"><font color="#000000" style="background-color: #2b00fe;">here</font></a>) and <i>The Raven and the Cross </i>(review
<a href="https://sunshard.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-raven-and-cross-erik-haraldsson-2.html"><font style="background-color: #2b00fe;">here</font>)</a>.</p>
<p>In the hero society of the pagan Viking world reputation was
all. To be a renowned doughty warrior,
to command respect amongst your comrades at the ship’s oar and be a worthy
opponent on the field of battle, such things were worthy. Warriors would gain
reflected glory slaying such an opponent, whilst the slain, denied the shame of
the straw death would enter the halls of <i>Valholl</i>, their names extolled
and invited to feast until Ragnarök, alongside <i>Odinn </i>and his heroes. Many
would forgo their weight in silver to be enriched with fame-wealth, their name
remembered long after the count of their years is done.</p>
<p>Four years have passed since Erik Haraldsson – the Bloodaxe-
relinquished the throne of York to return to the Orkneys. According to the prophesy
given to him many years previously in the far north, it was his wyrd – his
destiny – to wear five crowns. The kingdom of York was his fourth. The fates
demand that he will wear it again.</p>
<p>Erik and his family have not been tardy in their four years
in the Orkneys. Experience has taught him that a ready supply of silver can
help hold a throne better than any sword arm. To that end he has been busy
raiding as a true Viking, filing his treasure chests with plunder and the profits
from slavery. In conjunction with the Archbishop of York, Wulfstan, Erik works
to oust the present incumbent, the puppet of Wessex – Olaf Cuaran. With Eadred,
the king of Wessex, now old and ailing, Erik seeks to make his fifth crown a
success, perhaps carve out a North Sea empire. However, the three<i> Norns</i>
that weave men’s fates are fickle; that prophet from long ago spoke also of Erik
meeting his death on a windswept fell.</p>
<p><i>The Day of the Wolf</i> brings Cliff May’s Erik
Haraldsson trilogy to a worthy finale. It is a fast-paced tale, reflecting Erik’s
lightning strikes to secure his newly won kingdom. He has enemies all around, the
English king with his deep pockets of silver, to the south of course is an ever-present
threat. However, it is Erik’s immediate neighbours - the kingdom of Strathclyde to the west, Alba
to the north and, in between them, the strategically
positioned Earldom of Bernica and the untrustworthy Oswulf Ealdwulfing - that may
snatch away his crown.</p>
<p>Erik truly is a thunderbolt, striking hard and fast on his
own terms. Lovers of Mr May’s prose, as the ravens caw above warriors and shields
clash together in battle, will not be disappointed. The battle centred around
Corebricg and Haydon is truly epic, in scale and description, with Erik facing
an alliance of three enemies. He must fight and think like <i>Odinn</i> to
prevail. What struck this reader was how Eric, now in his sixth decade, forces
himself to be the dynamic warrior he ever
was, but now faces the bone weariness battle inflicts. As ever he has his
capable warriors of his <i>hird</i> (trusted
warband) around him and Erik knows when he must be seen to take the lead and
when his cause is better served to let others lead the <i>Svinfylking </i>-Boar-snout
in attack.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2qBTrGRO5YPQLQJnBldJf98WcGAZug6XPHP1MNqb9pE_hq0cg2eAYRTQSg18uBf4YkmJKrQ7OZKt7M14x0ZQW7-g3JlKSzxxWHVphFW14onjn10-FkISSk7JFwvBKvSovCF42nno9js/s2000/boarsnout.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="2000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2qBTrGRO5YPQLQJnBldJf98WcGAZug6XPHP1MNqb9pE_hq0cg2eAYRTQSg18uBf4YkmJKrQ7OZKt7M14x0ZQW7-g3JlKSzxxWHVphFW14onjn10-FkISSk7JFwvBKvSovCF42nno9js/s320/boarsnout.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boarsnout formation - Pintrest.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p>
<p>Mr May has pieced together a riveting tale and has had to
research widely to create the momentous
three years of Erik’s fifth kingship. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is very scant,
but Eric is mentioned in a variety of other
sources around the Viking world – snippets here and there in the annals of his contemporaries,
a few lines written by an anonymous Clerk in York. Perhaps the best description
of Erik the man and his true Viking finale is in the <i>Eriksmal</i>, his
poetic epitaph, as this last Viking enters Odinn’s halls. The reader finds
themselves rooting for Eric, even as the <i>Norns </i>sharpen their shears and
the wolf drools in hungry expectation; you always carry the hope that the Bloodaxe
will somehow avoid his doom, that the
final battle will be won by him, but…</p>
<p align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i>‘What thunders
there as if a thousand were stirring – a mighty host?’ Said Bragi. ‘All the
bench planks creak, as if Balder were coming back into the halls of Odinn.’</i></p>
<p align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i>‘The wise Bragi
should not blather, ‘ replied the Allfather, ‘when you know the truth full-well;
the clamour is made for Erik, who must be coming here, a prince into Valoll.’</i></p><p align="center" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykccbXD5RU33SEKietNg9e8fE1FB2_j5SyDvnAHIchU4EfYu4qQwVuXQrachEaSD6-U4g6hB27OTuzFShrqpUJxCx2zCfhZQhBoUBnuUL_k0Tyl_YOaZepWCviXAjwIbeYs9CTeFJ_F0/s1024/Valhalla.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykccbXD5RU33SEKietNg9e8fE1FB2_j5SyDvnAHIchU4EfYu4qQwVuXQrachEaSD6-U4g6hB27OTuzFShrqpUJxCx2zCfhZQhBoUBnuUL_k0Tyl_YOaZepWCviXAjwIbeYs9CTeFJ_F0/s320/Valhalla.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Valholl - Historicmysteries.com<br /><p></p>
<p>Was it not for that windswept fell one wonders what could have
been? Erik’s alliance with Archbishop Wulfstan proves that he had succeeded in bringing
together his English and Norse subjects and won the church based in York to his
side. For a brief time perhaps Alfred’s dream of a unified England was in
jeopardy, but instead it was the last hurrah of a fading age.</p>
<p>As with all Mr Mays novels I would thoroughly recommend
reading his afterword section. It is perhaps the fate of writers of historical fiction
(unfairly in my view) to have to justify their stories with factual records,
but it offers fantastic factual snippets as well as an overview of the evolution
of the author’s telling of their story. Such snippets are the fate of Erik’s
family, from his remarkable widow Gunnhild (who deserves a storytelling
herself) to that of his sons and daughter. Alas Erik’s dream of a dynasty was
not to be, but to be remembered, to have the glint of his fame-wealth shine
down the ages; perhaps he would be content.</p>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-12453319689370633722020-07-18T22:00:00.071-07:002020-07-18T22:00:00.316-07:00The Fertile Crescent and the lost days of Sumer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eO_lfzeTDHG7SpBq9dfP681XOc5WcTlc9kdkvc-BVQnKh8wnCiHvjJbfoBjyTftgb_S9GwW680DO0_oCFgndreYwHGPxC-SMLogasNsXT8nHqu9U6xtDwBr0lY1IKuE3VSuiZMpDZDE/s1020/Bloggers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="1020" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eO_lfzeTDHG7SpBq9dfP681XOc5WcTlc9kdkvc-BVQnKh8wnCiHvjJbfoBjyTftgb_S9GwW680DO0_oCFgndreYwHGPxC-SMLogasNsXT8nHqu9U6xtDwBr0lY1IKuE3VSuiZMpDZDE/s320/Bloggers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Throughout June and July, the Historical Writers’ Forum’s Blog Hop has been publishing posts regarding various singularly significant historical events. Please be certain to visit the <a href="https://m.facebook.com/Historical-Writers-Forum-Blog-Hop-Page-313883642875335/" id="Hop's Facebook Page">Hop's Facebook Page</a> to catch up on posts you may have missed and up and coming posts. Today it is my turn and I’m going to look at more of a process rather than a single event. </div><div><br /></div><div>Approximately 12,000 years ago humanity altered its lifestyle and destiny in the most fundamental way. For most of our history, humans have led a nomadic lifestyle, at least for part of the year, obtaining nourishment from hunting, fishing and gathering; very much like the traditional lifestyles of Amazonian tribes, Kalahari bushmen and native aborigines. </div><div><br /></div><div>These prehistoric hunter/gatherers had collected wild grains at least 105,000 years ago. But it was not until approx. 11,500 years ago (in the <i>Epipaleolithic</i>) that stone age people actively began cultivating founder crops of wheat, barley, peas, lentils and chickpeas. The archaeological evidence points this as first occurring in the Levant region, part of what was termed “<i>The Fertile Crescent</i>”. This occurred as the climate began to warm, as the Pleistocene Ice Age yielded to the climate of the current Holocene geological epoch. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKH5FbKZU-xsWXWFVbqP1-2E9C-GgiG05LhdA2W0BwNUsRUgsEXTPmhLpNoka7XDW_JegbEemnRvcmmaG6CxHGQlSzjskZoD49t2c90marfgkanLhWGlzyZ-7H6YEUAZcTehkqSCMc9PE/s1300/F95M1G+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKH5FbKZU-xsWXWFVbqP1-2E9C-GgiG05LhdA2W0BwNUsRUgsEXTPmhLpNoka7XDW_JegbEemnRvcmmaG6CxHGQlSzjskZoD49t2c90marfgkanLhWGlzyZ-7H6YEUAZcTehkqSCMc9PE/s320/F95M1G+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fertile Crescent - Encyclopaedia Britannica</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Fertile Crescent is a sickle shaped area extending from the Mediterranean Sea at Egypt, through the Levant, through Syria and Southern Turkey and then down through Iraq – ancient Mesopotamia -following the Tigris and Euphrates rivers to the Persian Gulf. Historically this region was blessed with extremely fertile soils, with an abundance of fresh and brackish water sources, far removed from the arid lands they are now. This really was almost the biblical Garden of Eden, with many edible plant species native to the region. </div><div><br /></div><div>The transition from hunter gatherers to settled farmers was a long process, no doubt replete with trial and error, with many prehistoric cultures coming and going. It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment that such a fundamental change in lifestyle began. We are in a process of learning more about this lost period, the most exciting development perhaps being the discovery of the Göbekli Tepe site in Turkey. It is a temple perhaps from the dawn of agriculture at around 10000 BCE but exhibiting levels of remarkable sophistication. It might well cause a complete re-evaluation of our prehistory. At present its offering more questions than answers, such as why was it purposely filled in and buried?</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbi5R1mP2sy36BjDBFJAgmpCWY-IeZO-5ggIZiF4FXZaPXEEYJu_63CKZJkdriSXZ6SdAw2pwe4gJd2RaxQ6JK5uMjZUzwGrqWjLLnV5JAGK8Bu3pchaZ2_0PtQVY9FjRw0pmcLvQYr4/s945/Gobekli-Tepe-geometry.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="945" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbi5R1mP2sy36BjDBFJAgmpCWY-IeZO-5ggIZiF4FXZaPXEEYJu_63CKZJkdriSXZ6SdAw2pwe4gJd2RaxQ6JK5uMjZUzwGrqWjLLnV5JAGK8Bu3pchaZ2_0PtQVY9FjRw0pmcLvQYr4/s320/Gobekli-Tepe-geometry.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Göbekli Tepe - Ancient Origins</span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was, in the former British Protectorate of Palestine, in 1928, that the British archaeologist Dorothy Garrod, initially searching for biblical archaeology, discovered the <i>Natufian </i>culture of the late Epipaleolithic. During this time, the Levant was a rich land of oak forests and high scrublands. The Natufians were prehistoric hunter gatherers, practicing a semi-permanent sedentary culture. They reused settlements, building walls and setting post holes as well as using caves. Their stone age technology involved using microliths, small flint blades, to process kills and to make rudimentary sickles to cut plants. What set these people apart from previous stone age cultures in this region was the rudimentary agriculture they began practising during the Younger Dryas period - a 1000-year interruption in the warming of the climate. It is thought this caused drought, endangering wild cereals growing on the wild scrublands. The Natufian people had become dependent on the gathering of these cereals and began to clear areas to actively sow these plants. Using these wild grains these people baked unleavened bread initially. However (as recently discovered evidence indicates) they even brewed beer. This is some 8000 years earlier than previously thought beer was first brewed. Bread and beer occurring together makes sense, as both use yeast. Using yeast allows for the baking of leavened bread. It was also this culture that is thought to have first domesticated dogs; two Natufian burials have been found to include the skeletal remains of canids.</div><div><br /></div><div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJhk3y8T3W1-PVaXrgxl1w5gO2v7lgtfgPTMNVVakchDOh6s4ViG2_V_xLp-u7EpV243p9pxowMnaI9XiqySqRaoVgyUo4RpO32rXpyqMXvc9fhOlMnltAWLu8YirYj25GqHg5I3227c/s693/youngerdryas-holocene.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="693" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJhk3y8T3W1-PVaXrgxl1w5gO2v7lgtfgPTMNVVakchDOh6s4ViG2_V_xLp-u7EpV243p9pxowMnaI9XiqySqRaoVgyUo4RpO32rXpyqMXvc9fhOlMnltAWLu8YirYj25GqHg5I3227c/s320/youngerdryas-holocene.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temperature Graph - WUWT</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>It was in Mesopotamia that archaeological evidence points to a real agricultural revolution taking place. Situated at the Upper Tigris and Euphrates valleys, around 9500BCE, people began living in permanent settlements of round mud dwellings, farming lentils, wheat and barley as well as domesticating pigs and sheep. The archaeological record of the Syrian village of Tell Abu Hureyra shows the switch from the hunting of gazelle to the farming and processing of grains. The mainstay nutritional value of bread - one of the oldest processed foods - cannot be overstated. It is perhaps not surprising that the <i>staff of life</i> has such cultural significance among many cultures, even being used in religious ritual. The farming of cattle would take another 1000 years with animals descended from the wild Aurochs being domesticated in areas of modern Turkey and Pakistan. </div><div><br /></div><div>Agriculture allowed for population growth and the establishment of sedentary human settlements, enabling a surplus of crops and livestock to be raised, and an end to having to move due to exhaustion of wild game. By 8000BCE agriculture was fully established along the Nile. It’s also intriguing that around this time, independent of the cultures of the Fertile Crescent, agriculture began to spring up in different areas of the globe, using native plants to these regions, such as rice and millet in China, and maize and potatoes in Mexico. Its intriguing to contemplate that there may have been considerable cultural interaction in this prehistoric world, as the domestication of plants and animals began to become the norm. Around 6000BCE domestic species appear in the Iberian Peninsula and pigs are farmed in the forests of Europe. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, it is in Mesopotamia where settlements, that can truly be described as cities, begin to take shape as the Stone Age yielded to the Copper and then Bronze Ages. In southern Iraq, a prehistoric people - the Ubadians - began farming and constructing mud brick dwellings. They have left fine examples of pottery and developed trade links as far away as Oman for copper. The Ubadian society would be supplanted by the Sumerian civilisation, which was established between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. The Sumerian society would last for approximately 3000 years and create the template for all government and urban societies that followed. Yet astonishingly the Sumerians were almost entirely forgotten for thousands of years, until archaeological discoveries were made in the C19th. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Sumerians were a fascinating civilisation, founded around 4000BCE, they were independent city states, each with their own king, linked by a common language and culture. At the time, the shoreline was further inland than now, their main city of Ur was situated on the Persian Gulf of antiquity. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where the Sumerians originated from is somewhat of a mystery, as their language was different from those of neighbouring Semitic cultures. Some have postulated that they were originally of North African origin migrating from the green Sahara, others that they could have been descendants of our old friends the Natufians, or even originally Dravidians from the Indus river area. </div><div><br /></div><div>It might well be a mixture of cultures that explains the genesis of Sumer. One of their oldest cities was that of Eridu on the Persian Gulf, which fused the proto-Sumerian Ubaidian farmers, Semitic herds people and fisher folk of the southern Mesopotamian marshlands. Living in an area of low rainfall the Sumerians drained marshes and built canals to irrigate their crops. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwp5_ASH4of2RUYYLWbE0pvvTTU_jOpubUzZafWxFYdhyphenhyphenKHklJi-nBlipqCGS8iaZ2NsXenoeSwI0wu08nyEc-H9RJOJd5ipSpxfc__JfPT2jKsAeP0zOBWc6SMa3Z4sFsZS2EbGTjlc/s440/Basse_Mesopotamie_DA.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwp5_ASH4of2RUYYLWbE0pvvTTU_jOpubUzZafWxFYdhyphenhyphenKHklJi-nBlipqCGS8iaZ2NsXenoeSwI0wu08nyEc-H9RJOJd5ipSpxfc__JfPT2jKsAeP0zOBWc6SMa3Z4sFsZS2EbGTjlc/s320/Basse_Mesopotamie_DA.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sumer showing ancient coastline - Wikipedia</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Such projects require a defined division of labour and as such, Sumerian society evolved and made great strides in innovation, which we take for granted now. Sumerian trade links became even more extensive than the Ubadian, their influence, goods and ideas stretching west to Egypt and east to the Indus. As well as goods, communication and record keeping were essential for trade and so it was that their written language of Cuneiform developed. Initially for bookkeeping this written communication flowered into one capable of great literature, perhaps best illustrated with <i>The Epic of Gilmagesh</i> – a poem which may have inspired in part the <i>Iliad</i>, <i>The Odyssey</i> and perhaps even sections of the Hebrew bible, such as the great flood myth. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wRHaM2LQLLzQK4d9Jbkxvmp7qYMOKZ_Hs2L2W5tYyKdvTn-Bc8D7JVDZRBQSe9gF7oI8P85hXWMtwq4mJ7wGIuhmLhdHuJcWfpUxAYru-4RvfEcis6gFqGCUyaiP7-RXsCwBKc2vc7E/s1000/Tablet_V_of_the_Epic_of_Gligamesh._Newly_discovered._The_Sulaymaniyah_Museum_Iraq..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="668" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wRHaM2LQLLzQK4d9Jbkxvmp7qYMOKZ_Hs2L2W5tYyKdvTn-Bc8D7JVDZRBQSe9gF7oI8P85hXWMtwq4mJ7wGIuhmLhdHuJcWfpUxAYru-4RvfEcis6gFqGCUyaiP7-RXsCwBKc2vc7E/s320/Tablet_V_of_the_Epic_of_Gligamesh._Newly_discovered._The_Sulaymaniyah_Museum_Iraq..jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cuneiform - the Epic of Gilmagesh</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Sumer had an established religion, although each city had their own patron god or goddess. Each city was built around the religious centre – the Ziggurat, the design of which may have influenced that of Egyptian pyramids. The Sumerians believed that it was humanities’ task to work alongside the gods and establish order from chaos. To do this the gods required people to cooperate and set aside their petty differences for the common good. Men and women enjoyed equal status in Sumerian society. The Sumerians really thought themselves as shapers of the earth, altering the land for their agriculture to prosper. They studied cosmology, recorded their history, wrote farmer’s almanacs, introduced taxation (and tax cuts!), developed literary devices, wrote fables, set moral codes on behaviour and set up schools. They even invented the concept of time, dividing day and night into 12 hours, each hour consisting of 60 minutes, each minute made up of 60 seconds.</div><div> </div><div>However, there is always a snake in the garden, the Sumerians also conducted the first recorded war, with their successful campaign and sacking of the city of Elam around 2700BCE. The Sumerians did practice slavery, mainly to work their fields, although some would also serve in homes too. Slaves would be either debtors, able to buy their freedom or prisoners taken in war as part of plunder. As farmers group together, creating towns and in turns cities, freedom from subsistence farming allows for the development of specific professions and trade. Life becomes easier, yet it also creates greed and societal hierarchies develop. The fields that supply food, once painstakingly drained from the marshes by their forebears, becomes a valuable commodity. There are the haves and the have-nots, and on the very bottom rung of society are the slaves.<font face=""> Regrettably its a truism that slavery is as old as civilisation itself.</font></div><div><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><font face=""></font><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXbSTH7S54FW-6ti5D5cThY3cz042zIgUhPBE_S-S_p01tFf-gGTQZNdVupKXGVpX2pczqmquFL_qILx4jGDw1bF9iN7I_mXy-gtv_rhEFpDzeWTAxsNFUnLsUjUQWeMPU4c1YBUwwEI/s750/Sumerian+Warriors.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXbSTH7S54FW-6ti5D5cThY3cz042zIgUhPBE_S-S_p01tFf-gGTQZNdVupKXGVpX2pczqmquFL_qILx4jGDw1bF9iN7I_mXy-gtv_rhEFpDzeWTAxsNFUnLsUjUQWeMPU4c1YBUwwEI/s320/Sumerian+Warriors.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sumerian Warriors - The Standard of Ur</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sumeria itself had a long decline and was conquered itself by Sargon of Akkad around 2340BCE, who appreciated it as an administrative centre of the Akkadian Empire. Sumer and Akkad had long had a history of cultural exchange. After a relatively brief Sumerian renaissance, the rise of Babylon, and resurgence of the Elamanites, combined with overuse of the land finally put paid to its political power, if not its cultural influence, around 1750BCE. Interestingly around the time of its decline, especially its conquest by Babylon there was a notable change of women’s rights in Sumerian society, illustrated by the marginalisation of goddesses in favour of a more patriarchal Babylonian supreme deity, Marduk. Empires came and went, centres of power shifting north to the Assyrians and Hittites, and east to Persia. Ancient Sumer was a mere imperial province, its cities, gods and goddesses forgotten.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is perhaps fitting that, lying forgotten in and under the sands of time, Sumeria’s later discovery was down to monotheist archaeologists seeking biblical evidence. What they found was not only the wellspring of the bible, but of human civilisation itself. </div>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-63991829158601413632020-06-09T07:07:00.004-07:002020-06-09T07:07:32.020-07:00The Ripper Legacies by Robert Southworth
