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Showing posts from July, 2013

Story for the Day: The Story of Mharac

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Frewyn has many legends, but one that enchants the children of Westren especially is the story of Mharac, the hunter who was turned into a bear by Borras, God of the Hunt. 
“The story of Borras and Mharac,” Ciran began. He furnished his hands with two puppets, one of a large man wearing little more than a bearskin and a breechcloth on his left hand, and the other of a hunter with a longbow draped across his back and a felt axe in his hands on the left. “A thousand years ago, before the Gods left Frewyn for the otherworld, there was a man called Mharac,” holding up the hunter, “who lived in the mountains. Mharac was so called ‘cause he loved huntin’ after bears, an’ though the bear is a sacred animal tae us as Borras’ effigy, the huntin’ o’ the males is allowed in the winter if food is scarce. Thess winter, Mharac, with his pelts an’ his bow an’ his axe, went a-fellin’ pines.” He made the representation of Mharac march from left to right, pretending to chop down trees along the way. “He…

Story for the Day: Tuatha and Paudrig -- Part 2

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The sweets of remembrance, the soothing sensations of being at last reunited with his brothers and triumphing in their company as he had been used to do, were soon all done away: Paudrig had recovered his spear and was in the midst of maneuvering over the ditch to make his way across the hedgerow, and the commander’s attention claimed, all the conjurations of his exulted youth were thus put by, his remembrances falling into the somnolence of subconsciousness, to be summoned and cherished at a later hour, when night should fall over the borders of Frewyn, and when the altering hues of gloaming revive the wistful reverie of the many evenings he spent with his brothers, watching the golden light of afternoon succumb to clouds tinged with crimson hues, to skies surrendering in violent murrey, to the scintillation of silver flickering stars. A hem, a sigh, and Tearlaidh recollected himself, resigning himself to the consolation that the child, in being taken to the church, would be give the…

Story for the Day: Tuatha and Paudrig

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Paudrig and Tuatha have a longstanding rivalry with one another, the former being a five-year-old with a glorious imagination, and the later being a disenchanted freemartin whose proclivity in life is trod the western roads conveying her master's shipments and eat as much of the living hedges lining the nearby farms as Ronneigh will allow. Being a child who triumphs in conquering beasts of unfathomable proportions, Paudrig tries to conquer Tuatha any chance he can. His first attack on her leads to years of adversarial and hilarious encounters:


Coming toward Tearlaidh and Paudrig, with all the good humour that his sanguine nature could promise, was Ronneigh, waving to the commander with one hand and holding Tuatha’s reins with the other. Only beginning his deliveries from the morning’s yield, Ronneigh had observed the commander in his way out of town and forced Tuatha to leave a gleaning of hoarycress, that he might pay his respects to his old friend before he was gone again to his …

Story for the Day: Failing Resolve

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Nothing melts the hearts of stern commanders faster than an orphaned five-year-old who has more spirit than an entire regiment put together.
The bells at the church in the near distance rang out, surmounting the incessant thrum and intermittent mirth of the markets, a few moments of silent vexation had been rewarded by the answer that Tearlaidh had sought: the orphanage, with all the advantages of caretakers, kingdom support, superior education, and commodious housing, was just the place to suit the circumstance. The bell pealed again, the purl of which resonated and roused the commander’s mind, succumbing to the notion that to the church Paudrig must go. Aye, he’ll be safe there, he conceived, sensations of relief consoling his conscience, with all the Bruthurs and Sessters and wee-uns his oan age tae plae with and talk tae. Nae loneliness in an orphanage, an’ he’d be fed and sheltered, and while there, Paudrig should be close enough to the mountains that Tearlaidh could look in on hi…

Story for the Day: Tearlaidh

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Tearlaidh is commander of the Brigade, a special group of elite Royal Guard who preside over Frewyn's western border. Being stationed in the mountains, he is used a solitudinarian's life, and while he is very civil when being made to visit town, he is hardly talkative, until the day he meets a small homeless boy and decides to look after his wellbeing. He had spent enough time in town, for a few hours in the teeming bustle of the village market was all that his solemn character and solitary nature could endure. The lanes belonging to a village, though charming, were too compacted with animated parishioners for one of his broad stature, and once he had shown himself civil and obliging by listening to the laments of passing farmers and the rants of traders, he was well prepared to return to the serenity of his high seat, to stand astride the summits and scrutinize and look solemn  to command his men with severe flouts, stanch humphs, and tapered glares, to trundle about the falle…