Justric Member
STATUS: No longer here. youtube.com/watch?v=RLBo1HJK.. 9 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Justric
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 676 (0.17 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Justric 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Charybdis,
WhiteAngel25,
idlehands
Status
Recent Statuses
9 yrs ago
Current
No longer here. youtube.com/watch?v=RLBo1HJK..
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Lillian - let me know if you want to do a collab between Penny and Jack? Unless Bill outright slugs him one, I can't see anything in the mining bay affecting their date.
The minstrel watched her with amusement as she spoke of her beliefs. “Well” he drawled in countryside wisdom, “I try not to expect anything, your Majesty. Takes too much of the surprise out of life, you see. Life’s too short to not have surprises.”
He leaned against the frame of the stable doors and crossed his arms as he looked at her with an impudent and mischievous gaze. She truly looked beautiful. Standing there in her dark costume, the shadows of the building made her wings look all the larger and more impressive until he easily could imagine them being real, the loose straws of hay and dust stirred about she flexed them in her might. What a queen she would make, came the unbidden notion. Suddenly, Tambernanny felt a pity for her. She could be so much more than she was… if only she let herself.
“But you speak of freedoms!” he dramatically cried in delight. “That nothing might bind or imprison you, not even the clothes you wear? Now that would be a sight to see, your Majesty! The Black Swan, Queen of the Dark and the Night, devoid of her feathers to shine like silver under the moon, proud and free and unashamed in her nakedness for all to fear and to obey… and to love.” The minstrel chuckled sadly and removed his hat to run fine fingers through his bronze locks, smoothing the hair away from his face and back across his head. Even were it not the festival of the Devil Himself, Tambernanny would not have reigned in his mouth to express his admiration for her body.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer; it came across as more sincere even as he fiddled with his hat in his hands. “Is that why you chose the costume you wear now?” he asked knowingly. A hand gestured to her glorious outfit. “That’s why we dress up on Cuckoo’s Eve, you know. Or at least why people used to. It was to be something other than what we are, to be what we always dreamed of being but never dared to become. A scullery maid becomes a wanton. A Baron becomes a hunter. A high born maiden becomes the Queen of the Night. A minstrel becomes the Devil… or a forgotten God.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, anyway,” he suddenly laughed as if at his own pomposity. “Or perhaps it’s the reverse! Perhaps in donning the costumes and masks, of allowing ourselves the freedoms of Cuckoo’s Eve, we become who we truly are! Perhaps both reasons are equally true!”
A sudden thought seemed to come to the traveling musician, his brown furrowing even as his face screwed up in contemplation. “I wonder what that says about the Seneschal, then, who wears no costume or mask and at best adds a little ornamentation to his robes of office. Is he himself completely, then? Or is it simply that he’s never dared to dream at all? Either way, what a dreary life!”
Tambernanny lolled himself off the doorway and into the courtyard immediately outside of the stables, still chuckling as he pointed to the far gate. The portcullis was raised against all protocol. Beyond it, the winding road was light by the moon to highlight its curves and swells as it spun past the nearby town and into the woods beyond. The forest looked different in the night, as though it were wearing a costume of its own. “He’s waiting for you, you know,” he grinned as he raised his voice for her to hear. “Out there. It’s one of the oldest tales, the Black Swan seeking the Cuckoo in the forest, looking for the one creature in the lands that would not bow to her. In some versions of the tale, she demands that he bow to her, that the Cuckoo acknowledge her beauty and power and to so love her. When he refuses, she bends him to her will and makes him a lesser creature to serve her. In other versions, he enslaves her! The Night is chained and he is free to torment mortals to his own delight until the other beasts of the world come to ransom her freedom.”
He walked back into the stables to stand before her, his face unsmiling but still kind. “But none of that happened in the oldest version of the story, your Majesty.”
Walking past her then, saying nothing more of stories as he plopped back into his haystack. “Strange thing, I know, that I find the haystack preferable to the glorious suites his lordship has bestowed upon me, but it is more comfortable. More familiar. But should you have a willing handmaiden with little to do, your Majesty, might you send her my way? Because the familiar life is often a lonely one.”