<br />
Jack the Ripper, Saucy Jack <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-names synonymous with murder and mystery and
terrible crimes unsolved…<br />
<br />
The Ripper Legacies are a trilogy of books consisting of The
Reaper’s Breath, The Reaper’s Touch and The Reaper’s Kiss.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggLpIXXspX9-G8mTH3I7ohfxrEJUbFrnqXiqY_pIwgYbL4dYty_5qgrmtK528uDmXDynlN0wHbCtPFSCyMXrbVD83aMbFES9zhyphenhyphenCZ5cD7Q6m9HJTYuGSvUi6iincuYbXV98dx6ko1X5aY/s1600/Breath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="230" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggLpIXXspX9-G8mTH3I7ohfxrEJUbFrnqXiqY_pIwgYbL4dYty_5qgrmtK528uDmXDynlN0wHbCtPFSCyMXrbVD83aMbFES9zhyphenhyphenCZ5cD7Q6m9HJTYuGSvUi6iincuYbXV98dx6ko1X5aY/s320/Breath.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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<br />
In The Reaper’s Breath the scene is set, we are transported
to the filth and grime of Victorian London, a semi-lawless place of dockyards,
crumbling tenement slums, blind alleys and snickleways. Within this world
society is split between those of obscene and visible wealth and those held
captive in crippling poverty. Into this world is the mysterious Jack the
Ripper, a murderer of women forced to sell their bodies to survive. What sets
these murders apart is the Ripper’s modus operandi; each victim is subjected to
extreme butchery – Jack sees himself as an artist with the blade.<br />
<br />
From London we are taken to Cloveney Hall – a country estate
home of the Harkness family. Within these walls resides the young William
Harkness. William has his destiny plotted for him, heir to his father Simeon’s,
fortune, set to wed Emily his childhood sweetheart. Resentful of his father,
who he blames for his mother’s passing, William rejects this path and joins the
army. Captain William Harkness narrowly avoids death in Afghanistan during the disastrous
Battle of Maiwand and returns to Britain scarred, both mentally and physically.
He finds solace and comfort in drink and the arms of a young woman called Mary Kelly.
When Mary dies under the Ripper’s blade, William’s lust for vengeance leads to
his recruitment to Slaughter Yard. Under the wings of the Metropolitan Police,
Harkness gathers a group of trusted individuals to hunt down the Ripper, without
the constraints of the Police’s code of conduct.<br />
<br />
It becomes clear that the Ripper is all too aware of Slaughter
Yard, can Harkness outwit his cunning opponent? And what of Emily, now trapped
in an abusive marriage?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_TyydTlJle_EW5nixX0MdKi4nwCZNRcWKiqy1_nvTDuo3HNDg_mDf7NJLcKmUzD-MEbMmMyCutHuPEcraCfvDkw-d3y-0wHnftol67d8h1JBm0etdsDliGU_XO24_58KjjgDTPV1Yto/s1600/touch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_TyydTlJle_EW5nixX0MdKi4nwCZNRcWKiqy1_nvTDuo3HNDg_mDf7NJLcKmUzD-MEbMmMyCutHuPEcraCfvDkw-d3y-0wHnftol67d8h1JBm0etdsDliGU_XO24_58KjjgDTPV1Yto/s1600/touch.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
In the Reaper’s Touch, Harkness and his comrades at Slaughter
Yard continue the hunt, now convinced they face more than one individual. The
Ripper has now changed target, not content with the slaughter of ladies of the
night the Ripper is killing prominent individuals and seems intent on raising
the racial tensions in the burgeoning metropolis of London. The nature of the Perpetrator(s)
become more apparent with William and his men actively targeted. Fortunately,
William has come to terms with his father as all hell breaks loose pursuing the
men of Slaughter Yard to Cloveney.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeT1ZyIQzYrkP9l8HKir0UpIgFLcI7P2OYFFSfjOoUhgInpjMNc7G8UUoCH-B1OFSD31gfIrVVx053xCtNEPuzRZ1sKHeeTmuhbtCmb6TTsep4lV25O_aYQXXe8kbVPw_LL2NVmN8hiJA/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="230" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeT1ZyIQzYrkP9l8HKir0UpIgFLcI7P2OYFFSfjOoUhgInpjMNc7G8UUoCH-B1OFSD31gfIrVVx053xCtNEPuzRZ1sKHeeTmuhbtCmb6TTsep4lV25O_aYQXXe8kbVPw_LL2NVmN8hiJA/s320/kiss.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
In The Reaper’s Kiss <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Ripper emerges once again after three
years since his last reign of terror. William Harkness and his comrades at
Slaughter Yard have kept watch certain that the Ripper and his <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>organisation would emerge once more to inflict
his bloody terror on London again. With the backing of his father Simeon, the
investigation finds financial tentacles about the empire. Slaughter Yard begins
cutting them one by one forcing the monster from the shadows.<br />
<br />
Each<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>book of the
trilogy can stand alone as <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a novel, but
its clear in the first two that a complete resolution is still to be reached. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I devoured all three one after the
other over the course of a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>few days. For
a week I was walking fearfully in my minds’ eye, experiencing the menacing
paranoia of the grimy streets of Victorian London. What death lurks in the
shadows? Were those footsteps heard behind?<br />
<br />
The author has the skilful ability to lob a shocking twist <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>into the story, just when you think you know
who the perpetrator of evil is you realise you’ve been tricked, just as
Harkness has been duped. There is no real happy ever after as the Ripper’s
influence has moulded Harkness, unbeknown to him.<br />
<br />
Five stars for each book, dare you face the Reaper?<br />
<br />
The Ripper Legacies are available as ebooks, audiobooks and paperbacks on<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07M9S91ZJ/ref=series_rw_dp_sw" target="_blank">Amazon</a>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-51116879562158201292019-11-06T06:15:00.002-08:002020-10-28T08:06:01.945-07:00Forgotten<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Unseen, she had watched them; her daughter and the twins,
her grandchildren, unaware of her presence. Watched as the children played in
the park and pleasantries were exchanged between her daughter and other parents
by the swings. Not long ago it had been her chatting with likeminded parents as
her daughter had scampered around with her friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lifetime ago now,
she sighed, as the autumn breeze scattered yellowed leaves about her. She
yearned to talk with her daughter, to play with her grandchildren. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What had they argued about? It all seemed so
trivial and yet it had led her to this juncture.</i> One of the children looked
over and spotted her, smiling as if in recognition, the child called out,
causing the daughter to look up from her conversation. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, not like this. </i>She backed away between the trees, disappearing
between the trunks retracing her steps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Everyday had seemed the same since the event that tied her
to this routine of secretively watching her daughter and children leave their
house. The twins would be going to school very soon and these park visits
become a memory just like her own, with her daughter. She sighed again causing
a passerby to look her way in puzzled questioning. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You wouldn’t wish to know, </i>she said to herself. The man gathered
his scarf around his neck with a shiver and hurried on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She found herself drawn to the crematorium graveyard,
sweeping along familiar steps, once seen through a blur of tears, until she was
before the headstone that marked where her husband’s ashes lay. Her hand
traced, unfeeling, the words inscribed, his name, date of birth and of death,
so long ago now<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, beloved husband and
father. </i>She wished she could cry, wished she could wash the stone with her
tears, but it was to no avail. She saw that the flowers had been replaced, her
daughter visited here regularly. No such visits for her. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why?</i> She remembered then. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drinking, the self-pity, the arguments,
the hospital visits, the betrayal of broken promises that she had made. The
final straw the drinking while supposedly watching the twins, it had all proven
too much. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, no more visits for her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She would have lingered there, yearning for a glimpse of her
husband’s ghost, perhaps he would have offered a path to redemption for her?
But he was long gone, leaving her, bereft in self-imposed solitude, walking the
same streets, day after day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A feeling suddenly came over her, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she needed to get home</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She hurried along back to her flat, very fast for the old
woman she was, the ache in her hips and back a mere memory, the urgency to get
home was all consuming. She could hear them banging at her door, the wood
beginning to splinter. As the door gave way she rushed past them, over the
piled post behind. She could hear them gasping in shock, hands clasped to
mouths. She rushed to the room, darkened by the curtains still drawn. She scurried
over the empty bottles of spirits that littered the floor to the form that lay
on the sofa. She implored herself to rise, to get up and face those that entered
her home, without invitation. But the dried and drawn face just smiled its
endless smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The invaders spoke behind her, their voices muffled by
masks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“God, the smell! Poor woman, forgotten and ignored, how long
has she been dead, do you think?”<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-32792721042466929082019-10-23T02:32:00.000-07:002019-10-23T02:32:00.201-07:00The Witch Wood<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The rain tonight was incessant, it poured from the heavens upon the canopy of trees above, the leaves offering no shelter from the deluge, while all the while the wind whipped the tree tops above, the branches creaking and cracking in protest. Beneath the branches the young man struggled, his face betraying the misery he felt. His coat had long since yielded to the ingress of water; his clothes were now heavy and sodden. His feet were wet and cold as he slid along the muddy track in his leaking shoes. The once clear path was now more like a stream, while treacherous tree roots seeming to attempt to trip him.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He cursed his own stupidity. He could have taken up the offer of his friend’s couch, could be warm and dry, his hand clutching another warming glass of scotch… the one he had refused as he wished to get back to the family home. “I’m only staying five or so miles away”, he had said, “And I can take a short cut through Witch Woods.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Are you sure,” his old friend had said. “It looks a bit wild out there and you know what that wood is like in the dark.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Come on,” he had joked. “We were kids back when we scared ourselves with those stories, and I can remember the way through them… its mainly downhill. If I stick to the old charcoal burner’s path I’ll be ok. If not the old crone will have me!” he had laughed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">His old friend had laughed too, if be it in an unconvincing way, again offering his couch, but he had refused, recounting how he had promised his elderly mother to be back at the old family home that night.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">So here he now was deep in the Witch Woods, the path seemed to wind more than the map he carried in his childhood memories, and the old ruined charcoal burner’s cottage, by which he could get his bearings had still not appeared. And still the rain fell, the wind seeming to crest the ridge behind him in the tree tops, searching for him, chasing him. Just for a moment he had a tinge of a boyhood fear, he looked up and behind himself into the darkness, his feet still taking him forward. As he peered up the rain splashed on his face, he heard the crack and groan of wood above, his eyes widened as in the shadows he discerned the weight of timber falling towards him. He jumped to the side as the falling tree smashed into the ground where he had just been.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">As for him, he had leapt into the unknown and the ground fell away from beneath him. He landed awkwardly on the slippery slope, gravity taking him as he tumbled over and over, unable to stop his mad descent, the brambles tearing his skin and the tree roots digging into his back. He came to a stop in a hollow, the wind was still howling as if it was following up above, he heard more snapping, more splintering of the trees above as the wind screeched, within it he heard a woman’s voice screaming curses.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The man gave a yelp then, as old nightmares resurfaced, he stood up ignoring the painful bruises, his side covered in slimy mud from his slippery fall. He gave no thought to get back to the old charcoal burner’s track, he could only think of the noise of crashing trees behind him now given form by his fear, he scrambled up the other side of the hollow as branches and brambles whipped his face and then he was running, dodging tree trunks in the gloom, roots tried to trip him; all the while the wind was screaming in triumph, as trees fell behind him, an invisible hand reaching to grab him.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He was aware of the distinctive smell of wood smoke and suddenly there was a cottage ahead of him, its overgrown front garden barely distinct from the forest it stood in. He ran up the steps and pounded on the door, the door opened an old woman peered out at him, her eyes seemed to recognise him... and perhaps the dark thing that pursued him.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“In! Quickly!” she said, slamming the door behind him.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He was shaking and sobbing, his eyes shut, as he heard the dark apparition outside rattle the door and then pass over the roof of the cottage as the wind carried on its way.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“You poor thing, you’re soaked to the skin,” the old lady cooed, "Warm yourself by the fire, it’s not a night to be out in, that winds bringing everything down.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He opened his eyes, the room was dimly lit by a few stubby candles and a blazing fire, he staggered to the hearth as he shivered from terror and the cold, mumbling his apologies for his bedraggled state and the muddy footprints his feet left on the flagstone floor. He slumped into a fireside chair of smooth polished white wood.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He willed the warmth to seep into his bones as the fire crackled and hissed. He looked up into the gloom where the old woman watched him. “I’m so sorry to impose on you, like this.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Oh it’s no imposition, my dear.” Her voice had a melodic quality like birdsong. “You just sit and try to get warm now.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He looked at the fire, as the flames danced like tiny sprites and turned back to the woman, there she was unmoved from before, her eyes deep-set in her gnarled old face, twinkling in the firelight.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“I expect,” he said, indicating the candles, “That the wind has brought down the electricity lines; it’s a good thing you have candles, while the power is out.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">She smiled, “Candles, yes…”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“I used to live hereabouts, a few years ago. I didn’t know this house was here,” he said wearily, the fire twisting and writhing before his heavy lidded eyes.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Did you not? Perhaps you have just forgotten?” she replied.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Perhaps I don’t remember, I haven’t been here for ten years, and my memory of the path was somewhat lacking in detail.” he said yawning, his eyes shut momentarily, his mind wandering, walking the woods in the summer with his friend, stumbling across the charcoal burner’s ruined cottage. He opened his eyes, forcing himself awake, as he shivered. “I’m so sorry, I almost drifted off. I never knew someone lived here in the woods. Have you lived here long?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“The years go by and sometimes people forget”, she replied. “Don’t worry; you sleep if you need to. The fire is burning, as you see, and you are cold and wet.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He nodded as he shivered again, he looked at the fire burning merrily and yet the warmth didn’t seem to reach him, he closed his eyes, just to rest them, for a little while.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Yes you’ve just forgotten… ”, she said in her sing song voice.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">In his mind’s eye he was there in the old charcoal burner’s cottage, a roofless, tumbledown, single story building, a hovel, long since abandoned. He was there with his friend, sat inside it on a summer’s afternoon telling stories to each other, the sounds of the forest all around.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“The young often do…” the distant voice said, as woodpeckers hammered in the distance.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">His friend was telling him the tale, a true one he had said, of the charcoal burner who was greedy and despite warnings had cut down the oldest and biggest tree in the woods, the one with the bark on its trunk shaped like an old woman’s face.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“The old, however, we don’t forget and I’ve always been here…”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">In felling the tree from which the woods were named the charcoal burner unleashed a furious, vengeful spirit upon him; his hovel was destroyed and the man was never seen again.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“I remember you…” she chuckled, like crows in the treetops. “You and your friend, here in this very place...”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Icy fingers crawled up his spine and shivering, he opening his eyes, looking at the empty, dark fireplace, the rain dripped down his face making him look up at the trees crowding over the roofless ruin. He stood up, confused and fearful as the wind howled and screeched above. He looked at the chair, the chair made of bleached bones; and he knew whose bones they once were.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "source serif pro" , serif; font-size: 19.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">He shook his head, turned tail and ran from the ruined cottage, heedless of the rain, heedless of the tree roots, down the old track as the trees groaned and the wind cackled above.</span><br />
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Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-21846114764889478342019-10-22T08:58:00.001-07:002020-08-14T14:11:10.256-07:00Spear Havoc<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Spear Havoc 1066 - Alternative Histories by C R May</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">1066AD – a date enshrined in every history of England, all
because of a battle that took place on Senlac ridge on 14<sup>th</sup> October.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">History is written by the victors, we inherit their
