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Thread: A Whale Riders Journey - Updated 19 December 2013

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    Rex Anglorvm's Avatar Wrinkly Wordsmith
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    Default A Whale Riders Journey - Updated 19 December 2013

    A new story for your enjoyment...I hope. Set during the 'dark ages'.

    Let me know your opinions.

    Epilogue

    As I used the whetstone on my old long sword, keeping the edge keen that had saved my skin numerous times, my mind travelled back down the years as I prepared to tell the Skald my story.

    My days as a Norseman had started on a beach a lifetime ago.

    I lived in a small fishing village on the wild coast of Cumbria, my Mother was a Celt, my Father a Saxon. My Father Osmond was a harsh man, he was a former soldier who had lost the bottom half of his right arm in a border skirmish with the neighbouring Northumbrians, and it had left him bitter.

    My mother Erlise was the light of my life. She had long auburn hair and eyes of cornflower blue and a heart of pure gold. To me, growing up as a boy she was the most beautiful Woman in the world.

    She had met my Father when he had been young, handsome and happy, at least so she said. I could not ever think of my Father in that way, to me he was either drunk or in a perpetual black mood at what the fates had brought him.

    Looking back across the years, now I can see why a fighting man would feel the pain of losing his sword arm so badly, and I think I can understand him a little better given the hindsight of a long life.

    My Father when he was not drunk, just about eked out a living as a Fisherman, something he could still do one handed I suppose. My Mother spun and made clothes for the local gentry, she was said to be able to make the finest clothes in all of Cumbria.

    I was so proud of her.

    And on the day the Dragon ships came I became proud of my Father.

    For the first and the last time.




    Chapter One – One life ends, another begins.

    ‘Aed, you can help me with the nets today and the crab pots too. Come on boy hurry up, we need to beat the early morning tide’. Father had woke me early, summer was a good time for us, with long daylight hours and decent weather, we could take our small boat out and get a good catch, then raise our crab pots.

    I rushed to put on my tunic and trousers, only stopping briefing to splash water on my face from the wooden bucket that collected rainwater outside of our simple front door.

    ‘Aed, don’t forget your weapon boy’, my father reminded me to grab the spear that I must always carry. I didn’t see the need for it personally; I couldn’t see a rogue haddock or cod attacking us. However I took it from my father’s left hand and mumbled my thanks. Father had said that a man should always be prepared, and at thirteen years old I was almost as tall as Osmond now.

    My mother had already got up that morning; she was tending our neighbour Becuma, an elderly woman who was nearing the end of her days, as I said my mother had a heart of gold.

    Most of the people of our simple village were Celtic like my mother, father was one of the few Saxons to live in the village, even though I spoke both languages, I felt myself more Celtic, after all it was the tongue I heard spoken all around me and the culture that I was immersed in every day.

    Father was in a rare good mood this morning, he was looking forward to a days sailing, it was one of the rare occasions I saw him smile, the only other time was when he taught me to fight. Mother had always chastised him for training me, she said I was going to be a fisherman, but father said I could make more money as a retainer for the local gentry, that meant walking around acting mean, but never actually doing any fighting.

    Secretly I wanted to be neither, I was a reasonable fisherman, but not the best and I didn’t want to end up as lackey to a local lording either. No, I wanted to be a soldier, like my father. He had taught me well. I maintain to this day that my father could beat most men one handed, he never told me how he lost his arm, but my guess is he had been swamped by numbers, I could never see one man being able to best him in single combat.

    I have never seen a man, who was able to fight as well as him…that’s an untruth, I see one when I look in the fine Miklagaard mirror that I own.

    We had to walk a mile to our small boat; we were too poor to live close to the bay, but we made good time, and walked down the shore, stowed the lunch bread, cheese and ale that mother had prepared for us and pushed our boat out into the surf.

    I rowed out while my father took the tiller, and about fifty yards out we raised the sail and looked for where the sea was darkest and the sea birds the thickest.

    Simple signs for a fisherman to read and act upon.

    After a short while we could see no obvious signs, so we rounded the headland to the portside of the bay, and with a good tail wind began to gather pace and as we flew faster my father’s grin grew wider and I smiled back like a simpleton. Happy times, I’m glad I have that memory of him.

    I had my back to the bow, with my father sitting in the stern facing forward, suddenly he leaned forward and squinted to block out the Sun.

    ‘We need to turn back Aed’, father’s smile had vanished and been replaced with a look of concern. I turned my head to see a large sail not far from us. It was a dragon ship, that had somehow not spotted us. ‘It’s probably come to trade father’.