He leaned against the frame of the stable doors and crossed his arms as he looked at her with an impudent and mischievous gaze. She truly looked beautiful. Standing there in her dark costume, the shadows of the building made her wings look all the larger and more impressive until he easily could imagine them being real, the loose straws of hay and dust stirred about she flexed them in her might. What a queen she would make, came the unbidden notion. Suddenly, Tambernanny felt a pity for her. She could be so much more than she was… if only she let herself.
“But you speak of freedoms!” he dramatically cried in delight. “That nothing might bind or imprison you, not even the clothes you wear? Now that would be a sight to see, your Majesty! The Black Swan, Queen of the Dark and the Night, devoid of her feathers to shine like silver under the moon, proud and free and unashamed in her nakedness for all to fear and to obey… and to love.” The minstrel chuckled sadly and removed his hat to run fine fingers through his bronze locks, smoothing the hair away from his face and back across his head. Even were it not the festival of the Devil Himself, Tambernanny would not have reigned in his mouth to express his admiration for her body.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer; it came across as more sincere even as he fiddled with his hat in his hands. “Is that why you chose the costume you wear now?” he asked knowingly. A hand gestured to her glorious outfit. “That’s why we dress up on Cuckoo’s Eve, you know. Or at least why people used to. It was to be something other than what we are, to be what we always dreamed of being but never dared to become. A scullery maid becomes a wanton. A Baron becomes a hunter. A high born maiden becomes the Queen of the Night. A minstrel becomes the Devil… or a forgotten God.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, anyway,” he suddenly laughed as if at his own pomposity. “Or perhaps it’s the reverse! Perhaps in donning the costumes and masks, of allowing ourselves the freedoms of Cuckoo’s Eve, we become who we truly are! Perhaps both reasons are equally true!”
A sudden thought seemed to come to the traveling musician, his brown furrowing even as his face screwed up in contemplation. “I wonder what that says about the Seneschal, then, who wears no costume or mask and at best adds a little ornamentation to his robes of office. Is he himself completely, then? Or is it simply that he’s never dared to dream at all? Either way, what a dreary life!”
Tambernanny lolled himself off the doorway and into the courtyard immediately outside of the stables, still chuckling as he pointed to the far gate. The portcullis was raised against all protocol. Beyond it, the winding road was light by the moon to highlight its curves and swells as it spun past the nearby town and into the woods beyond. The forest looked different in the night, as though it were wearing a costume of its own. “He’s waiting for you, you know,” he grinned as he raised his voice for her to hear. “Out there. It’s one of the oldest tales, the Black Swan seeking the Cuckoo in the forest, looking for the one creature in the lands that would not bow to her. In some versions of the tale, she demands that he bow to her, that the Cuckoo acknowledge her beauty and power and to so love her. When he refuses, she bends him to her will and makes him a lesser creature to serve her. In other versions, he enslaves her! The Night is chained and he is free to torment mortals to his own delight until the other beasts of the world come to ransom her freedom.”
He walked back into the stables to stand before her, his face unsmiling but still kind. “But none of that happened in the oldest version of the story, your Majesty.”
Walking past her then, saying nothing more of stories as he plopped back into his haystack. “Strange thing, I know, that I find the haystack preferable to the glorious suites his lordship has bestowed upon me, but it is more comfortable. More familiar. But should you have a willing handmaiden with little to do, your Majesty, might you send her my way? Because the familiar life is often a lonely one.”
Jack is talking to (not "with", just "to" or possibly even "at") Bill in the mining bay about getting help to build a still.
Hob just left OLGA and is doing... something... I haven't figured out what yet.
Hob just left OLGA and is doing... something... I haven't figured out what yet.
No worries, RoadRash. That whole "real life" thing has to come first. (Chuckles evilly) By the way, how's your striker doing waiting for his patch?
There's a bit for Jack, then. Can't wait to see Bill's reaction!
Hearing a gruff voice respond from just around a corner, Jack leaned his head around to see a huge man hefting an impossibly large piece of equipment. The telltale scent of grease-cutting fluid and fresh, clean oil filled the air, and the amount of grunge on the man's hands said even more to the hardworking Newfie! A fellow working man! One not afraid to get his hands dirty! His grin became all the larger as he allowed the rest of his short form around the bend to stare up at the mountain of flesh before him.