narrative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having always had an interest
in the so-called “Dark Ages”, it always struck me as odd that English history
didn’t seem to really get going until William the Conqueror took to the throne.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the kings of Anglo-Saxon England
were footnotes, with the exception of Alfred the Great of course. Growing up in
the 1970s we still has access to atlases<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>with maps still swathed in pink, and history books still full of
imperial pomposity. The conquest was the beginning of British greatness
according to these texts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But things had changed, even as a child I could see through
those old books. The empire itself had been founded on conquest and oppression abroad and poverty and industrial pollution at home. By the 70s decolonisation was all but complete, on the news there
was industrial strife, the troubles in Northern Ireland rumbled on with no end in sight, shop shelves had sugar shortages and black outs seemed
common place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, saying that the
music was great… apart from Boney M and the Smurfs of course.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">To believe those old history books Anglo-Saxon society had
got as far as it could possibly go and the imposition of Norman overlords was ultimately a good thing. The upper echelons of the pre-conquest society was
primitive. The conquering Normans brought order and modernity, in societal
structure, architecture and warfare.<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Their victory at Hastings was nearly guaranteed, with their
use of cavalry, foot soldiers and archers. How could the Anglo Saxons hope to
compete with their archaic shieldwall tactics? Those stupid Anglo-Saxon Fyrdmen -
enticed to their doom by William’s reigned retreats! But then you ask yourself;
what if their discipline had held, what would have happened then?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In Spear Havoc 1066 – Alternative Histories, Norse historic
fiction author par excellence C R May explores several intriguing differing
outcomes to our historical reality. Each alternative is presented as a short
story, followed by an afterword exploring the author’s reasoning. Each is perfectly
feasible and, for those of us who hold with the theory of an infinite multiverse,
may very well exist on different timelines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thus the author invites us to ponder the differing outcomes
that could quite easily have occurred; what if Harald Hardrada had been killed
prior to his campaign with Tostig Godwinsson?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How untroubled would the succession have been, if Edward the Exile hadn’t
mysteriously died on arrival in England? What if the Confessor had died a year
earlier before the sundering of the Godwinssons?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">These are a few among twelve possibilities and, as any
reader of Mr May’s will already attest, each is well described the author’s
prose capturing the excitement of battle and the cut and thrust of political
rivalries. Refreshingly, the author doesn’t just present us with Harold good,
William bad scenarios, instead we have family rivalry and dynastic ambitions
from many quarters; the realpolitik of the time. For the casual reader, or
student of the conquest period, I would heartily recommend getting this book as
it expands understanding of the world of Harold and William, beyond the historical
narrative we all know. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s heartening to think that somewhere in the multiverse
there maybe a present as framed in the tale of Tostig the Peace Weaver. What
present is that you ask? I encourage you to get this book and find out!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-40012206120262559602019-06-12T06:21:00.001-07:002019-06-12T07:43:17.596-07:00A Light Bulb Moment<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">To me the new lights seemed harsh. First they installed them
along the street, replacing the warm orange sodium glow of the old ones with a
bluish glare. More energy efficient we were told, with less of the light pollution
overspill that was spoiling the view of the stars. So as it was with energy saving lightbulbs, hand and head torches,
the replacement of traditional incandescent bulbs with LEDs continued apace throughout the
town. All good, yes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not so sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed the correct,
environmentally thing to do. Yet still the light is harsh, and almost physically
hurtful to my eyes. The light is always intense under its glare, yet creates
shadowed areas of darkness between them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Avoiding pedestrians stepping out of the shadows and into the road in
winter, whilst I’m driving, has become somewhat of a seasonal sport.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">All artificial light is about mimicking the sun of course,
illuminating the hours of darkness within the narrow band of the
electromagnetic spectrum in which we reside, extending our activity from mere
daylight hours. I did some research; LEDs -light emitting diodes - bathe us in wakefulness
inducing blue light, as the sun does. Other sources emit blue light too, such
as phones and computers etc. which is why we are encouraged into having a down
time from our devices prior to sleep. Blue light has a short wave length and
can damage the photoreceptors in the eye; it is why we wear sun glasses in
summer. Unlike the sun and incandescent bulbs however LEDs do not emit long
wave length red light. Red light has health benefits, stimulating the retina to
repair blue light damage, penetrating the skin and stimulating the production
of mitochondrial ATP; crucial for providing energy in every cell of the body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s not surprising that we have evolved to rely on the sun,
that the ill effects of blue light can be countered by the benefits of the red.
That’s the nature of real light and the universe in general; all seems
perfectly balanced. But LED illumination isn’t natural and I suspect isn’t “real”
light either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now it might be my prejudice against LED light but to me its
the natural world that shows it for what it is – a synthetic light. Whilst walking the dog
through an area of the park, the LED shone from the light from amid the branches
of a silver birch. The light on the ground was shown for what it was, the
leaves breaking it up into its digital components of lines. LEDs are here to stay, but do I like them? No I don't. As to whether they actually cause real harm biologically, we are all an experimental work in progress.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOCJ-F5rRJq7Ai6E_R_S7upzHQVX2_3tXIszunfkEW3v2NK9Ql8VyyPVCPTlQX3CP_OfdO4PVXptnnUtxemEUWFPdD-FIC_7msDpe615qoXXXyTS-DbOcVxraCePj_tdow-JaJavVODQ/s1600/led.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="157" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOCJ-F5rRJq7Ai6E_R_S7upzHQVX2_3tXIszunfkEW3v2NK9Ql8VyyPVCPTlQX3CP_OfdO4PVXptnnUtxemEUWFPdD-FIC_7msDpe615qoXXXyTS-DbOcVxraCePj_tdow-JaJavVODQ/s1600/led.jpg" /></a></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-53666553204160060512019-01-10T08:29:00.000-08:002019-01-10T08:29:07.992-08:00The Raven and the Cross (Erik Haraldsson 2) by C R May - A review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsE77XviM6OOh5GYSmVZpzll4OIbR1c7_EmfT4B2UQMgxvg90NyXhcXBpPrbKwuQE6rmBm8qtEybmiGbH9feB3FjJdiV9JKySrBuIrHHJ4Tbo61meJ0dhVHSB3D0gUt8EzSwnboF0DSxM/s1600/TRTC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="297" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsE77XviM6OOh5GYSmVZpzll4OIbR1c7_EmfT4B2UQMgxvg90NyXhcXBpPrbKwuQE6rmBm8qtEybmiGbH9feB3FjJdiV9JKySrBuIrHHJ4Tbo61meJ0dhVHSB3D0gUt8EzSwnboF0DSxM/s320/TRTC.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In The Raven
& The Cross, Erik Bloodaxe returns in suitable rampaging style. Previously
we followed him extinguish opposition, in the shape of his brothers, to claim
the kingship of Norway only to have it snatched away by the machinations of
King Aethelstan of England and bequeathed to Erik’s Christian half-brother,
Hakon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Erik isn’t
going to sit back and accept such a fate, he has loyal <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hirdsmen</i>, a wife and sons, and most crucially of all – the destiny to
be a king five times over, as foretold to him by a seer. But how? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He has found
sanctuary in Denmark with his brother-in-law, Gorm and joins him on campaign
against the Swedes. However Eric has an appetite for fame-wealth and he knows,
somehow, he will be a king again, as do others. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Athelstan offers Erik the kingdom of
Northumbria in England but Erik suspects this offer is merely to keep him in
check and ensure he doesn’t threaten Hakon’s throne. It would also make him the
king of England’s puppet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instead the
Jarldom of the Orkneys offers great opportunity for wealth and plunder. Since
the weakening of dynasties during a terrible war, in which Aethelstan
successfully defeated an alliance of Dublin Norse and Strathclyde Britons, a
power vacuum exists that can be exploited. The Orkneys are perfected situated
on the sea lanes for a Viking Sea King to ply his trade and build his
reputation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Erik’s
exploits will take him from Dublin to Portugal, but despite King Aethelstan’s
heirs styling themselves as Kings of all the English, and carrying imperial ambition
for the whole of Britain; Northumbrian separatism ensures that the Erik may
still be king there , but on his own terms. Such a move would require accepting
Christianity, but Erik is nothing but a pragmatist, and he needs to be accepted
as king by both Norsemen and Anglo-Danish Northumbrians (both of Berncia and
Deira). The king of Wessex may have other ideas however…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As readers
we have been well served by Mr May of late. The Raven and the Cross is the
second of the Eric Haraldsson series <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to
be released in 2018 – 2 books in one year – that’s dedication;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>especially when it’s plain to see the
meticulous research that has gone into these books. C R May has fleshed out
Erik’s life from scant sources, but has been able to explore and expand on
events mentioned in the saga of the </span><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Blóðøx
and bring them to life.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxS_mBg-peI9Ns4c1R68lCgjTs87c_JIXqcRfKAJnmlAD-dMEyErHFDdtIzQsmc8_O4CMxSGSY0foxiVjdRJyQrJx3fDY28X1VqhhqazN2s-FOTm4oa473Rp8aXPOAqxnBcIbux9lK8c/s1600/Norns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxS_mBg-peI9Ns4c1R68lCgjTs87c_JIXqcRfKAJnmlAD-dMEyErHFDdtIzQsmc8_O4CMxSGSY0foxiVjdRJyQrJx3fDY28X1VqhhqazN2s-FOTm4oa473Rp8aXPOAqxnBcIbux9lK8c/s320/Norns.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Norns Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld under the world oak Yggdrasil. Illustration, 1882 by Ludwig Burger via wikipedia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As ever with
this author’s masterly word-craft we are treated to a wonderful recreation of
the Viking world, with all its customs and beliefs and bloody brutal glory. The
tapestry of Erik’s life is skilfully woven, as if it were by the very Norns
themselves. There is action on land and sea with Erik the energetic warrior he
ever was, so much so that the book speeds along; you daren’t put it down. The
previous book dealt with Erik and his headlong rush to win his father’s throne
with the blade of his axe – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jomal</i>;
however the experience of losing his throne through politics has made an
altogether different Erik than the one driven by tempestuous youth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Erik is a
brave and ruthless warrior, unforgiving of disloyalty; yet the loss of long
trusted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hirdsmen</i>, either by death or
age catching up with them, has made a wiser, more philosophical individual. He
can win a kingdom but now he’s learning how to actually be a king and the
requirements of statecraft. A warrior may build a fearsome reputation, but a
great king constructs a legacy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s clear
that the author lives and breathes this world, his love of the period shines
through. For those of us who have enjoyed the work of CR May there’s a nice
little easter egg hidden within the pages of The Raven and The Cross linking
this series to previous ones he’s written. Book two of a trilogy this may be
but it can still stand alone on its own terms. We all need to start somewhere
and if you haven’t read any of CR May’s books before, I would happily recommend
that this be the one to begin with; but you wouldn’t want to deny yourselves
others, would you? So stand with Erik </span><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Blóðøx
and hear Jomal’s deadly wail. “</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Óðinn</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> owns you all!”</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD2XKrROIbAikJyMjlFfMl7JaLWVCTu5yFiiP14YcYPeoB6HqWp0jWGS2TdYqED3UzrCl-O8AABdOFzLmPLrf_-zq9jE2sI2WelygSoCYpc2hChcv1wc6_TNs9N6VQ5cFpZgnHuhPpp4o/s1600/Axe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD2XKrROIbAikJyMjlFfMl7JaLWVCTu5yFiiP14YcYPeoB6HqWp0jWGS2TdYqED3UzrCl-O8AABdOFzLmPLrf_-zq9jE2sI2WelygSoCYpc2hChcv1wc6_TNs9N6VQ5cFpZgnHuhPpp4o/s320/Axe.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from cgtrader.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<br />
The Raven and The Cross is available from <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raven-Cross-Erik-Haraldsson-Book-ebook/dp/B07KP7WRX3/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1547137191&sr=1-1&keywords=the+raven+and+the+cross" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-45470448511568381612018-09-13T05:34:00.000-07:002018-09-13T05:55:51.666-07:00The Brand New Normal - For Sam.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigBfugv0bvk14wPP-uVDB3MY61L87G41EYm_Cf27ycXHq5W0BfIC08P6e4PzHEVTYOWdRIjk4w2PZKpf0CJ69oHkxW-C1D2PQoYl4_WTxOPzpRWsYR9Y3BdAwrxhbjOOZqjlEW51UCSY/s1600/Sammy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigBfugv0bvk14wPP-uVDB3MY61L87G41EYm_Cf27ycXHq5W0BfIC08P6e4PzHEVTYOWdRIjk4w2PZKpf0CJ69oHkxW-C1D2PQoYl4_WTxOPzpRWsYR9Y3BdAwrxhbjOOZqjlEW51UCSY/s320/Sammy.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So this is the
brand new normal, a hole in my heart and soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I’m bereft since
you left; disbelieving, that you suddenly had to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Where once I
complained when you shouted, now I just miss your bark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And that you’re no
longer hogging the sofa, and claiming the comfy part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">You’re not there in
the middle of the doorway, underfoot, refusing to budge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Nor there when the
fridge door opens, at mealtimes I don't feel your nudge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">You’re no longer
leaning against my legs, with your head and ears to smooth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">No more are you
insisting that you lick mine, sat on me so I can’t move. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Of course you knew
all this made my life sweeter, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">with just the touch
of your cold wet nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So this is the
brand new normal, I’ll get used to it, I suppose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-10770617062411216912018-05-14T08:13:00.001-07:002018-05-14T08:13:38.930-07:00Bloodaxe (Erik Haraldsson Book 1) by C R May - A review<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8g2SvzqVu9eHC0_ppuh3bLgZfuOQxUs_F5tci5ypzroV4TxCnRMu4hSwPmryjoeowxrOR8tgUOhmHodN2wf3h4TrItezGpZ3SyYTfXuuLZWNsUQDtiydCQ-RS-FNWp26OcktlAiHbdZc/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8g2SvzqVu9eHC0_ppuh3bLgZfuOQxUs_F5tci5ypzroV4TxCnRMu4hSwPmryjoeowxrOR8tgUOhmHodN2wf3h4TrItezGpZ3SyYTfXuuLZWNsUQDtiydCQ-RS-FNWp26OcktlAiHbdZc/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Tell me about King
Erik, Your Grace.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The archbishop blew
the froth from his ale and peered across the rim, chuckling softly as he took a
sip. “Bloodaxe?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Under Harald Fairhair Norway has been unified, but the
question of succession casted a shadow over the great king’s twilight rule. He
wants Erik to be his heir for high kingship, but Harald has fathered many sons,
all kings in their own right, each eager for the spoils the great king’s death
will bring. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve always had a fascination with the character of Erik
Bloodaxe, the last Viking king of an independent Northumbria, if only for his
descriptive name. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting Jorvik Viking
museum you may well have bought the T-Shirt or perhaps the mug, such as I have!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7wnZu8on9eHjy1-d9KammaSZaJp07p-Jjr7DTyB9oneApIMLpMmDEr5oB-wXlXgkyyw5mB6AXU_EvHOKbXFs7FE-63K8G8YxvGwPG-3mKbS81QS71Ei-Jv0rjqRkXTVNWrzTZX8wwT4/s1600/Mugshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7wnZu8on9eHjy1-d9KammaSZaJp07p-Jjr7DTyB9oneApIMLpMmDEr5oB-wXlXgkyyw5mB6AXU_EvHOKbXFs7FE-63K8G8YxvGwPG-3mKbS81QS71Ei-Jv0rjqRkXTVNWrzTZX8wwT4/s320/Mugshot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When I heard that C R May was embarking on telling his
Erik’s saga I knew I would be in for a spectacular ride aboard a dragon prowed
longship; and what a ride this is. Those familiar with Mr May’s (in my opinion)
unrivalled word-craft in bringing this historical period to life, will have an
inkling of what to expect, and for those new to his work, you will be in for a
real treat and wonder why you haven’t read his work before. You can taste the
salt tang of spray as you pull oar on Erik’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Skei, </i>feel the fear and pride as your sea king<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>disembarks first, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to lead
his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hird </i>to a bloody and glorious
victory, amid hoarse shouts of </span><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">blóðøx.</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It is the author’s great skill that he is able to put flesh
on the bones of a few lines of Norse literature and create a wealth of
believable characters, which the reader becomes utterly invested in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr May invites his reader to suspend their
disbelief in the fantastic with such subtlety that the presence of a
lycanthropic monster, or the earthly manifestation of a god, is accepted
without question. This is the heroic world where tales are told in the mead
hall and monstrous shapes summoned by skalds in the shadows of flickering
flames. <span style="color: #1d2129; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Odin, the All-Father, does love his poetry, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: ; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">"When
one-eyed wandering poets ask you to honour their wishes Erik, it's usually a
good idea to do so... Particularly if they haven't aged a day in twenty
winters."</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1d2129; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span></i> </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1d2129; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span></i> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRiQ2zuifyiK09LlbSx1OcNgotglsZ4E9ankVnXzItofbAb3C1BtbcGKBopbLJPxkS_QjnuR8jh7OypD3ZkFiWm7GduOV31xSKWpvgoOHAng-TmRaBk_RtIOvxewaz9DYkXqXJiJvaiI/s1600/odinravens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRiQ2zuifyiK09LlbSx1OcNgotglsZ4E9ankVnXzItofbAb3C1BtbcGKBopbLJPxkS_QjnuR8jh7OypD3ZkFiWm7GduOV31xSKWpvgoOHAng-TmRaBk_RtIOvxewaz9DYkXqXJiJvaiI/s320/odinravens.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: ; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i> </div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yet just when you think the tale is told, that a kingdom is
won and Erik’s tapestry is woven, such is the fate of men that the three
sisters of wyrd pick at loose threads, their shears poised to cut the warp and
weft of heroes, and bring all crashing down in ruination and death in the world of Midgard. For, as Erik has
concentrated on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nor’way, </i>foreign kings
have conspired to weave patterns of their own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But Erik has a destiny, told him by a warlock of the far
north, and will snatch the threads of his life from the blades of the hags of
fate, which fortunately for us means there will be an Erik Haraldsson Book 2.