    It may sound strange to you, but in those days the Norsemen would often come to trade with simple villages such as our own, we had nothing much to steal, but we could trade with them for supplies and information.

    ‘No Aed. Their dragon head is mounted, were turning about, we must warn the village’. With practised ease I helped my father tack our small boat, and turn us around until we caught the wind and were making good process back around the headland.

    The dragon ship had now noticed our small vessel and I could hear a Norse command, shortly followed by their oars being levelled, then placed in their rowlocks and dipping into the water as one, the movement was practiced, simple and beautiful…and terrifying.

    Father responded with everything that he could to drag extra speed out of our little boat, he told me to throw everything overboard except our weapons, so I began hurling things over the side, all the time saying the Lord’s Prayer that we may outrun our foe.

    My father shouted as me as we rounded the headland, ‘Aed, we will make it to the beach before them boy, only just though. You must grab your spear when we hit the beach, and run back to hide your mother, as you run shout, shout your head off boy, you must wake the sluggards in the village, and make sure that they send a messenger to Lord Fergus, his men will be needed’.

    ‘But father what about you, what will you do?’, I looked at my father’s face and I knew what he planned to do.

    ‘I’m going to delay them lad. Promise me one thing, if they look like they will take the village, you must take care of your mother, do you understand Aed, you must give me your oath?’

    I stared at my father, his eyes were moist and I knew exactly what he meant. I felt tears prick at the corner of my eyes and gulped and managed to croak out an answer, ‘Yes father, I understand, I swear by all the saints, I will make sure they cannot harm mother’.

    Father looked at me, and I shall never forget this, he said, ‘I love you son, I am sorry if I have been hard on you, but I wanted to make you better than me, a better man, a better warrior’. I have never forgotten those words, my father was man of few sentiments, and those words came from his heart.

    My father’s attention snapped from me and he began to bellow, scream and curse out warnings to the other fisherman on the beach as we got closer, he had no need. The rest of the fisherman took one look at us racing like lunatics to the shore line, chased by a band of laughing, whopping Norsemen, aboard a massive dragon ship, and they ran in all directions, some to hide, some to protect their families and others to grab their weapons.

    I had my spear clenched in both hands now, as our boat slammed over the surf at full speed, and landed with a crunch on the sandy beach, if we had wanted to sail again, we couldn’t have, as a massive crack now showed in the keel. The dragon ship had slowed behind us, not wanted to risk coming into the beach at speed, they had time on their side…and manpower.

    My father gathered his wits first, pushed me out of the boat and told me to run, I looked at him, he pointed up away from the beach towards our home, I nodded and began to run, shouting in warning all the way telling people to send someone to Lord Fergus.

    As I ran I could see people running in all directions, but many of the older men had picked up anything to fight with, scythes, hammers, hoes, rakes, shovels, hunting spears, wood axes and even the odd long sword.

    They were streaming towards a solitary figure standing calmly on the beach holding a spear in his left hand awaiting the wrath of the Norseman.

    One of the Miller’s sons was sitting aside his father’s horse, he was being given instructions, and he set off whipping the poor animal in a panicked frenzy in the direction of Lord Fergus’s hall.

    I was only halfway home, already people were running off into the hills to hide, as our small chapel had wrung its bell. The pride of our village, that bell was. We were the only village for miles with our own bell, made for us by the smiths of Carlisle.

    Word had already reached my mother already of my father’s actions; she was running towards the beach against the human tide of the other villagers when I saw her. I grabbed her by the arm, and she stopped running.

    ‘We must get to your father, he will need us’, mother was breathless with panic, worry and fear.

    ‘No mother, father had told me to take care of you, we must leave the village NOW’. Just then we both heard a might roar and a clash of arms as from our vantage point over the bay we watched the Norsemen swarm over the thin defensive line of the villagers, I could just make out the figure of my father by his distinctive fighting style.

    I watch entranced as men fell all around him, my father’s spear whirling, and crushing, spearing men until fear seemed to grip the Norsemen and a circle of space opened up all around him.

    Then seemingly a dozen axes flew out of the Norse shield wall and my father was down. He could not carry a shield to protect himself, his only weakness.

    My mother let out an animal howl of distress as she watched my father fall, and almost in the same instant the Norseman destroyed what was left of our defensive line and ran in all directions, charging like demons carrying fire and sword.

    I looked at my mother; she had fallen to the ground, a sobbing uncontrollable heap. Already the first Norseman were surging up the hill towards were they had seen most of the women and children flee.

    I could already hear screams as the first women and girls were caught by the Norsemen and I realised that we would not be able to outrun them.