"Well, der yar at!" he chirped happily as if the miner was a long lost friend, "An' look at ya, just! Big as a barn an' tough as nails to boot, I can tell, so I can. A working' cove if ever I seen one!"
The large container of molasses was laid to rest upon a nearby workbench as Jack continued to chatter. Jack look his eyes off of the man to look about at the various parts, bits, and pieces that almost all sorely neglected; their grime contrasted against the bright polish of newly cleaned metal that was hefted upon his shoulders. "Laird d'thumpin' Jaysus, all mops an' brooms in here! M'father'd have a right day with whatever come-day, go-day left dis place in a state!" Automatically his one hand reached out to grab an adjustable wrench that had been left in poor condition, nearly half rusted. The other hand snatched at the rag that had just been discarded and started to rub at it as he muttered to himself. "Damn, dis ting's not half shit-picky! Der's less rust in Pass Island, I'm sure..."
Looking back up to big man and unaware he hadn't given him the least bit of a chance to reply to single thing said, Jack hammered onwards in genial companionship. "I'd be glad ta give ya a hand, me old trout, if yar wantin' it. Mind you, work like dis must be powerfully thirty a ting, an' if yar of a mind then when we're done we can talks a bit of getting sached, if ya follows? Looking to brew some screech, or at least some poteen, got the lassy but not an old slut kettle or piss pot for a still an' hoping' to find someone of a like mind? Glad to help one way or t'other, but if yar known' any who's partial to a crawl an' has got no place to crawl to, well... I'd be a man much in yar pocket!"
Jack paused long enough in his friendly rambling to take a closer look at the giant's face. "Ya feelin' alright there? Ya look like a hen's arsehole in a nor'west wind." He'd hate to think that the man he already thought of as a friendly and likable soul had taken ill already, but he was well aware not everyone had come out of the deep sleep as well as he had!
"Well, der yar at!" he chirped happily as if the miner was a long lost friend, "An' look at ya, just! Big as a barn an' tough as nails to boot, I can tell, so I can. A working' cove if ever I seen one!"
The large container of molasses was laid to rest upon a nearby workbench as Jack continued to chatter. Jack look his eyes off of the man to look about at the various parts, bits, and pieces that almost all sorely neglected; their grime contrasted against the bright polish of newly cleaned metal that was hefted upon his shoulders. "Laird d'thumpin' Jaysus, all mops an' brooms in here! M'father'd have a right day with whatever come-day, go-day left dis place in a state!" Automatically his one hand reached out to grab an adjustable wrench that had been left in poor condition, nearly half rusted. The other hand snatched at the rag that had just been discarded and started to rub at it as he muttered to himself. "Damn, dis ting's not half shit-picky! Der's less rust in Pass Island, I'm sure..."
Looking back up to big man and unaware he hadn't given him the least bit of a chance to reply to single thing said, Jack hammered onwards in genial companionship. "I'd be glad ta give ya a hand, me old trout, if yar wantin' it. Mind you, work like dis must be powerfully thirty a ting, an' if yar of a mind then when we're done we can talks a bit of getting sached, if ya follows? Looking to brew some screech, or at least some poteen, got the lassy but not an old slut kettle or piss pot for a still an' hoping' to find someone of a like mind? Glad to help one way or t'other, but if yar known' any who's partial to a crawl an' has got no place to crawl to, well... I'd be a man much in yar pocket!"
Jack paused long enough in his friendly rambling to take a closer look at the giant's face. "Ya feelin' alright there? Ya look like a hen's arsehole in a nor'west wind." He'd hate to think that the man he already thought of as a friendly and likable soul had taken ill already, but he was well aware not everyone had come out of the deep sleep as well as he had!
Sorry for the delay! Been one hell of a week!
The scene seems fine actually! I'm just trying to decide on where to take it from here. Giant clank attack? Several small clanks? A possessed clank? Decisions, decisions....
The scene seems fine actually! I'm just trying to decide on where to take it from here. Giant clank attack? Several small clanks? A possessed clank? Decisions, decisions....
Back and starting in on stuff this evening again. I'm behind in quiet a few RPs, but progress will be made!!
Down and out for a few more days. Hope to get posting again by Saturday, a least a little bit.
One thought and one thought only: HOLY CRAP!
© 2007-2024