Form the shieldwall, raise the standard, </span><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Blóðøx! Blóðøx!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">This is historical fiction as it’s
meant to be written, absolutely top notch stuff from a writer at the peak of
his craft.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background: ; color: #222222;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Bloodaxe is available at <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bloodaxe-Erik-Haraldsson-Book-1-ebook/dp/B07C9BC3RQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1526310540&sr=1-1&keywords=bloodaxe" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-90373997954707854692018-02-19T08:04:00.000-08:002018-02-19T08:04:31.402-08:00The Wolf Banner by Paula Lofting - a review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQzhjwcCP4trj15j8POMPwUmxZO_F0otFXS1LStie9DpYqYcidjE3RGC52NUqn3nlhs-B10Ha4esKc4n2y2XwzKa6KZzLqvkEJclgXeEv2MzQ2DJYyKFggsReiqV4pysaHl0VxZ7USeg/s1600/30345652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="318" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQzhjwcCP4trj15j8POMPwUmxZO_F0otFXS1LStie9DpYqYcidjE3RGC52NUqn3nlhs-B10Ha4esKc4n2y2XwzKa6KZzLqvkEJclgXeEv2MzQ2DJYyKFggsReiqV4pysaHl0VxZ7USeg/s320/30345652.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /><br />
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">“1058. This year Alfgar,
the earl, was banished; but he soon came in again, with violence, through
Gruffudds' aid. And this year came a fleet from Norway: it is tedious to tell
how all these matters went.”</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfE_zcWuw1kK3ccq6M_WXvzidyBw_aYRJLllrQTpEPKQJdgGELvs9wA8p2ku0TkZELO4GsWgHeLRyTGA0QD67iyrJkphCbDXu6vCAG4olqkD14Zs_HBuZv90FvkGSH-HcoFtLSgHNV-m8/s1600/scribe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="505" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfE_zcWuw1kK3ccq6M_WXvzidyBw_aYRJLllrQTpEPKQJdgGELvs9wA8p2ku0TkZELO4GsWgHeLRyTGA0QD67iyrJkphCbDXu6vCAG4olqkD14Zs_HBuZv90FvkGSH-HcoFtLSgHNV-m8/s320/scribe.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">So wrote a scribe, his
opinion preserved for all these long ages since in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.
“Tedious to tell”? Not at all, as we revisit C11th Horstede in Sussex and
reacquaint ourselves with Wulfhere and his household, who we met in <i>Sons
of the Wolf</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Wulfhere is a man tormented by inner demons,
suffering from combat stress, his relationship with his pregnant mistress
putting implacable strain on his marriage to his wife, Ealdgytha. While his
children squabble incessantly, the long running blood feud with his neighbour
Helghi bubbles away, despite his lord Harold Godwinson ordering his two Sussex
liege men to bury their hatchets, by way of marriage. The one bright ray of
sunshine is the impending marriage of his eldest daughter to the Aemund son of
his friend Leofnoth… as long as her dalliance with Helghi’s son hasn’t ruined
her chances of a fortuitous union, that is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile in the strategically important earldom
of Mercia, the elderly Earl Leofric is dying. His son Aelfgar should inherit
the earldom but is tainted by his previous exile and subsequent ransacking of
Hereford in the company of his ally, Gruffudd of Wales. Will Aelfgar’s hatred
of the growing power and influence of the Godwinsons overpower his loyalty to
King Edward? What of Aelfgar’s first born son Burgheard? He condemned his
father over Hereford, where do his loyalties now lie?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Wolf Banner </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">is a
real page turner, through the eyes of the characters we can see the unfolding
drama of the C11<sup>th</sup>. It is extremely well researched as all the
threads of the time begin to create the tapestry leading up to inevitable
conflict and destruction of this world. The characters are fleshed out and
flawed, not one is a perfect hero, each has their weaknesses or will take
advantage of others in their pursuit their goals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Having enjoyed Ms Lofting’s first book of this
series it was a joy to return to the C11<sup>th</sup>. Her storytelling goes
from strength to strength. This is an author whose craft is becoming as sharply
honed as the blades wielded in the battles she admirably describes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Words of the time are skilfully entwined in the
dialogue making the world all the more real. All life is here; love, desire,
hope, distrust, betrayal, war, triumph and achingly painful loss. There is
humour in Aemund’s battle with his wife’s aunt Gunhild, as a reader I
thoroughly enjoyed the old battleaxe‘s humiliation - well deserved I think! The
war of words between Burgheard and his adversary Ragnald in Wulfgar’s hall was coarsely
realistic but absolutely enjoyable; I felt like I was there listening to the
increasingly ill-tempered debate and trading of insults.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Surely you can tell an author’s worth if you feel
emotionally invested in the characters, and you do in <i>The Wolf
Banner. </i>I felt sorry for Burgheard, and sympathetic to his growing
bitterness but it was good for him to have a storyline to be told, as he is a
mere footnote, briefly mentioned in the writings of the time. Another character
you feel for his Wulfhere’s youngest son, Tovi. Sacrificed in an attempt to
heal the rift between his parents, his dreams trampled and abandoned, I feel he
may yet be the one to save his father from his deep and crippling despair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">1058, tedious to tell? To the scribe perhaps but
not for our characters in <i>The Wolf Banner; </i>their fates are set
on their courses and their tales will continue in <i>The Wolf’s Bane, </i>there is the none-too-small matter of
a blood price that requires payment; I can’t wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">The Wolf Banner is available at <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wolf-Banner-Sons-ebook/dp/B01IS4CIPY">Amazon<o:p></o:p></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
<span lang="EN"></span></span>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-46412124853548356692017-05-17T03:07:00.000-07:002017-10-10T05:42:37.247-07:00Conan the Barbarian - an Appreciation<span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<em><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;">‘Know, oh prince, that between the years when the
oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the
Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread
across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars - Nemedia, Ophir,
Brythunia, Hyberborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of
spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the
pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose
riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was
Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west. Hither came Conan the
Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a
slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jewelled
thrones of the Earth under his sandaled feet…’</span></em><i><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span><strong><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> - The Nemedian Chronicles, The Phoenix On
the Sword</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It
feels like I’ve grown up with Conan. Whereas Tolkien offers classic <i>High Fantasy,
</i>Conan offered something a bit more earthy and brutal. My introduction came
through looking at my elder brother’s <i>Savage Sword of Conan</i> comics when
I was nine or ten. I say comic, but this was wholly different from the comics
such as the <i>Beano </i>which my friends read. Being one to always pick up a
pencil and draw when I was young, I loved the artwork and the depiction of
monsters and warriors, not to mention the… well let us just say that I had to
be careful reading these comics as my mother didn’t fully approve of the
scantily clad women shown within. It seems very funny when I look back at it,
all part of growing up!</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZ-v7VyNrKVWcRiWHKujxwy7-OmImMJ_uR_d1jJYG7seL_yI40-imCmdviuKLnyTBOf0zUB9RoM7wlhIdWzu6u-NAKNcl9Jvl5Lo-Q_6dLnlZ6bap0Wb_kKacMbWlNiplR28S3AYaD9A/s1600/2566525-savage_sword_of_conan_030_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZ-v7VyNrKVWcRiWHKujxwy7-OmImMJ_uR_d1jJYG7seL_yI40-imCmdviuKLnyTBOf0zUB9RoM7wlhIdWzu6u-NAKNcl9Jvl5Lo-Q_6dLnlZ6bap0Wb_kKacMbWlNiplR28S3AYaD9A/s320/2566525-savage_sword_of_conan_030_01.jpg" width="235" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wIENE9MKL18InyIE9I20Qcmhpum_OHT9ZjN0P4U87Qis187ssOiJYKemcZcnjUt0aKs8EZ9J1LrIgQBOZ-i21LDELPF6WD9n0GSptfm5L1VcET0dNeBMBeb8cbUaeHMF-BNCAj5ZEOU/s1600/2577624-savage_sword_of_conan_025_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wIENE9MKL18InyIE9I20Qcmhpum_OHT9ZjN0P4U87Qis187ssOiJYKemcZcnjUt0aKs8EZ9J1LrIgQBOZ-i21LDELPF6WD9n0GSptfm5L1VcET0dNeBMBeb8cbUaeHMF-BNCAj5ZEOU/s320/2577624-savage_sword_of_conan_025_01.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Savage Sword of Conan Magazine covers</td></tr>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">If
I recall <i>Savage Sword of Conan</i> was a monthly and through it I found that
the character and the world of the Hyborian Age was the invention of a Texan
writer called Robert E Howard. As well as the comic there was a whole series of
novellas and short stories published by Lancer books, written by either Howard
himself or by L Sprague le Camp and Lin Carter among others. Each had a glossy cover
by such amazing artists such as Frank Franzetta and each tale would draw you in
to a world of fast-paced adventure; I was hooked!</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqcsh0-cF_7XUc7fOvyHodd1bXwOuLq2ru4659iC7UJBndI52dChBTzS65Nq8oiS6HwsO8kNZ0m9tzXzR4mu8ME_nKFIIFcgvhGheS9XZNTvoafemlFabhrRJayV1iIuyonWcJjWVUyW0/s1600/Conan_usurper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqcsh0-cF_7XUc7fOvyHodd1bXwOuLq2ru4659iC7UJBndI52dChBTzS65Nq8oiS6HwsO8kNZ0m9tzXzR4mu8ME_nKFIIFcgvhGheS9XZNTvoafemlFabhrRJayV1iIuyonWcJjWVUyW0/s320/Conan_usurper.jpg" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conan paperback</td></tr>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Robert
E Howard was a complex and tragic character. He was born in 1906 and committed
suicide at the age of 30. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the son
of a travelling physician and his childhood took him through a variety of
boomtowns. It was his mother who inspired him intellectually through her love
of literature and poetry and at the age of nine he began to write, the ability
to make his way in the world through his writing was his dream. Howard hated
the boom-bust nature of the oil towns of the time and the crime that followed
in its wake and the tuberculosis that afflicted his mother was a constant cause
of concern. He hated the jobs he had to undertake to earn a living and finally
quit in 1926 to pursue writing by taking a college course. He submitted stories
to the pulp magazine <i>Weird Tales. </i>It took another three years but he
finally became a full-time writer at the age of 23. He entered into a
correspondence with HP Lovecraft and look set for a comfortable life when the
Great Depression struck. It was at this low ebb, whilst travelling the state,
he conceived the land of Cimmeria and over the course of nine months he
developed the character of Conan and the world of the Hyborian Age. Unknown to
him he had invented the whole<em> sword and sorcery</em> genre. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSHUqTf67FTx9chhLgCCre6z3nCylKJBOb1UYDG4QKlLnyEXoDXzgojBEdI7405SYMHX40kL4ogTPoacLJVKa1fSiP6zEZCcuKgCjPJKFqUPGEgfY5oFCZt31d1s23fkiCvvltG4h9zQ/s1600/Robert_E_Howard_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSHUqTf67FTx9chhLgCCre6z3nCylKJBOb1UYDG4QKlLnyEXoDXzgojBEdI7405SYMHX40kL4ogTPoacLJVKa1fSiP6zEZCcuKgCjPJKFqUPGEgfY5oFCZt31d1s23fkiCvvltG4h9zQ/s320/Robert_E_Howard_.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert E Howard</td></tr>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;">Howard became preoccupied in caring for his ailing mother and writing
became increasingly difficult. When his mother slipped into a terminal coma he
took his own life in 1936. In truth Howard’s Conan writing had been brief and
he had lost interest in the character from 1934, preferring to write westerns
(two of the later Conan tales, <i>Beyond the Black River</i> and <i>The
Treasure of Tranicos</i>, both set in the Pictish Wilderness had a decidedly
western feel to them). Yet the research and fragments of unpublished work he had put into his world building, enabled others to pick up the baton to
give us the great number of Conan stories that we have today. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So
who is Conan? Conan is described as a black haired warrior of the northern land
of Cimmeria. As the name suggests he is perhaps Celtic. <span style="font-family: "calibri";">He is described as having a mane of black hair and eyes of smouldering blue. In stature he is tall and muscular; a born fighter but also possessing intelligence and tactical skill. The various stories have him travelling far and wide over Hyboria, during which he becomes adept at several languages and (most surprising for a barbarian) able to read and write. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTVri5AAusz8MSjV8u8y2aPkEtVG3HdDVEL0u4QHiaFhaTRHR0wBu-Pt057jQmwy0vAdNBFg4HEprGJ0jQnepxMUbIvouxTXswL2R3B3bnY8krW6yYdpiMj5jWaYRfDHU0-rOEH_iAfU/s1600/Hyboria_map1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTVri5AAusz8MSjV8u8y2aPkEtVG3HdDVEL0u4QHiaFhaTRHR0wBu-Pt057jQmwy0vAdNBFg4HEprGJ0jQnepxMUbIvouxTXswL2R3B3bnY8krW6yYdpiMj5jWaYRfDHU0-rOEH_iAfU/s400/Hyboria_map1950.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hyboria - Wikipedia - Gnome press by David Kyle</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222;"> I always liked the maps reproduced in the books showing the pre-flood Hyboria transposed with the modern. With his love of history Howard purposely used similar names to make the Hyborian world seem plausible.</span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The
genius of the Conan stories is that you can dip in and out at different stages
of his career. So you can catch him as a young barbarian still in the vicinity
of Cimmeria in <i>The Frost Giant’s Daughter</i> and then read of him as the
King of Aquilonia in <i>The Scarlet Citadel </i>(the latter almost gives a
blueprint for the future RPG <i>Dungeons & Dragons</i>!)</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Of
course I couldn’t write of Conan without making mention of the films. I
remember the excitement building about the impending film project in the pages <i>of
The Savage Sword of Conan</i>. Everyone already had Arnold Schwarzenegger as playing
the titular character, indeed the future Associate Producer of the film (Edward
Summer) had put his name forward in 1975 after seeing Schwarzenegger in the
film <i>Pumping Iron</i>. Schwarzenegger was approached in 1977 and convinced
to sign up to the role. However it took five years<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>until finally<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>the film <i>Conan the Barbarian</i> was released in 1982. </span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvQDxaOImGvK6aBu1QFGNXaYFZrYHEhc5xe4uyh8mM8zRVlKMAy6p8IqO_ThV5VKYGECuK6-cqEM1Zv0lVTOcXynH87xj8f3N7CMMSzhYKb3BrVtFUXTDo8IeKrkoF5MSxxPbGwO_kD0/s1600/CtB+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvQDxaOImGvK6aBu1QFGNXaYFZrYHEhc5xe4uyh8mM8zRVlKMAy6p8IqO_ThV5VKYGECuK6-cqEM1Zv0lVTOcXynH87xj8f3N7CMMSzhYKb3BrVtFUXTDo8IeKrkoF5MSxxPbGwO_kD0/s320/CtB+poster.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conan the Barbarian poster 1982</td></tr>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Heavy Metal music magazine, <em>Kerrang</em>, reviewed it and called it the "Cinematic equivalent of a <em>Motorhead</em> concert". They weren't wrong; for the time it was quite a violent film I suppose with a degree of nudity. The world of Hyboria was recreated in Spain with an original story using elements of Howard's stories, most notably from <em>A Witch Shall be Born</em> and <em>The Phoenix on the Sword. </em></span></span></span><br />
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The film begins with a chronicler reciting part of the Nemedian passage as above. </span></span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Conan is born the son of a blacksmith in Cimmeria. His father forges a mighty sword and tells him that he must quest for the riddle of steel but his village is raided by an evil wizard and his retinue under a snake banner. His parents are killed and his father's sword taken. The child Conan is led to captivity where he works on the wheel of pain becoming large and muscular after many years pushing it. He is then put in a gladiatorial ring where he proves his worth, receiving weapons training and education. He is freed and becomes a thief with a Hykrainian archer called Subotai and a female warrior called Valeria. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Conan and Valeria become lovers after they rob a temple of the snake god Set. During the robbery Conan recognises the symbol of Set as the one carried by his parent's killers. While celebrating their newly found fortune they are arrested by city guards and brought before King Osric. The temple of Set has demanded the king deal harshly with the perpetrators. Osric reveals that his own daughter has fallen under the spell of Thulsa Doom, the leader of the cult. He offers wealth beyond measure if the trio liberate her and bring her home. Subotai and Valeria refuse but motivated by his thirst for revenge Conan embarks on his own where he meets a wizard guarding an old burial ground, the chronicler of his tale. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Fx-jwccSBYsrWFOPVXKnZXD7VpLHD6qDbyMu9fG4Vme7a_jXareD0VH0Nj-74pfieBLZw6YS48MQElwyUqUNhI8t2lGaWpH9cWMTzbBUf8oDcWq3xMgjC0wJrkYFYfF9WjbwozfojmI/s1600/The+trio.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Fx-jwccSBYsrWFOPVXKnZXD7VpLHD6qDbyMu9fG4Vme7a_jXareD0VH0Nj-74pfieBLZw6YS48MQElwyUqUNhI8t2lGaWpH9cWMTzbBUf8oDcWq3xMgjC0wJrkYFYfF9WjbwozfojmI/s320/The+trio.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Subotai, Conan and Valeria before King Osric</td></tr>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Attempting to infiltrate Thulsa Doom's mountain of power while disguised as a priest Conan is captured. Interrogated by Thulsa Doom he reveals who he is. Doom tells him the riddle of steel before ordering Conan's crucifixion on the tree of woe. Under the baking sun and surviving the predation of vultures Subotai rescues him. Valeria demands the wizard heal Conan. He says he can summon spirits to effect the healing but they will extract a heavy toll, which Valeria agrees to pay. The wizard works his spell and during the might the spirits attempt to take Conan who has been tethered to the ground. His companions ward them off and Conan is restored to health.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trio now infiltrate the Mountain of Power during a cannibalistic orgy, during which Thulasa Doom transforms into a snake. Rescuing the daughter of Osric they make good their escape but Doom, back in human form, shoots a snake arrow which kills Valeria, thereby confirming the heavy toll she had to pay for Conan's life.