    My mother looked up at me; she smiled and placed her hands between my own on the spear. ‘I know what Osmond would have told you to do Aed, he was so proud of you, do not fail him now. I forgive you my son; you are doing the right thing’.

    I closed my eyes as the tears rolled down my cheeks, and as I pushed my mother pulled with me, straight through her beautiful alabaster throat, I watched as her eyes glassed over and she fell to the ground, her fine auburn hair a cascading pillow covering her face, the same colour as my own. Her blood pooling at my feet, the first person I had killed….my own mother. Even then I knew I had done the right thing, to spare her from the torments of the Norse, as I stood I there I could hear the crying and screaming of anguished women, I knew I had saved her from these evil men.

    My name is Aed. The name my mother had given me, a strong Celtic name.

    It means fire, the fire of my hair, my heart, my soul, the fire in my stomach that gives me courage. I took the spear out of my mother’s throat and stood waiting grimly for the Norse.

    I would make them pay and then join my parents at the gates of St Peter….
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; November 09, 2012 at 09:24 AM.

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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey

    I'm glad Aed became proud of his father Although it's a shame he ahd to kill his mother You little *expletive*

    Defiantly prefer this one to Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief and if you were just wanting to continue one of them, make it this one

    They're both really good keep up the good work, although Tale of Rome better carry on

    I Like the sig BTW

    Looking forward to the next update,
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    Rex Anglorvm's Avatar Wrinkly Wordsmith
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey

    Chapter Two – Divine Intervention

    I stood there, more determined then I had ever been before, in my short life up to that point, to make my spear as deadly as my father’s had been. He had taught me well, and I had an advantage over Osmond, I had two hands…

    The first Norseman came running up the hill towards me, I expected a big hairy giant, with a devils wings, a great broadsword and swinging axe, instead the first Viking I ever saw up close was a poor looking individual, with a spear that was poorer than my own and a rough oaken shield with a battered iron boss upon it, I was going to have that shield, I would need it.

    He wore no armour, nor helm, not even shoes, later I would learn that the man was a thrall, the lowest class of men in Norse society, but right then, he was scum that I wanted to kill.

    He skidded to a halt as he saw me standing ahead of him, unsure of what to make of a boy holding a war spear larger than his own. He came to the wrong conclusion…

    With a feral snarl he came at me with his shield held high covering the left side of his body, his spear thrust from the right towards my throat… he technique was what my father would have referred to as ‘farm boy’.

    As he thrust, I dropped to my knees, slammed the butt of my spear on his right foot smashing his big toe to pulp, he yelped, his shield dropped for an instant, and I rammed my spear home through the gap between his shield and spear, I swear I pushed so hard the spear went through his chest, and out of his back… his mouth opened in an O of surprise, and his spear clattered to the ground, as he fell backwards, instantly dead onto the grass beneath him.

    As he fell, I quickly lifted the man’s shield, slid his left arm out of the leather straps that held it in place and placed it upon my own. It did not feel heavy, father had made me train with axe, spear, sword and shield and lift stones until I could not lift my arms anymore.

    I stood on him and pulled my spear out two handed and waited.

    The next two were very different; they were the creatures I expected.

    Armoured in light chain mail, silver rings on their arms, great heavy battle swords and shields reinforced with iron rims and bolt work. These two would be harder.

    ‘Put your spear down boy, I need slaves’, the bigger of the two men spoke, I could see how his armour strained to contain him. His arm muscles bulging and groaning to be released. I gulped nervously, I still wanted to kill more before I died, I wasn’t sure if I could take this man, he resembled the demons that were painted in our simple chapel.

    He had spoken in Gaelic, lots of the Norse knew our tongue and even more knew English.

    The other man stood starring at me; he was no less imposing than the one who had spoken, slightly smaller, by a hairs breath that is. Where the other was fair this one was dark haired, their open helms showed a family resemblance, not brothers, but cousins perhaps.

    ‘I’m tired of waiting boy, put down the spear or I will release Ulf to gut you like herring’. The blonde haired one motioned me to put my spear on the ground.

    In answer I stuck my tongue out…alright not the most eloquent of answers, but I was a boy remember.

    The blond man, let out a huge guffaw of laughter, the sort that comes from the belly, and rocks you insensible, he pointed at me and motioned Ulf to finish me off, he had lost the last of his patience or so it seemed at the time.

    Ulf came at me as an experienced warrior should, not underestimating his opponent, especially with one corpse already laying at his feet. Ulf’s steps were measured, his shield held close, ready to be propelled outwards using his body weight and shield boss to break ribs, his great sword held at a slight angle away from the body, to increase the swing, and use its great weight to crush, and its razors edge to slice.