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5Fl_SqRgX1MvKusfJYwtb8swmaJ5kp5oda7Cfz_73F3EA-wOZ127J0k2RpYsravr4_WZlCtvyQsZG-Mn7_YiAaddXaOSBYc2mRHlnXN2uhbsg20Q8zZJpiRqQkyluN1ObXt1ksxq4zg/s1600/Thulsa_Doom_%2528Snake%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5Fl_SqRgX1MvKusfJYwtb8swmaJ5kp5oda7Cfz_73F3EA-wOZ127J0k2RpYsravr4_WZlCtvyQsZG-Mn7_YiAaddXaOSBYc2mRHlnXN2uhbsg20Q8zZJpiRqQkyluN1ObXt1ksxq4zg/s1600/Thulsa_Doom_%2528Snake%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thulsa Doom taking snake form. </td></tr>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Valeria's funeral pyre alerts Doom of Conan's whereabouts and he and his retinue, including his high priests Rexor and Thorgrim attack the burial site which Conan, Subotai and the wizard have fortified. During the battle Valeria in spirit form saves Conan and they successfully fend off the attack, killing Thorgim and Rexor. Seeing his men defeated Doom tries to shoot the princess with another of his snake arrows but Subatoi defends her with a shield. Conan recovers his father's sword from his enemies in shards, after it was shattered during the battle. Perhaps this symbolises the riddle of steel, that flesh is stronger.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back at his temple Doom addresses his followers but Conan confronts him, avoiding the wizard's attempt to control him and beheads Doom with his father's sword. With the cult destroyed Conan sets fire to the temple.</span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";">The film ends with an older Conan sat upon a throne, wearing a crown upon a troubled brow.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The sweeping orchestral score by Basil Poledouris is to my mind quite brilliant, with its recurring themes possessing an operatic quality. The soundtrack is now one of my most listened to pieces of music.</span> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="border: 1pt; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was through Conan that the acting career of Arnold Schwarzenegger took off. His certainly looked the part, although his physique and movement possibly lacked the "cat-like" agility that Howard described.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The film spawned a sequel two years later-<i> Conan the Destroyer</i> - and also a cinematic rendition of the comic book creation of <i>Red Sonja</i> (loosely based on one of Howard's characters). However I feel that the less said about these the better!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Although being 35 years old the effects hold up very well. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">In 2011 a reboot was released with Jason Mamoa (Khal Drogo from Game of Thones) in the titular role. In many ways Mamoa is a superior depiction of Howard's hero. He swings a sword more naturally than Schwarzenegger and has that cat-like agility the character was supposed to possess. You could believe this Conan could climb whereas the original seemed too solid to do so. It promised much with modern CGI and indeed the 2011 <i>Conan the Barbarian </i>is a feast for the eyes, albeit a violent one. However, personally its disappointing and a wasted opportunity, the story completely losing its direction after the death of Conan's father (played by Ron Perlman). Despite Mamoa, Perlman, the superior special effects and strong female characters played by Rose MacGowan and Rachel Nichols, nothing can make up for the disjointed and cliched storyline. It possesses none of the operatic grandeur of the 1982 film.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuoxJqBynCQfHYFXk29h8brV1ZUCtjlm_VMnN7InItKBmCQbEJbWGaZsBxDcAlgu7CnMaHZtIUNmwEjHffMG94vRmheHoJaE9b2W5Tx_6xOVFlajlOn_wbLXaNT3tm8nQUYLQQLXuGX7k/s1600/2011+CtB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuoxJqBynCQfHYFXk29h8brV1ZUCtjlm_VMnN7InItKBmCQbEJbWGaZsBxDcAlgu7CnMaHZtIUNmwEjHffMG94vRmheHoJaE9b2W5Tx_6xOVFlajlOn_wbLXaNT3tm8nQUYLQQLXuGX7k/s320/2011+CtB.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jason Mamoa - Conan the Barbarian 2011</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps Conan was the man that Howard wished he could be. Although being a bookish child he <span style="font-family: inherit;">took up body building and boxing. However after passing out in the heat whilst working as a surveyor he discovered he had a heart condition. He suffered badly from stress and was riddled with self doubt, despite his commercial success. His mother suffered from TB for decades and his father's work took him away from the family home frequently. It seems that Howard was his mother's primary carer and would explain why he stayed living with his parents, perhaps through a feeling of duty. The one chance of romance was passed by due to his devotion to his mother. Its been suggested that perhaps he had a latent Oedipus Complex but its likely that today he would likely have been diagnosed as being clinically depressed. When his need to care for his mother ended he went to his car shot himself in the head. Throughout his 160 odd stores of men in control of their own destiny, maybe this was his decision to finish his life on his own terms.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Pulp writer he may have been but personally I owe him a debt of gratitude for the fantastic escapism he has given me over the years. He has received much criticism over the years and been described as a poor imitation of Lovecraft, whereas in truth they both influenced each other. I would argue that his influence in the fantasy genre is equal to Tolkien. Most of all he is a master spinner of fast paced and highly enjoyable yarns. As the horror writer Stephen King noted - "Howard's writing seems so highly charged with energy that it nearly gives off sparks."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Back in 2013 rumours began to circulate that a script was being prepared, based around King Conan and having Schwarzenegger reprise his role. As of yet we are still waiting for what might be...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYgGAZ-X9CNA7Oe88hXRY_c1vSoKTRE7oruew9JWqmDuq1xF52vfqN0FBMied4rtWABu-hyKygv8cHS2gH1J17R9iwh5UOmMwYGNRacRJM15vTEDbG7bzyuQ1s1FtZSZTYnxFAOr2pGYs/s1600/King+Conan.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYgGAZ-X9CNA7Oe88hXRY_c1vSoKTRE7oruew9JWqmDuq1xF52vfqN0FBMied4rtWABu-hyKygv8cHS2gH1J17R9iwh5UOmMwYGNRacRJM15vTEDbG7bzyuQ1s1FtZSZTYnxFAOr2pGYs/s320/King+Conan.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Conan - Conan the Barbarian 1982</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><i>When I was a fighting-man, the kettle drums they beat;</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><i>The people scattered gold-dust before my horse' feet;</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><i>But now I am a great king, the people hound my track</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><i>With poison in my wine-cup, and daggers at my back.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri";"><b>The Road of Kings</b></span></div>
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Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-52686983611466527142017-02-08T07:35:00.000-08:002017-05-26T08:03:38.501-07:00Philosophising Coincidence<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Ah hello again, I hope I didn’t confuse you too much during
our last little chat?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“When we spoke of the nature of matter? A little, but it got
me thinking, as I cogitated our discussion; you said that we reside in a “goldilocks”
universe and yet everything is really just energy at different frequencies of
vibration?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“That’s correct and that it may be one of several realities
in a multiverse, as exhibited by the double slit experiment and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wave of potentials</i>. “<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“You said that there were at least nine parallel universes
occupying the same time and space as ours and you also mentioned all these
coincidences that make this reality the way it is…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Indeed, I remember. Has this thinking led you down a rabbit
hole?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“I’ll say. It just leads deeper and deeper. You said that
the moon is just happens to be the same ratio of size and distance to enable us
to view a solar eclipse and that it’s gravitational effect keeps our planet
tectonically active. Well I did some more research of my own about the moon,
and… oh I will come across as literally a lunatic!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“We are friends, trying to understand our reality. I won’t judge
you. Where did this research lead you?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“It led me to believe that the moon shouldn’t exist.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“That’s a dramatic conclusion! Why would you say that?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabuShq2a4ZJdSu95AkX1cDciSLFP6VC4wKODDEcf4p5rvc35jKKWVHhSYs0iLANHUghY9nAefl4BQF6s8dGZIQwbFgzJoZg-yLG-oKX62YOgB-c_YmbZbGWaFBFpjdtPU8lJrwevRkzY/s1600/Photograph-the-Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabuShq2a4ZJdSu95AkX1cDciSLFP6VC4wKODDEcf4p5rvc35jKKWVHhSYs0iLANHUghY9nAefl4BQF6s8dGZIQwbFgzJoZg-yLG-oKX62YOgB-c_YmbZbGWaFBFpjdtPU8lJrwevRkzY/s320/Photograph-the-Moon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“It’s too big for one thing. If you look at other planets in
our solar system and the comparative size of their satellites you conclude that
the moon should be roughly 40 miles in diameter, but Luna is 2000, Its orbit is
an almost perfect circle, not elliptical and as it orbits the planet it spins
but once so that it always shows its one face to the earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s old of course roughly 4.5 billion years
and so comparable with earth and yet some of the rocks were estimated at being
5.3 billion years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Well we know it’s old due to the cratered surface.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“The craters yes, some big over 60 miles across and some small
less than 15. Yet… all the same depth.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“That’s weird.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Yes because the moon has in effect a 20 mile thick titanium
shell which acts like ballistic nylon, absorbing the impact and disintegrating
the bullet that hits hit.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“A shell? Is that the correct term?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, when space
probes have purposely been crashed on its surface the whole body has rung like
a bell, suggesting it’s actually hollow.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“So… where does that lead us. How was it formed by the way?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Conventional theory states that a large body crashed into
earth when all was molten rock, the result being that Luna broke away to form
the moon we see today… the perfect moon and all by sheer coincidence.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“But how can it be hollow and made the way it is, if it’s
formed from the same rocks as earth? Hang on. Hollow. A twenty mile thick shell,
placed in a near perfect orbit. Anywhere else, that would sound like a
spaceship. But if this isn’t the case – and conventional science of course says
it isn’t – then it’s all mere coincidence, but…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgDzXjzgYovao5nN5_DNfFdRakXtPynA-Z-HNMi3csyY-8YmD1vx9ecWsuAZy5JTrtw4_-o_evFBqmsdXrBKixUZ5bVVpBaw5qD0oSPpA4b18mdIYEgXT1dnFGT8jTUzMShMDlCakl8s/s1600/Death_star1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgDzXjzgYovao5nN5_DNfFdRakXtPynA-Z-HNMi3csyY-8YmD1vx9ecWsuAZy5JTrtw4_-o_evFBqmsdXrBKixUZ5bVVpBaw5qD0oSPpA4b18mdIYEgXT1dnFGT8jTUzMShMDlCakl8s/s1600/Death_star1.png" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“To quote a famous film
– <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s no moon</i>! Ha, ha. Coincidences,
yes… the more you look for them, the stranger the universe becomes. I looked
into your nine parallel universes and something struck me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Brilliant, I’m loving this philosophising, let me list them
so I remember. There’s the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quilted</i>
Universe where in an infinite universe every conceivable event happens an
infinite number of times but the speed of light prevents us from being aware of
them. There’s the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Inflationary</i>
universe whereby inflation fields collapse to reform anew. There’s the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> membrane</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Brane</i>
universe, whereby the universe exists on a 3 dimensional membrane that coexists
with a higher dimensional membranes. Then there’s the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cyclic </i>universe where the membranes collide again and again,
causing big bangs. Theres’s also the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Landscape</i>
universe that relies on the reality of string theory and quantum fluctuations
creating a pocket with laws different than that of the surrounding space. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many is that so far? Five, so four more!
My favourites left really. The<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Quantum,</i>
where each diversion creates a new universe. There’s the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ultimate</i> where every mathematically possible universe exists with
different sets of physics. The weirdest I’ve left to last; we have the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holographic</i> where the entire universe is
formed from two dimensional information projected from the event horizon of a
black hole and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Simulated </i>whereby
we are part of a vast computer simulation. So then, which theory of the
universe do you like the most and how did it help with your investigation into
coincidences?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Partly holographic, partly simulated, which aligns with the
narrow band of electromagnetic spectrum you described during our last conversation.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Go on.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“You know the worlds within worlds idea where solar systems
almost mirror the atoms that make our universe. “<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Electrons orbit a nucleus like planets around a sun. Yes it’s
like a repeating pattern on different scales.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Exactly and then you have a galaxy of suns orbiting the
core and an infinite number of galaxies all moving and interacting on a colossal
scale. The odd thing is that each galaxy looks like a biological cell, the
black hole in the centre, its nucleus. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simulations
of the universe with strings and clusters of galaxies looking remarkably like a
brain cells with neurons connecting with one another.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYHHY52Cf12oqABT5m_ODTJaIj4ZB9MMxoXcb1KKV2vQOevr_3z4Qf3r1sutJeLXpSBqDAUZcsphwCGCgjWOFXEjYIDX9lTSqty1ZjEtpgZkLOiKHBI1cT1HHw93YWsjHtGNUw47zvbBk/s1600/universe-brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYHHY52Cf12oqABT5m_ODTJaIj4ZB9MMxoXcb1KKV2vQOevr_3z4Qf3r1sutJeLXpSBqDAUZcsphwCGCgjWOFXEjYIDX9lTSqty1ZjEtpgZkLOiKHBI1cT1HHw93YWsjHtGNUw47zvbBk/s320/universe-brain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Fascinating. So the universe itself is a giant brain? But
isn’t the universe expanding?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Ha, yes it is, perhaps it mirrors our own conversations.
Our minds are opening up!”<o:p></o:p></span>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-31121240851434156232017-01-25T08:34:00.001-08:002017-01-25T08:34:11.416-08:00Politics<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: line-height: normal;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PrTCGmO8ypBGEwa6USdLma3ltouOL5jv-crq3I0Or4Z1_m40BaOcp0KB5P104PJz1xtMBSLtvpC_W_4Fuw24bVgXHEsLw5ryEYamcLQQLgKCl7yXXZsApkKl7kk1QeNadRwAuK6h9Fg/s1600/political-cartoon_opt-343x200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PrTCGmO8ypBGEwa6USdLma3ltouOL5jv-crq3I0Or4Z1_m40BaOcp0KB5P104PJz1xtMBSLtvpC_W_4Fuw24bVgXHEsLw5ryEYamcLQQLgKCl7yXXZsApkKl7kk1QeNadRwAuK6h9Fg/s320/political-cartoon_opt-343x200.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Remain or Brexit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Polarising rhetoric<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Dog whistle, Virtue
signal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Narrative or news<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Alt-Right or
communist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Conservative,
socialist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Illiberal or
Liberal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Spouting biased
views<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;"><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Social Media, MSM<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Privilege, BLM<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Ignorant or
immigrant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Lighting a short
fuse<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Patriarchy,
feminist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Moderate or
Islamist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Republican and
Democrat<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Striving to enthuse<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;"><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Global warming
heresy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Settled science
conspiracy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">wankerteri,
twitterati<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">trolling ‘til they
bruise<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;"><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Money talks and
bullshit walks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">Bankers’ bonus,
George Soros<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8.0pt;">People, Sheeple,
pigeonholed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 8pt;">All eager to accuse</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 13pt;">.</span>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-51342534953167260342016-12-09T05:07:00.000-08:002016-12-09T08:10:09.554-08:00The Hand of Glory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03xgM7hyphenhyphenVprOLBf1PCekYvmgs23TcazozyTyLF9JrzGOGhZrcc9ZVetfffz4mSSo3Vt21ctRQ7E1EdRC_lD-7hkIuFQM6htodTFnAoiGGqonkHF0rLnAcX5JolRTOl_zidpb3WE7eccE/s1600/Foggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03xgM7hyphenhyphenVprOLBf1PCekYvmgs23TcazozyTyLF9JrzGOGhZrcc9ZVetfffz4mSSo3Vt21ctRQ7E1EdRC_lD-7hkIuFQM6htodTFnAoiGGqonkHF0rLnAcX5JolRTOl_zidpb3WE7eccE/s320/Foggy.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The night had fallen heavily upon the city. The sea
fret had rolled up from the bay, reducing the light of the stars and confining
the spill of lanterns. The air was cold and thick with it, deadening the sound
of the tramping feet of the city’s nightwatch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Emerging from the cloying darkness, the hooded
figure slipped from shadow to shadow. He had chosen this night well. His grin
was broad if there had been any to see it showing his teeth white against the
burnt cork that blackened his face. Soon he would leave the sanctuary of the
darkened slum quarter streets for the wider avenues of the villa district. An
alley rat such as he would be fair game to any sentry or bodyguard who happened
to espy him. He reached his hand into the folds of his cloak, to check he had
the tools of his trade; dagger, crowbar, flints and… his hand felt the cold
hand in its claw like posture, the fingers forming a cage into which he would
fix the candle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hearing footsteps to the left he merged once more
into the shadows, willing his breathe to be quiet. He couldn’t afford any
mistakes, he had planned this venture for so long and it had cost him, in more
ways than money. But it was an investment, he thought, a path to future wealth.
He had been warned, it had said so in the Grimoire, the ancient text that
outlined each stage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The guard at the gallows had commanded a heavy
payment of coin to look the other way as he purloined the felon’s hand from the
swinging gibbet. Luckily the crowd that had gathered to watch the murderer’s demise
had dispersed. Judging by the insults shouted at the condemned, and lack of
mourners, the hanged man had not been a popular figure. He looked up and saw
dead man’s face, its eyes betraying the horror of their last moments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Working quickly, he had sawed through the wrist
with his dagger, the blood already congealed and lazily dripping, although he
had expired only an hour or so before. He had sung the words to the corpse, as
he had worked <i>“From one to another, brother to brother. Hand to hand, a
Light in darkness grasped”.</i> The hand would require draining as the
blood had gathered from the arm. He quickly wrapped the grim trophy in rags to
absorb the blood and slipped it into his bag, sheathing his dagger and
concealing it under his cloak. Working quickly, he tied bandages about the
stump over which he tied the letter cap, as if the hanged man had long been an
amputee. He chanced a glance up at the hanged man’s face. Did he see the ghost
of a smile? A glint in the eyes? He blinked and the eyes of the hanged man were
as lifeless as before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He was about to turn away and slip into anonymity
but was stopped short when he felt the tip of the guard’s spear tickle his
ribs. He looked up in alarm at the grinning soldier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Not so fast there, my fine fellow,“ the guard
said, the spear point a hair’s breadth from breaking skin. “What would a man
such as you be wanting such a thing for? For no good, I’d warrant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“That bastard owed me, he stole from me. I swore
that I’d cut off his thieving hand. I’m going to feed it to the dogs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sentry’s eyes narrowed, although his stance
relaxed a little, he smiled. “Revenge is it? I can relate to that, but what of
the bloody mess you’ve made? I have to clean that up before…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The glint of a proffered gold coin caused the
sentry to stop his speech. He snatched it from the man’s hand and tested it in
his teeth. It obviously met his approval and he grunted, lowered his spear and
signalled for the man to make himself scarce. Which he did, disappearing into
the crowds that milled around the city’s market stalls, but only enough to be
out of sight. He waited around the periphery of the gallows square, watching as
the sentry washed the flagstones with water and covered the area with old straw.
In all honesty the observer would have left it at that, <i>if</i> the
sentry had not threatened him for more money. Thus it was that he followed the
sentry when he was relieved, to the barracks and then followed him to the
tavern. Next morning the sentry was found drowned in the river. Witnesses
attested that he had drunk heavily that night and had left the tavern worse for
wear. That his pockets were empty of coin was proof of it, although no one saw
him fall in the river. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Some money was recouped that night and if questions
were asked about a handless corpse, well no face could be fitted to the
culprit, although a line had been crossed; a thief had become a murderer. A
price had to be paid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The figure staggered into view. It was someone in a
hurry, swaying slightly with drink as the sentry once had. The hidden observer
read the signs, here was a man eager to get home, attempting stealth as badly
as only a drunk can, to avoid the night watch and possible arrest. He was
well-to-do from the cut of his clothes, no ale for this one but fine wines. No
doubt he would still have coin on him. On any other night such an easy target,
already half insensible with drink, would be too tempting to miss, despite the
rapier that the man carried. But he had bigger and better targets than robbing
a drunk; once more his hand strayed to the trophy he carried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had wrapped the hand in a shroud, squeezed it
and drained it before burying the hand outside the city at a crossroads in an
earthenware jar filled with salt, peppers , pigeon grass and saltpetre. Two
weeks later, under the light of an August moon he dug up the jar and took it
home. He waited until the eastern sky coloured with the coming dawn and as the
first rays broke the horizon to herald the summer’s day he smashed the jar,
releasing the grim contents as he sang, “<i>From dark to light, from earth to
air. A helping hand dug from sand let rich men yield their share.” </i>The
hand was pale and shrivelled, its wrist turning black. He worked the stiffened
joints and knuckles and tied the fingers with twine so that the hand made a
cupping gesture. In the window of his room, as the dog days sun shone strong
and hot, he hung the hand to dry and mummify.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But such opportunities could not be passed up he
decided. Silently he emerged from the shadows behind the staggering man. In
mere moments the garrotte was around the neck, the knotted leather cutting deep
into the exposed flesh and crushing the windpipe. Hands moved uselessly to try
to hook under the cord. More pressure was applied. The victim’s mouth opened
and closed like a fish out of water. The eyes bulged from the cheeks that
turned deathly blue. The struggling ceased and the dead weight was hauled into
the fog-clad shadows. Pockets were deftly rifled, rings were prised from
fingers. The rapier and its fine scabbard and sword sash of fine leather was
taken and slipped over the head and shoulder of the assassin. There was no time
to dispose of the corpse, so it was hidden as best as haste allowed. He would
be long gone by the time it was discovered after dawn. He slipped away to the
grand house he had targeted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A life taken, and so quickly. He would price his
haul from the dead man later. The basketed hilt of the rapier felt ornate and
expensive, such a weapon would command a good price, although he always fancied
himself as a swordsman. Other alley rats, armed with daggers, would think twice
when confronted by him, as the steel rasped thirstily from its scabbard. Better
it would be his rather than being left with the corpse; much good it afforded
him in the end. He grinned to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Corpses, he had grown accustomed to such things,
which reminded him; soon he would affix the candle and light it in its foul
holder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The candle; even thinking about its source almost
made him retch, but the Grimoire had been unrelenting in the requirements. So
it was that while the hand had been curing he embarked on the next stage. By
night he went with horse and cart to the burial pit outside of the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He saw the recent excavations and set about it with
a spade. Recently turned, he was able to make good progress and found the
shroud cloaked corpse. The smell was strong and heavy in his nostrils. No other
hanged men had been laid to rest in this unconsecrated ground that he knew of,
but he had to be sure. He cut the shroud open with his dagger and the stench of
a summer’s corpse almost overcame him. With an effort he carried on and lifted
his lantern to look closer. There was the leather cap he had affixed to the
stump. A morbid curiosity gripped him and he shone the lantern at the dead
man’s face. The skin was drawn tight across the face, revealing the grinning
maw of teeth between which the tongue protruded. The sightless eyes bulged too
pushed put by the gases of putrefaction. The flesh was marbled as every vein
and capillary showed beneath the green tinged skin. Appalled he threw the folds
of the shroud over the face of the corpse and lifting the torso at the waist he
tied a rope around it but as he set the body back down the shroud fell from the
face. The head seemed to turn and look at him accusingly and from that decaying
throat foul gas rushed out, “Woe.” it seemed to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man jumped back against the wall of the grave
and bit the back of his hand in fear, expecting the corpse to rise up from
death, but no other words escaped that grinning maw. Dead it was and the soul
it once held remained in hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">With senses regained the man climbed from the pit
of horror and hauled the corpse up out from its resting place. He placed it
over the back of the cart and, after refilling the grave with its dirt,
trundled up into the wooded hills to the old charcoal burners hollow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There far from prying eyes he rendered the fat from
the decaying flesh and cut off locks of the man’s shaggy hair, twining it into
a wick. He mixed the fat with died horse manure and sang as he shaped it around
the wick, <i>“With locks of hair do I mix, an ever burning candle’s wick,
to light my way unseen by all, upon which deepest sleep shall fall.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The candle made, he threw the remains of the body
on the fire. The skull hissed and steamed as it burned. Yet still the sightless
eyes followed the man’s movement as they boiled, the mouth fell open as if in
laughter, mocking him as he dug a hole to inter whatever remains survived. Come
the morning light he would smash that grinning skull to dust. A heavy price was
being paid, he felt it, and he knew it. The Grimoire hadn’t lied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He checked up and down the road, listening for
footfalls but there were none. He hurried across it and in the cloying darkness
he felt along the garden wall of the house he sought. He felt for the ivy that
he knew was there and he hauled himself up and over to land on the grass
behind. The house loomed ahead through the fog. Turning his back to it he
crouched down, hiding behind his cloak. He took out the terrible candle holder
and placed the candle on the nail he had hammered through the mummified claw.
With shaking hand he took his flint and struck it by the ghastly wick. Softly
he spoke the words. <i>“Hand of glory take the flame, hide the bearer from
all blame, a light to guide, a light to see. Whilst cloaked in shadows all
about me.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFHq4Bi0u3RTIQVrZ2gZk7dct2fH7Vr_9yhyphenhyphenKFwTXHvFgg1DQX7ZvB3Ee6cpXI0M3JBWq69Eaik7wV6UMoiyW29CIOqaVzZ11mx2r_i-UEm6MiRUF2zjLUdfckZsza3Z79vNpCfzzwgI/s1600/Hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFHq4Bi0u3RTIQVrZ2gZk7dct2fH7Vr_9yhyphenhyphenKFwTXHvFgg1DQX7ZvB3Ee6cpXI0M3JBWq69Eaik7wV6UMoiyW29CIOqaVzZ11mx2r_i-UEm6MiRUF2zjLUdfckZsza3Z79vNpCfzzwgI/s320/Hand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The candle spluttered and the flame took, burning
strong and steady with an eerie green tinged light. He held it high and it cast
light around him<i>. “Oh hand of glory cast thy light, lead us to our spoils
this night.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The light seemed to focus illuminating the ground
before him; he followed the path it made. It led past the windows of the house.
He cast a glance at them as he passed but the glass was black. He waved the
candle in front of him, but no reflection was shown. He smiled as the path of
green light brought him to the door. He held the candle before him and faced
the barrier. He recited the spell he had learned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“<i>Open
lock, to the dead man’s knock. Fly bolt and bar and band. Nor move, nor swerve,
joint, muscle or nerve. At the spell of the dead man’s hand. Sleep, all who
sleep. Wake all who wake. But be as the dead for the dead man’s sake.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
pushed at the door and it swung open, in he walked the light guiding him,
showing the fine, polished mosaic floor. He passed the
ticking clock that stood tall against the wall. He caught his breath when it
chimed thrice. He held his breath but all was still, the charm of the Hand of
Glory held. Three o’clock, dawn would be a rumour in the sky in two hours and
he would need to be away by then. The light guided him to the stairs which he
stealthily crept up, wincing at every creak that the wood gave out. On the
landing he saw the guard, sat outside his lady’s chamber. The man was sat bolt
upright but he didn’t turn to see him. The guard’s eyes were open and yet were
unseeing, his sword lay across his knees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The
thief drew the rapier he carried, it felt exquisitely balanced. He bowed
mockingly at the guard, as a dueling gentleman would and then slowly pointed
the blade at the man’s stomach, he pushed, feeling the flesh yield to its sharp
point as the blade bit deep, all the time he watched the guard’s face. It
remained expressionless although he saw a tear well in an eye and slowly
meander down the man’s cheek. He withdrew the blade, clicked his heels together
holding the hilt up to his face he saluted him before returning the blade to
the scabbard. He stood before the door of the chamber and opened the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
entered the lady’s room. Candles burned showing the rich red and
gold wallpaper and the dressing table that glinted with the gems and precious
metals of her jewelry. The eerie green light led him to it. He grabbed the
necklaces and rings. Rich he would be rich, no more the alley rat life for him.
With a fine sword, fine clothes and wealth, a gentleman he would be. Wealth
would buy him ease and respect. He smiled at the hand of glory, damn the price,
it was worth it! As he grabbed an ornate necklace of pearls, that rattled as he
stuffed them in his satchel, he heard a sigh behind him from the lady’s bed.
She was a renowned beauty it was said, he could risk a look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
held his light above him and advanced on her. Her skin was as exquisite
porcelain. Her hair lay on the pillow in tumbling curls, he reached out and
wound it around his fingers, she had rose bud lips. He was tempted to steal a
kiss from them, but…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
looked down at her elegant long neck. He released her hair his fingertips
brushing her smooth neck. Her renown was well founded. With the trappings of
wealth he would have a wife such as this. Now what was he? Scum, mere scum,
that’s what she would call him. This woman wouldn’t even cast a glance in his
direction, oblivious to the grinding poverty her wealth made her immune to. His
hand clasped around her neck and squeezed. Downstairs the clock struck five
times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Five
o’clock? What was he doing? He withdrew his hand. He hadn’t meant to kill her,
but there she lay, with no breathe of life. What had he become? He had enough
loot, he had to flee, dawn would be close. He hurried out of the chamber, his
satchel caught on the hilt of the enchanted sentry’s sword, it fell on the
landing floor with a clatter. He heard the sentry gasp. He wasn’t dead, he had
only wounded him! No time, no time, he must flee! He ran down the stairs to the
open door. Already there was a ghost of light towards the east. He sprinted
across the lawn. The candle still burned, only milk would extinguish it
according to the Grimoire. He scrabbled up the wall laden with treasure,
keeping hold of the hand of glory. He was atop the wall and risked a look
behind. Staggering out of the house, a hand grasped to his wounded side he saw
the sentry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Alarm!
Alarm! Thieves and murder! My lady has been murdered!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
saw light burst to life in the house as once sleeping servants and retainers
were released from their enchanted sleep. He jumped off the wall and cried out
in pain as his leg was cut by a sharp stone in the wall. He dropped the hand of
glory as he felt his wounded leg crumple beneath him on the cobbled road. He
heard a tinkling sound as some rings escaped from his satchel to bounce on the
cobbles. Down the road he heard a clamour and the running and
clatter of the nights watch answering the alarm and raising a hue and cry,
through the fog he saw the glow of torches. He stood up with an effort and
reached down to his leg, feeling the blood that ran. He must go. What
of his lost treasure? Ignore a few rings; he still had necklaces and money in
his haul. The Hand would afford him enchanted cover if he stayed in the
shadows. But where was it? He saw the green glow of the
candle. The index finger of the hand pointed at him, as if in
accusation. He snatched up the hand and limped across the street just as the
nightwatch appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Sir,
look there’s loot on the road,” one voice called. “And blood sir, look a trail
of blood,” said another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">With
a curse the thief hurried as best he could down into the alley, the glow of
torches behind him following his spoor. He turned a corner blindly. He only saw
the young woman carrying the two buckets on the yoke when it was too late. He
crashed into her. She screamed as they both fell to the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“You
fool! You’ve spilled my milk! What can I sell now?“ she yelled at
him in anger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She
could see him? How could she see him? He saw the hand of glory and the
extinguished candle, the wisp of smoke curling into the morning air. He tried
to stand only to be knocked to the floor by the butt of a musket. He looked up
in horror as the night watch trained their guns on him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Got
you, thief! Murderer! You’ll hang for this night’s work.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
saw the hand on the ground beside him, its finger pointing at him, accusing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNYKewQ1taGyhr7uSSAyp09IkulHWYimLoNMNesRyNvoLGseQZC396msjjo_v6Ye5wWFJEbNYupnb596HYkMVki9oC7vDwRi_FJ1Oa3-LcCx3nLyA8mSwodIBReyhOvTUakTF2gwZrt0/s1600/Gallows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNYKewQ1taGyhr7uSSAyp09IkulHWYimLoNMNesRyNvoLGseQZC396msjjo_v6Ye5wWFJEbNYupnb596HYkMVki9oC7vDwRi_FJ1Oa3-LcCx3nLyA8mSwodIBReyhOvTUakTF2gwZrt0/s320/Gallows.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The
hang man had done his job. The city was well rid of the infamous practitioner
of the dark arts who had robbed and murdered one terrible night. The crowds had
hurled insults and curses at the murderer of Lady Greythorn and pelted him with
rotten fruit. They had cheered as he was hauled up into the air to his death,
his soul consigned to hell. The entertainment over, the crowds had melted away;
a hooded figure sidled up to the guard who watched over the gibbet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“This
one owed me. How much for you to look the other way, while I take a memento
from this hanged man?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-12379521276046173872016-10-31T14:13:00.001-07:002016-10-31T14:13:59.571-07:00As easy as Pi?<span lang="EN-GB">3.1415926535897932384626433...<br />
<br />
They’ve been with me all my life, there at the back of my mind, like dreams that become real. Dreams? Did I say dreams? More like nightmares. You may ridicule me if you wish, call me deluded, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care. I know what I know. You can listen, perhaps take stock, make plans to live your lives to the utmost. You haven’t that long, none of us have, but what you do in this life reverberates across time and space. Fill as many waking moments with things that truly matter. I’m not some new age guru, but I know things that I maybe wish I didn’t…<br />
<br />
In the darkest recesses of my mind I remember their first visit when I was a child. Of all those long distant memories it is the one most clear. It was in the first house that I remember living in so I must have been perhaps three or four years old. My parents always kept the landing light on, even when they retired for the night. It was always there reassuring me through the darkest hours. My elder siblings were in rooms further down the hall, but on my side of the house. I remember the layout; my brother’s room next to me and then my sister’s. Opposite, across the hall from us was our parent’s room. I liked my room it was on the corner of the house; I could look out from my window and see the harbour and the wide sea beyond. Back then, over forty years ago now, there were foghorns sounding out, I used to love their mournful wailing. Now I think their voices would be telling of savage rocks and treacherous cliffs, but at the time I found them strangely reassuring, perhaps because of that first time that <i>they </i>came. If ever they stopped…<br />
<br />
I can remember it, I was having trouble sleeping but I was listening to the foghorns as I usually did and thinking of the fishing smacks tethered at the quayside and whether the fishermen would brave the seas as the fog rolled in. The horn sounded again but stopped suddenly, mid wail, as the landing light stuttered and went out. All was unnervingly still as if smothered, the moment frozen. My eyes adjusted to the gloom and I saw the spindly figures, as dark as shadows, enter from the hall. I thought their movement comical and went to giggle at my strange visitors but a strange pulsing sound took hold over me. My laughter turned to childhood terror as I realised I could not move as if an invisible force pinned me down. I tried to call out to my parents but no sound came out. The figures stood over me, these strange beings, their eyes huge and so dark. Dark, emotionless and soulless. I felt myself being lifted but knew no more as unconsciousness stole mercifully upon me. <br />
<br />
As the dawn broke I woke from the nightmare, the hall light was on as ever, the distant foghorns wailed in the far distance. My voice returned and my mother rushed in. Her touch and kisses assured me, “It was just a bad dream.” Who was I to question her?<br />
<br />
We moved from the coast and lived in a new estate on the edge of town. Occasionally I would dream of that night. The spindly men would enter my room and I would always wake with a start, fearful, yet thankful, that the dream had ended. The dream never progressed, that was until I entered puberty and the <i>dreams</i> became more frequent. <br />
<br />
I awoke feeling the pressure holding me down onto my bed. I tried to move but was paralysed. There was dreadful pulsing sound that I realised I had heard before. On the periphery of my vision I saw them again, the spindly beings, but they weren’t shadows as my childhood memory described them; these were grey and pallid, their eyes too big for their hairless heads. Their mouths were small and their nose was mere slits. They were humanoid but thoroughly inhuman. A voice inside my head, that was not my own, urged me to be calm. I felt my body being lifted into a warm light and I was somewhere else. No longer in my room, although I couldn’t move my head and barely move my eyes side to side. One of inhuman creatures stood over me it held a device in my face, there was a flash of light and I awoke from the dream, back in my room, more tired than when I went to bed.<br />
<br />
And so it was every year from then on but it could never be predicted. They tracked me, I was sure of it. I could be at home, away on holiday in a tent or staying at a friend’s house. Whenever I felt the constricting pressure and heard the infernal throbbing sound I knew I was being visited and each time the light that flashed in my eyes would rob me of memory beyond the initial events, that was until I learned a technique and it was easy as pie, or <i>Pi</i>, as I should really say. <br />
<br />
Pi is a magical number. We know it as 3.14.perhaps 3.14159265, yet it goes on and on, up to 1 million digits, perhaps more – maybe 5 trillion. Out of boredom, perhaps a latent nerdiness, I endeavoured to memorise as many as I could. I gained nothing from it, certainly not an enhanced understanding of maths, that was until I discovered it let me hide my consciousness. It’s almost a meditation to me I can see the numbers as I recite them in my mind and use it as a way to hide inside myself and relax.<br />
<br />
So it was that I awoke once more, feeling weak, with a vague memory of the throbbing sound and the paralysis. I felt the rising panic that accompanies the morning after these <i>dreams. </i>I began reciting Pi, but far from finding comfort I saw flashes of memory and the further I went into the number chain the more joined up became the recollections, perhaps I should have stopped sooner…<br />
<br />
Woken suddenly from sleep, I was encased in an invisible force. I was in a panic, subconsciously I knew what was about to happen. My ears filled with an unpleasant pulsing sound and paralysed I sensed the presence of <i>them.</i> Around 4 feet tall they stood, humanoid, devoid of clothes and seemingly genderless. Their skin was grey, their heads were larger, out of proportion to the rest of their bipedal form. But those large eyes, soulless, emotionless, as black and unforgiving as a shark’s.<br />
<br />
A voice, an old voice, one that wasn’t my own urged me to be calm. I felt myself lift, accompanied by these odd beings, as we pass through the ceiling and roof, in a beam which pulsed in time with the hateful sound. Once more I am urged to be calm. We travel up to where the light emanates from, into the ship that hums as if at an accelerated frequency. The light inside is strange making all seem monochromatic. I am on a table, the creatures are around me I attempt to speak, but cannot, I try to move to, tense myself but my body is lifeless. Tubes worm from me, as if I’m being drained. Once more I am urged by one to be calm by one whose eyes hold mine in their lidless stare<i>. How can I be calm? Who are you? What are they doing, why do you keep doing this to me?</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i>“Very well,” </i>the one tells me, in tones that you would use to calm a frightened dog. It’s mouth is as still as mine as it talks to me telepathically.