    He had been taught well….but then so had I.

    I had an advantage; he was weighed down with all that metal, while I was as light as a feather.

    As he came in he swung from the right, arching downward with the aim of cutting my spear in half, it should have worked, but I knew the move, and stepped back with my left foot and fainted to drive the spear at his head, he lifted his shield in response and I swung the spear back and to his right and scored an agonizing shallow hit all along his right forearm.

    He sprung back surprised, and nodded at me in appreciation, he was tough though, he had not dropped his blade. I could see more men moving up the hill towards us, but the blond man held up his right hand, to stop them intervening, they stood in a loose semi-circle around me watching the entertainment.

    Ulf came at me again, this time in a flurry of moves with a whirring sword while his shield was held at an unusual angle, it was leaning slightly forward from the top, this meant that if my spear hit it, its natural direction was downwards, and left me open to be gutted from the right.

    So I kept away from the shield, and as he came to close on me, I danced in a circle. His edged weapon could not get close enough to kill, and my point was nullified by his cunning ruse with his shield. Time and time again our moves cancelled each other out.

    I decided to bore him to death, literally.

    He thought he had me, but Osmond had taught me another trick.

    Ulf came in once more, half expecting me to move to my right, away from his sword yet again, but this time I stepped in, his sword clattered against my shield, and with his attention drawn to blocking my own spear, he ignored the danger that my shield posed him, I dropped my spear and rammed the edge of the shield using both arms into his larynx, there was an audible crunch, and the armoured man fell to the ground like a stone.

    As he fell to the ground, I picked up his sword and stood ready for the next.

    The blond man did not seem surprised by the outcome, I swear he had a grin on face when he spoke to me, ‘Hah, I recognise that style boy. The one armed man on the beach, he was your father I take it. Unless you want a dozen axes thrown at you, drop that bloody sword. Even you can’t dance your way out of that many blades boy’.

    The blond man, motioned to his men to come closer, I could see them ready to hurl axes and spears at me.

    In answer I dropped my arms to either side of me, but did not drop my sword and shield to the ground, I was ready to die.

    Looking back a stupid egotistical move I know.

    I stood there with a defiant look on my face.

    I answered him in English, as I knew most of his men would understand, ‘Kill me then you dogs, I am happy to join my father, a true warrior. Not like you carrion birds’.

    The blond man removed his helmet, and gestured to a man in the crowd of warriors behind him, the man nodded, and two warriors dragged a man with a tonsured head out of the audience and dumped him at the blond man’s feet.

    It was Brother Cormac, our village priest, he had been beaten badly, and our small village bell had been tied around his neck.

    ‘Your priest I believe boy. As you care so little for your own life, perhaps you care more for this wailing priest’s? Drop you weapons or I will have him and his precious bell thrown off the cliff behind you’.

    ‘Aed, don’t listen lad. I’m dead anyway, don’t drop…ugh’, as Brother Cormac went to continue, the blond man had swung a mailed fist onto his head, and Cormac now lain sprawled in an untidy heap at his feet.

    ‘Blasted minions, they never know when to shut up. Well boy, I’ll not waste any more time on this, what’s your answer?’, the blond man looked at me, his sword pointed down on Cormac’s throat.

    I had always liked the priest, when my father was drunk or mean, he had given me a place to find refuge in, and unlike other priests did not expect payment of ‘any kind’ , if you know what I mean. He had even taught me to read, an exceptional talent for a peasant.

    I was torn.

    I dropped the sword on the grass beneath my feet, and then took the shield out of its leather straps, and it landed with a crash next to the blade.

    The blond man strode up to me and looked down upon me, even though I was tall for my age, he stood a head above me, as Ulf had.

    ‘You cost me a good shield brother boy. So I’m not going to sell you. I’m going to train you, train you to be a Norseman, so you forget this flyspeck you call home and the dirty stinking thralls that bore you, you will forget your God, you will worship Odin, Thor and Loki, you will forget Gaelic and English, and you will speak Norse like a good boy should. And if you don’t I will beat you until you do. Do you understand me you little scumbag?’

    My answer, ‘Never’.

    His answer a massive fist that sent me to sleep in an instant…
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; November 09, 2012 at 09:27 AM.

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    Shankbot de Bodemloze's Avatar From the Writers Study!
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 16/4

    Pah! He should have charged at the blonde guy



    Great update mate I can't wait until its Aed the Viking

    Keep it up
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    Rex Anglorvm's Avatar Wrinkly Wordsmith
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 16/4

    Chapter Three – For whom the bell tolls

    I became aware of my surroundings slowly, the lap of water against the hull, the pressure of another body lain against my own, the screeching sounds of sea birds overhead, the steady beat of a rhythm as the oars of the dragon ship made its way through a calm sea, without the hint of wind to catch a sail.