“<i>I will tell you. You won’t remember this anyway. We are gifting you life, although you do not know it. What you know as reality is a facade, it hides the greater truth, as does your history, for if you look hard enough that to which humanity clings to is false, an agreed upon story.”</i><br />
<br />
<i>
<br />
Gifting you life? How can that be? What do you aliens take from me?<br />
<br />
“Aliens? Yes that is what you are programmed to think, yet we are humans far from the future. We are mere servants of ancient aliens, the gods that shaped the earth and our evolution. We have long served them and were gifted their DNA after the great harvest. Throughout our lower form we had selectively bred, keeping bloodlines pure so we could follow their technological path. We evolved yet at the end we are faced with extinction so we travel back in time, to when humanity was its most numerous, to choose certain individuals with which we have no genetic link to help restore us. You are such an individual, through us you live in the far future; an essence of you, at least. All is vibration and energy, we use a mixture of synthetic and organic technology to traverse the stars and dimensions of the multiverse to come back and see our primitive beginnings. I‘ve told you this each time and you will ask me again at our next meeting.”<br />
<br />
This cant be true…<br />
<br />
“You need your primitive ignorance, to feed the gods. You act surprised yet it shames us to think we are partly descended from you savages, so easily manipulated by our forebears into hate and war. I will take your memories of this and you can grub in the dirt as you ever do.”<br />
<br />
Wait, you said something about a great harvest?<br />
<br />
“Yes, do you think the gods are altruistic. Cattle you are to them… and us. Stay ignorant.”<br />
</i>It held up the device to my eyes. Deep inside my mind I recited <i>3.1415926535897932384626433...</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
The great harvest? Vibration and energy? If the words of the great Serbian-American scientist Nikola Tesla are true then “If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.” It all things are energy we have to change the way we are. Change our energy from hate and fear to higher things. If we are in a multiverse we can change; there is a multitude of possibilities. We can deny these creatures their future and build a greater one for ourselves. But we must be quick, the great harvest is coming. I will see if I can find out more, but we must all do this I can feel the pressure on me once more, can feel the rising panic as the paralysing sound throbs and pulses over me. I must stay focused.<br />
<br />
3.1415926535897932384626433...</span><br />
<br /><br />
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<br />Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-17172643905808167242016-10-26T06:28:00.001-07:002016-10-27T08:53:08.881-07:00Are we conscious of matter? A conversation.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><b>If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration - Nikolai Tesla</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
“Different states of vibration take us to altering levels of
consciousness and therefore to differing perceptions of reality. Therefore
everything around us had a degree of consciousness.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What, even bugs? What about rocks and plants?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Everything. The insects have an altered sense or reality,
you know this already. They see the world through a pixelated ultra-violet
spectrum. The colours that we see flowers possess look utterly different to
bees and butterflies. It’s been proven that plants communicate with one
another, that trees require a symbiotic relationship with fungus in the soil,
that plants under infestation with insects will issue an alarm to other plants
an attempt to make themselves unpalatable to pests. As for rocks, how is it
that I can crumble graphite in my fingers and yet, chemically, it’s the same
material as diamond?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But insects don’t exist in a parallel reality, they live in
ours.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“True, which is why stick insects have evolved their
camouflage, why moths appear as leaves or bark and yet they still view the
world in an alien way to us. To survive in a world haunted by animals and birds
with a visual spectrum such as ours they have evolved these techniques. Don’t
forget as a life-form, they have successfully been in this world far longer than us. ”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Visual spectrum?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes. We know that light, like sound, travels in waves. The frequency of these waves dictates what is
visible, hence you get the long slow waves of radiowaves through to the rapidly
repeating gamma rays. Our visible spectrum of red through to violet is a narrow
band in this wavelength between infrared and ultraviolet, yet all these colours
are contained within white light.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ed/e7/03/ede703d21f8fb9f291052e37a775d545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ed/e7/03/ede703d21f8fb9f291052e37a775d545.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Electromagnetic spectrum - pintrest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Radiowaves? So sound and light are the same thing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, although they both travel as waves, they are different.
Light can travel in a vacuum but sound cannot. Sound is merely an excitement of
atoms, it needs a medium through which to travel. Light, on the other hand, is
composed of photons - the elementary particle of electromagnetic radiation –
therefore, unlike sound, light has the duality of being a particle and a wave.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So what’s beyond radio waves and gamma waves?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well that’s the question, isn’t it? It could be that there
are lower frequencies that our instruments can’t quantify and maybe higher frequencies
than gamma waves… although the energy required to produce such an electromagnetic
burst would be literally astronomical. However we live in a hypothetical multiverse,
so why not?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A multiverse?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://blogs-images.forbes.com/startswithabang/files/2016/01/parallel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://blogs-images.forbes.com/startswithabang/files/2016/01/parallel.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Multiverse - blogs-images.forbes.com/</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, whereby many different realities occupy the same
space-time. I see that you’re confused,
but look; the big bang was a quantum event, yes? Well we can still discern
gravitational waves from this event, in particular the inflation effect that occured soon
after. There are unseen forces that affect the universe in which we reside.
The universe is expanding, yet what moves in to occupy the space between galaxies?
We see nothing and yet this nothing must be something in order to push them
apart.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is all pseudoscience, mere philosophy.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“On a quantum level observation yields only chaos; sub particles,
for instance, have to rotate multiple times until the same face reveals itself
to us. How is such a thing possible? We see the universe in terms of an orrery;
where all is as clockwork and predictable. But we live in a goldilocks
universe - everthing is just right. Not only do we live on a planet that lies in the habitable zone
around our sun whereby liquid water can exist. Or that we have a moon that
keeps our planet's tectonics active, that coincidentally has the same
size/distance ratio from said sun, enabling us to view the wonder of a solar eclipse. Neither that our solar system has gas giants
sucking up the majority of comets and space debris that would otherwise bombard
us… But we just so happen to exist in a universe whereby matter itself can
exist. Therefore surely it stands to reason that other universes must be out
there. Some theorise that there must be at least nine types of parallel universes,
but it could be an inconceivable number. The deeper we delve the more philosophical
it all becomes, it is at the very edge of our scientific understanding.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think I can get my head around that, but what were you
saying about vibrations?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In this universe everything is energy. Light is energy, we
know sound is energy. I twist a rubber band and my movement creates energy, which
is stored in the rubber band’s elasticity.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You mentioned rocks before, they don’t have energy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes they do, on an atomic level they are in motion. It’s
merely that with our limited perception we don’t see it. Most of what we call
rock is in actual fact empty space. Its solid form is the result of the energy
from its chemical bonds. But if I apply energy using a hammer I can break off
pieces; that’s me applying greater energy than the chemical bonds.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hang on that implies that this material world isn’t really
matter at all?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Exactly. It’s really energy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But what of consciousness?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Have you ever heard of the double slit experiment?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is that whereby you can discern if something is a particle
or a wave?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes that’s the one. If I set up a screen and fire marbles
through a single slit, the marbles will hit the screen and make a shape corresponding
to the slit. If I put two slits in from of the screen I’ll get two corresponding
bands forming on the screen. However if I fire light at the slits, particles
which we know travels in waveform, where both waves meet after exiting the
slits you get interference patterns. So the screen will show multiple slit
shapes, separated by area where no light strikes the screen at all.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, I think I’ve seen such images, fascinating stuff. But
that doesn’t prove consciousness.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://abyss.uoregon.edu/~js/images/interference.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://abyss.uoregon.edu/~js/images/interference.gif" height="260" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two slit experiment - http://abyss.uoregon.edu/</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No… but if we go to the quantum level and fire electrons at
the single slit we get one band shape but two slits form the same multiple
interference patterns. The electrons – actual matter, was behaving as a wave.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe they were merely bouncing off each other and making
the interference pattern that way?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well the next logical step to check this is to fire
individual electrons at the slits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes and thereby making two slit patterns on the screen.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’d think… and yet after an hour or so off firing
individual electrons at the slits the same banded interference pattern is
observed on the screen. Which means the single electron is fired at the slits
and becomes a wave of potentials, splitting and going through both slits and
therefore interfering with itself and hitting the screen making that banded
pattern. Mathematically this is mind- blowing; the single electron goes through
both slits or none, through one or the other simultaneously.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did they check this, observe which slit the electron passes
through?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is where it gets strange. Equipment was set up to
observe the slits to see which one the electrons, fired singularly, went
through. It was observed that the electron only went through one at a time, not
both. The screen revealed that only two slit patterns were made.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hang on, so the electron was behaving like a particle, not
a wave? How did it make the interference pattern before?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It was the very act of measuring that did this. If left alone
there is a wave of potentials from the electron, but under observation this
wave of potentials collapses… as if the electron was aware that it was being observed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But that begs the question of the nature of matter, is it
made of particles or waves… and if the electron knows that its being observed that implies a degree
of…”<o:p></o:p></div>
“Consciousness! Exactly!”<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://vmfa.museum/pressroom/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2015/04/Rodin-The-Thinker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://vmfa.museum/pressroom/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2015/04/Rodin-The-Thinker.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Thinker - Rodin - vmfa.museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-6041748095873578602016-09-29T05:40:00.000-07:002016-09-29T05:48:44.920-07:00Prayer to Woden - October 14th<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJaRNOuuKM4jmtuZqi1eR5S2DubdivG0dP-MTDo46T-s5qUnN8hF8i-w2I_cYnz-ugFdEZhoWcNRrxfxyClBduagVKAQiSY-RBtLvrEhAx4Q8EgMF_qBYhyphenhyphenaFPyBoU05jAzJWS-jDXpoE/s1600/Woden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJaRNOuuKM4jmtuZqi1eR5S2DubdivG0dP-MTDo46T-s5qUnN8hF8i-w2I_cYnz-ugFdEZhoWcNRrxfxyClBduagVKAQiSY-RBtLvrEhAx4Q8EgMF_qBYhyphenhyphenaFPyBoU05jAzJWS-jDXpoE/s1600/Woden.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Woden,</div>
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Woden, hear me. </div>
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God of battles, furious. </div>
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Beyond the light of holy rood cast, we remember you.</div>
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Over the whale road you led us here. </div>
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Blessed our fathers with this sod to gain. </div>
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I stand before you, a lesser man than my ancestors.</div>
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Not for me the sword arm, bloodied in foreign lands. </div>
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I have been house-bound, to fair wife and sweet earth. </div>
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Children we have grown and crops we have sown. </div>
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Nurtured land and home. </div>
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Now behind linden shield I stand, with ashen spear in my hand. </div>
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With others called from farm and cot. </div>
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Oaths and duty not forgot. </div>
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May you watch over us, from the high world ash. Your ravens caw. </div>
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Flesh will be yielded to beak and claw. </div>
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They come, a bastard’s army of despoilers under papal flag. </div>
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To rob, kill and burn. </div>
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Beneath his banners unfurled, our king he calls. </div>
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“Ut! Ut! Ut!” we take up the chant. </div>
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Woden. </div>
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Woden, forget us not. </div>
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Know that we stood against the storm of arrows, sword and lance. </div>
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Let children remember. </div>
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If death and defeat steals all. A foreign boot strides our halls. </div>
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We stood here, huscarl, thegn and ceorl. </div>
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If I am denied Christ’s heaven or your famed benches of gold. </div>
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May my ghost remain, a curse. A fierce wind blowing cold. </div>
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Across this ridge until sea swallows earth. </div>
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Woden. </div>
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Woden, hear me. </div>
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Lord of battles, lend me your frenzy. </div>
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That I may stand with my fathers, that they may find me worthy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GgDPzOBbstc1rpUn7jUw7dE1QERq6lmEAzDIsrCAyYP7ym71zGbDYoU5DT8NJ9Cmdg-e2AbJYxhCDvmnEuAQK-qJah1g7uxpWo5Duo7Hw47XrnuvriW5HrA4-3m6FQT8ztP9VWGSTzs/s1600/bayeux.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GgDPzOBbstc1rpUn7jUw7dE1QERq6lmEAzDIsrCAyYP7ym71zGbDYoU5DT8NJ9Cmdg-e2AbJYxhCDvmnEuAQK-qJah1g7uxpWo5Duo7Hw47XrnuvriW5HrA4-3m6FQT8ztP9VWGSTzs/s320/bayeux.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-60439928936404584952016-05-16T06:26:00.000-07:002018-01-19T09:05:20.934-08:00Grendel <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Hwaet! No doubt you have heard of the
Proud Ones?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Heard of their bright fame and stirring
deeds?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">These sons of Adam and daughters of
Eve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Battle boastful, proud of their
lineage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Their kings, gold bejewelled, leaders
of warriors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Their queens, beautiful, clear eyed, in
silken elegance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">To their glory they wrought gems and
trinkets of gold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Smithed swords like dragons teeth,
named and old.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Jutes and Scyldings. Wulfings and
Geats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Sagas sung and tales told across the
green seas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">That abyssal salty whale road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Atop its waves their wooden horses
ploughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">But hasten, away from their mortal
cares, the world of man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Before their coming there was always
this land.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Harken, can you hear the soft sounds of
the night?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">The reed beds rustle, tussock stems
rattled by sea breeze light?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Salt laden, brine tinged from the waves
beyond the marsh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Above the darkened land a field of
distant stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Before the proud ones, for years
uncounted, we dwelt in these lands alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Changelings, trollkin, dark dreams made
flesh and bone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Not finely wrought we, but crudely
hewn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Diabolical. Elemental. Flesh grown from
stone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00";">Monsters, shadowstalkers, a dark legend
to recite</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">To gather wayward children as darkness
conquers light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">They were always too numerous, and like
the wolf pack and bear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">We yielded, retreated, to find us new
lairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Yet on the wild edge of the realms of
men<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">There we still haunted moor, mountain
and fen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Grendel they named me, ancient fears
they had<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My dam they cursed as a foul Sea hag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Forgetful over centuries. Unsated, they
intruded once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">And on the headland, Lord Hrothgar,
embarked to build a great hall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A king of the Scyldings with his young
queen Wealhtheow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">She the bearer of the King’s mead cup
fashioned of gold<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Bidding bondsmen to sup, that great
deeds be regaled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">But they knew these wilds were ours<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Fell moors, fog ragged, salt marsh
sour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Under the sun, that accursed candle, men
toil in their work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Below we hear the hammering carried
down through the rock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Under moon I, the night stalker, emerged
from the marsh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Leaving footprints of slime, a trail
where I passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Tall it stood, the long hall, with
carvings of intricate craft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Above its door, great antlers
displayed; Heorot the Hart<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pre08.deviantart.net/cd42/th/pre/i/2013/024/e/1/heorot__hall_of_the_hart_by_enthing-d5sj9le.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://pre08.deviantart.net/cd42/th/pre/i/2013/024/e/1/heorot__hall_of_the_hart_by_enthing-d5sj9le.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture by Enthing - deviantArt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Reaching toward the oaken barrier, my
claw lightly drawn,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Inside I smelt blood, rich, sweet and
warm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I oozed a cold fear through the dark
night air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">As frost spreads, dark dreads, fears
laid bare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Stirring in nightmare ridden sleep, the
proud ones, behind their walls of wood<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Clutching talismans, recalling fell
tales of childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My presence felt, seeds of doubt
planted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">As dawn approaches, the demon departed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">But these fears melt with the Suns’
arcing soar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">As did my prints; dispelled with the
frosts’ thaw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My night haunting forgotten as King
Hrothgar in glory came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">To open his Heorot hall with a feast of
great fame<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">From his realm and beyond came thanes
and bondsmen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">With retinue, shield maidens and
elegant women.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Wise with age or in youthful vigour
flushing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Warriors of renown bent the knee, oaths
of loyalty are given.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Hrothgar, battle famed, wealthy with
tribute and spoil, all enemies cast down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Law maker, ring giver astride the high
seat, gold adorning his crown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Queen Wealtheow, in beauty radiant, her
hands clasping the great mead cup<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Wrought of gold, she proffers it, from
which each to sup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">The fiery drink, the King’s Thanes
drink of it deep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">In praise of their Liege Lord, their
loyalty his to keep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">And so with roasting meats and hearths
burning high.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Through the rafters, spark bejewelled
smoke swirls into the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Voices are raised in arrogant boasts of
enemies bested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Shouts came in answer, insult or
grudging acceptance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Hrothgar smiled at his warriors
bragging, recalling courageous feats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">As each contested, to the winner, first
knife set to roasting meat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A battle of wits, courage drawn with
words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A parry and thrust without shield or
swords.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A winner declared he is cheered to the
rafters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Soon all descended into drunken
laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Laughing warriors eat and drink and
make play for wenches<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Voices joined in ribald songs along the
benches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Ale and mead, a heady river flows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">While the sun sinks and the moon rises
in a silver glow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Our sleep is disturbed by the Proud
Ones revelry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My thoughts are consumed, yielded to
jealousy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Intruders, interlopers; that they
should hold sway<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Over lands that were ours from the dawn
of all days<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Loving, feasting, their lives blaze
bright enriched<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">While we lurk in the shadows and under
trip-trap bridge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Claiming morsels from their grazing
herds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Or eggs and chicks from cliff nesting
birds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Thieves! Land wasters. Whole forests
fallen to their axes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">All that’s left is a sour-land of
ashes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">No more. No more, will I bear<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">To harken to their joyous feasting
above our lair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">So thus resolved, blood thirsty,
violent of hand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I go forth. Man flesh sought, to tear,
to rend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">From shadowed cave through salt watered
marsh and rattled reeds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My dam a fog bank magic she weaves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">She raises from the distant sea, around
the headland a cloak for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I approach in shadows ,clad in mist, my
mouth in drooling ecstasy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I hear voices in lovers’ whispers,
hoarse in passion<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Rutting, outside the hall, unaware in
wild abandon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My hunger is relentless, their flesh,
young and love sweetened<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">They yield their lives. Their terror
silenced by my taloned hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Behind the wooden walls, murmured
conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Songs sung, riddles posed, a saga
oration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My appetite grown as I approach the
antlered door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Reaching my hand, the wood scored by my
claw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I push and the door yields to open,
unlocked in their arrogance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">How proud! So assured! So certain in
their dominance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">But now here is a nightmare, dark
dreams cast in flesh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Now the dark, they will learn to fear
afresh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I enter the hall a shadow of dread.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Eyes lifted from meat and cup they turn
their heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I am death, I crush first one. A madness
of screaming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Tear apart another, his lover left
keening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Wits gathered now, a warrior, loved by
Hrothgar, grabs sword from wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Advancing, arm raised, he attacks, his
voice a loud warriors’ call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">But his sword bites me not. My hide
enchanted, turns the blade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Notched, sword repelled, his arm
deadened, my talons reach out and he is slain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I lick my gore thick fingers, iron rich
and madness inducing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Mind lost, a feeding frenzy fallen.
Blood lusting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A nightmare made real. A fear
elemental.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A demon of old days. The troll called
Grendel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00";">Hrothgar called his warriors, mead
smitten and drowsy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Armed for war they advanced, but not so
proudly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Wading through the shambles of Hrothgar’s
champion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Spear was turned, their blades parried
by dark talons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">One, but short time before, boasted did
he; for his right to cut meat with knife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">His bravery unquestioned, he now sought
my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Diving underneath my arms, he strove to
disembowel, my innards to spew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Battle cry turned to howl to quiet.
Tearing his head from shoulders, I slew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Around me a midden-heap that once were
men<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Coin-wise Hrothgar; miserly with his
warrior’s lives, called them back to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">They gathered around their lord. No
more the proud and boastful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Mere prey now, fearful, powerless and
mortal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">My foot found the champion’s head; I
lifted it by its hair<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I laughed. Its neck in bloody shreds,
eyes locked forever in dread stare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">That he, veteran of deathly combat.
Proud and assured of victory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Then death came, swift and sudden. Did
the fear of oblivion have he?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Hrothgar looks at me in hate and terror
as I clasp the bloody token.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">He weeps in horror as I eat it, back
teeth crushing, grinding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I gather limbs, torsos, trophies of
meat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Tonight my dam will partake of Hrothgar’s
feast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Weeping, they watch me, as I gather the
tribute they must now pay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">The Proud Ones trouble me no more, keen
to see me away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Then burdened, out into the dark,
behind a chorus of weeping and curses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Proud Hrothgar, king here in name only;
this hall a bloody purchase.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">They look in terror beyond their door,
as dark fog smothers spluttering torchlight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I am dread. I am Grendel. The
death-that-stalks-by-night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">We wandered freely my dam and I; the
hall now empty and barred.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Hrothgar, now cursed, withdrew. This
land and night were ours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Long nights all was peace, the quiet of
the night once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">The reed beds rustle, the salt heavy
crash, of breaking wave on shore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Then, picking teeth with gnawed leg
bone, I felt a tremor through the headlands’ stone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Heard a muffled cheer, a drunk’s mead
addled song.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">In darkest anger I knew we were no
longer alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Intruders! Interlopers! Hrothgar
returned?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Such arrogance, that he should dare,
Heorot shall be nought but a cairn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I will slay and eat, slate my thirst on
their blood, like ale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Sated on their flesh, drunk on their
red ichor; Hrothgar’s skull shall be my grail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Wrapped in a cloak of rancorous
shadows, from dark cave lair<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Across briny marsh, while tongue and
harp give voice through nocturnal air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Approaching the hall, words plucked
from verse, great deeds relayed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Slaying tusked sea beasts, to one name
given praise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Hrothgar’s new champion then? It
matters not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">At the antlered doorway I am come to
Heorot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Inside the door is barred. They seek to
deny me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Timbers split, splinter and yield; as
mere straws against my fury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://mediafilter.wikispaces.com/file/view/grendel.jpg/100105783/grendel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://mediafilter.wikispaces.com/file/view/grendel.jpg/100105783/grendel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grendel by Brian Froud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">I burst forth; in expectation a shield
wall is formed around me, by warriors clad in mail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Was I lured? I lash out, at the
buckler. Breaking shield, hurling man against wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Another seized, I bite in half, blood
drunk, a yearning to feast on man-flesh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">A sword sings its song of steel, rings,
rebounds off me uselessly; I change wielder to </span><span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00";">corpse.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">The Proud Ones draw back, their trap
has failed, yet my hunger grows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Yet through their ranks proudly the new
champion strode.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; mso-bidi-font-family: TT1B6t00;">Casting aside sword, helm and Byrnie;
he seeks weapon less combat? I laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "tt1b6t00"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The
others chant his name, this one they call Beowulf</span>Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-76055353498281747712016-03-28T07:26:00.000-07:002016-03-28T07:26:12.084-07:00Erasmus Pike<span lang="EN"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzRcMzPNBbiPMbUDQy27nazxCTxpeScc54l8u3xBNbspg7F251ZGaGKKW1esP13moioe8qBQTVVB1E2WUciz0k_0yidPSHOqytFXww6u029p6ZMg-f2zV_YhKMjNNR7Q9j6UJ4lEuJWY/s1600/titanicnightbow_zps26878ab9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzRcMzPNBbiPMbUDQy27nazxCTxpeScc54l8u3xBNbspg7F251ZGaGKKW1esP13moioe8qBQTVVB1E2WUciz0k_0yidPSHOqytFXww6u029p6ZMg-f2zV_YhKMjNNR7Q9j6UJ4lEuJWY/s320/titanicnightbow_zps26878ab9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image Courtesy of Photobucket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<br /><br />
It was moonless night and the cold ocean was as glass; all appeared calm but from the east ,through the haze caused by the cold air, the ship appeared. It cut through the still water, parting it with ease. At the bow the lookout peered ahead. With the sea so still and with only the light of the stars overhead it was difficult to make out anything. There was no tell tale foam and spray, the ocean seemed empty . All would be utter silence if not for the sound of the bow cutting the seas, the throb of the coal fired engines in the bowels of the ship, and the faint sounds of music carried in the air. <br />
<br />
The lookout shivered, as he imagined the great and the good enjoying the luxury of fine food and wine, while he was out in the cold. His breath made a cloud of steam in the night air, he looked at his watch, squinting to make out the position of the hands. 9.42PM; he sighed bitterly, <i>he had hours of his watch yet to serve. By the time it would have ended the party would be over and the remains of the festivities would have been cleared away by the galley and serving staff. </i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
Four days out of port and they were already over half way to their destination. This vessel was indeed a marvel of modern technology and an example of opulence. However in the back of his mind he still considered jumping ship when they made port, while his pockets were full of coin. It was then, breaking his contemplation, he felt the static charge the air behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he turned, looking to the point behind the anchor crane, between the capstans where the air throbbed green and golden lightning seemed to writhe around any object near to it. <i>Was this St Elmo’s Fire? He had heard of the phenomenon from older sailors, but had discounted it as nonsense intended to impress the younger members of the crew. What had they said it was like? Like a green glow that clung to the masts and rigging. This was golden. He looked up at the forward mast and there was nothing. likewise nothing glowed around the four, tall tunnels which belched black smoke. </i>Beyond the ball of static the electric lights from the inner decks shone. He wondered if anyone on the bridge was seeing what he was seeing. He reached for the telephone handset, but before he lifted it, with a hiss, the ball of static dissipated. He clenched his fists, to strengthen his resolve, and walked towards the capstans.<br />
<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0sNgh2l4ZEG_PAOmeI3yRo4FHGnfhPTl8hL0kIHika49t_EM74_8xb5FgdUf3aIX8ohUE3_SmqR4ygS2o6uzBRiDIBSJhNn0YcjLQ7-STooW87y2__38m1p0H-wiiLdsq1z7yGcPuIg/s1600/Plasma.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0sNgh2l4ZEG_PAOmeI3yRo4FHGnfhPTl8hL0kIHika49t_EM74_8xb5FgdUf3aIX8ohUE3_SmqR4ygS2o6uzBRiDIBSJhNn0YcjLQ7-STooW87y2__38m1p0H-wiiLdsq1z7yGcPuIg/s320/Plasma.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plasma Ball -Painting by Dark-Stiks - deviantArt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><br />
<br />
The shadowed figure arose as if out of nowhere, tall and brooding. The figure seemed to be wearing a strange attire that was as shiny as a black mirror. The lookout could almost see himself in reflection; he gasped in horror and attempted to run past it the apparition. As he ran past, the black figure struck out its leg. The lookout tripped over it and fell towards the starboard side, tumbling over the edge into the dark. With a curse the black figure reached out its hands and tried to grab the lookout’s ankle, but the hem of the man’s trousers slid through grasping fingers The lookout’s head struck the side of the ship, rendering him unconscious as he tumbled into the cold black ocean with a splash to never be seen again, or so it appeared.<br />
<br />
The black figure swore anew, there would be consequences to be borne, there always were. The figure looked down towards its forearm and tapped an invisible console. The figure looked up from the console in impatience; had the chameleon suit had enough exposure to create a disguise? The console answered with low beeps as the figure took on the appearance of the lookout.<br />
<br />
Erasmus Pike breathed a sigh of relief. <span lang="EN-GB">Time travelling manifestation was always a risky affair, even on land. Almost invisibly the ground level changes over the centuries. Tectonic events and landslides can change the geography instantly but the earth’s mass is always growing. It has been estimated that up to 300 metric tonnes of dust enters the atmosphere every day; spread globally of course this is as nothing but when backtracking hundreds, maybe thousands, of years its best to add this variation in the calculation. Cities are built on the remains of older cities or can just appear. Rome wasn’t built in a day of course, but it may as well have been. There were horror stories of time operatives manifesting half in, half out of building. Death wasn’t as instantaneous as would be expected. On the molecular level it is surprising about how much space can be found within a stone; certainly enough for a human body to materialise between the atomic bonds. The end can be quick as long as the cranium or vital organs are within the stone, otherwise….</span><br />
<br />
Manifesting on a ship called for particular pinpoint accuracy, especially without drawing attention to the natives of the time zone; in this case the early Twentieth Century. He could quite easily have experienced the fate of the unfortunate lookout.<br />
<br />
He wondered who the ill starred man had been. How would this play out in the future, now that it was denied the man’s descendants. Such were the hazards of time travel, he wondered why his supervisors took the risk, not that the future could get much worse of course since the collapse of human populations in the early 22nd Century. Perhaps their modus operandi was indeed to try and steer a different course for humanity as per what their synaptic propaganda instructed; however of late, Erasmus had developed doubts as to the legitimacy of this. Nothing seemed to improve, save for the power, prestige and position of the Red Shield organisation. He had been sent for direct cranial indoctrination prior to this mission, but doubts still clouded his subconscious. He should have reported the dreams, that he played out again and again in his sleep, to his supervisors but he had thought better of it. He activated his console on his forearm again, so far no warnings were flashing up about the future consequences. <i>Poor man</i>, he thought, <i>a meaningless, inconsequent nobody that time forgot</i>. <i>Not even his accidental death at the hands of an invader from the future begat future ramifications, other than defining his all-to-brief existence. </i>He had best continue with the mission, the assassination of the quarry. His target recognition inputs were active, he would instantly know the one he was after, just to find him; at least they were on a contained vessel in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, there was nowhere to run. <br />
<br />
Standing here, mourning the death of a nobody wouldn’t get the job done, he set off towards the lit decks where the target would be. He passed emergency lifeboats and in the gloom he registered the name written on them. An uncomfortable feeling settled on him. <i>Where had he heard that name before; SS Titanic?</i><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpj_STMNCtewb2BNTBiATBavvkQdnhtqqI1hqo3_q5tdkJxSQOkcEPEN6tvXEZIZZ4CDBWqT_MVrpv3X_NTlF2Mqb4Jrw-sCA39KMIAlU7DCtO5EeNCBd4qR2IKIIgvVUQqI-SIZheBE/s1600/Lifeboat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpj_STMNCtewb2BNTBiATBavvkQdnhtqqI1hqo3_q5tdkJxSQOkcEPEN6tvXEZIZZ4CDBWqT_MVrpv3X_NTlF2Mqb4Jrw-sCA39KMIAlU7DCtO5EeNCBd4qR2IKIIgvVUQqI-SIZheBE/s1600/Lifeboat.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image Courtesy of ebay<br />
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<em><br /></em></span><br />Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291855562448309128.post-43933944090241333072016-02-25T06:34:00.000-08:002016-02-25T06:34:40.834-08:00The God Machine's report<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Evolution Observation Platform Planet
3 (God Machine) – Planetary cycle 73,000000. Hybrid species 4 period.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Star status</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> – G Type Main Sequence Plasma sphere
– approx. half way thru active cycle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Gravitational exertion</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> – normal – Plant 3’s core remains
hot, tectonic movement fluid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Atmospher</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">e stable and aerobic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Surface liquid</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> tidal range normal (see
gravitational exertion grid)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Biodiversity</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> levels falling in all ecological
niches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pollutant levels increasing</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">. Synthetic micro pollutants now
present in many </span><span style="line-height: 18.4px;">multi-cellular</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> species in all environments. Radiation levels
increasing, emanating from eastern seaboard of largest saline hydro reservoir
due to tectonic reaction with species 4 energy production plant. Future marine multi species threat - high<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Quantum vibration status mainly
dormant</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. Through use
of nutritional and mass media environmental suppressors Species 4 remains responsive
to the illusionary matrix. However glitches have appeared in the last 20,000
cycles threatening economic performance. Recent communication developments and
cosmological investigation in Species 4 could offer a potential threat to usual
conflict default protocols with the additional threat of pineal stimulation. Societal breakdown, quantum hysteria and
further matrix propaganda are currently being employed, however environmental
threats and economic ennui are making Species 4 increasingly difficult to
manipulate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hybrid Species 4</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> is now fully established as dominant </span><span style="line-height: 18.4px;">life-form</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> across all environments. Despite low quantum vibration levels Species
4 remains robust and adaptable. Species 4 is prone to aggression and self culls
on a mass scale, however due to God Machine influence on female fertility population
growth has been sustained. Synthetic micro pollutants (see above) may reverse
this trend and cause a population collapse as planned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <b>Mineral
extraction at peak levels</b>. Most available Yellow Transition Metal from the
planetary crust has been accumulated by Species 4. Extra planetary mineral extraction
could yet supply further yellow transition metal, however discovery of God
Machine’s true status is a real possibility which, coupled with emergent
quantum vibration, will destroy the illusionary matrix template.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sugges</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">t harvest takes place within next
10000 cycles prior to permanent Species 4 colonies establishing on God Machine
and beyond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Species 4 genome</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> may prove useful in other star
systems after collection. However, suggest eradication of Species 4 on Planet 3 to prevent future retaliatory
actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Rob's Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17030866163954216218noreply@blogger.com0