    I stirred uncomfortably and opened up one eye slowly to let the light in. Gradually, I noticed a throbbing pain that was more a dull ache, rather than the sharp agony which would have signified anything more meaningful.

    I smiled at myself despite my predicament; I must have the head of a sire bull to have recovered without any real pain after the blow from the Norseman.

    My hands and feet were tied, next to me I took in the sleeping form of Brother Cormac, he was asleep like a babe, his face a welter of cuts and bruises.

    Norsemen really didn’t like priests.

    I was in the low hull of the dragon ship, they didn’t have much room for storage and I found myself lodged in a small space between barrels of supplies, salt pork and pickled herrings by the smell of them, I wrinkled by nose in disgust, but my stomach still grumbled, I was starving.

    I managed to shuffle myself into a sitting position, my hands behind me; I toyed with the idea of waking Cormac to see if we could work ourselves free, but swiftly gave up on the idea. He was as firmly trussed as me, and even if we did escape where could we go?

    Above my head was the only hatchway, open to let the sea air in on a calm day, its position right in the middle of the boat, under the one and only mainsail, with hordes of Norse on their sea chests rowing away.

    Not much chance of escape then.

    A shape loomed in the hatchway and descended the stairs towards us; it was the blond man again. This time dressed in sea going clothes, but a captain’s fine cloth, not the hard coarse fabric of any ordinary seaman. He loomed over me cutting an apple with a small knife, popping pieces into his mouth.

    ‘Ah, so you’re finally awake boy, joined the land of the living eh? A Norse boy would have been up hours ago, if you’re the best the Celts can produce no wonder they lost their islands to the Saxon dogs’, a playful smiled lit up his features, and again I was taken by his resemblance to the dead Ulf.

    I did bite back the urge to retort, even though the Norseman had managed to besmirch both of my heritages in one insult, I dared not reply in case he decided to knock me back to sleep once again.

    ‘I see you have learned to respect your elders, or at least hold your tongue boy. What was your name, ah, that’s it, Aed, what sort of name is that eh? Makes you sound like a girl’.

    ‘I think I will call you something else, I know I’m going to call you Herring, no maybe Bilge, hmm, no, how about Dogface, yes, that’s it, your Dogface, until you earn a better name, a Norse name’.

    He sat on the bottom steps of the stairwell and stared at me.

    ‘Do you know that the man you killed was my cousin boy? Yes, that’s right, a good man, he was too, I let you kill him though, do you know why? He was dying, not of anything you can see, no nothing as simple that, a priest came to his village, a man like the dog next to you. He promised Ulf salvation if he became a Christ worshipper, he promised him everything if he put down his sword and took up a plough’. The big man shook his head in disbelief.

    ‘And then do you know what he did? He took my cousins wife and daughter by force, and then he killed them. My cousin took that’s man life; he carved his pale, skinny unmanly hide into a hundred different pieces and pledged them at an altar of Loki. But since that day three months ago he walked as a shade, caught between this life and the next. I let you kill him, because he wished to be in the Halls of Valhalla’.

    ‘That man was no priest, he was a devil Norseman, as you and your kind are’, the words had been spat out of Cormac who unnoticed had woken in time to hear the story of Ulf and his family.

    ‘No priest. My men and I do not pretend to be men of peace. As the Saxons say, what you see is what you get, that priest was a vile deceiver, as your entire kind are. You promise salvation and all you offer in return is pain, misery and a tithe on a working man’s livelihood’, the blond man had responded with real venom.

    ‘But I will grant you this, you will know the name of the man who will kill you, I am Sven Magnusson, and I am a Viking, who treads the whale road, who worships the true gods, gods who do not unman you and seek to make you a slave, and I will kill all the Christ worshipping clergy that I can lay my hands on, so my cousin can drink a toast to me in Valhalla’. Sven pointed at Cormac all the way through, he had a manic look in his eyes, the sort of look I had only seen once before, when my father had had to slay a wild dog that had sought to attack the young children of our village.

    With that Sven stood up, and dragged Cormac to his feet.

    ‘You can’t kill him, you promised, I gave up so you would not kill him, let Cormac go, his not a bad man, his not like the priest your cousin knew, please Sven!’ I pleaded with the Norseman to release the priest, my last link to my life in Cumbria.

    He ignored me.

    Cormac turned to me as he was dragged up the steps by Sven and another hulking Norseman who had come down the stairway to help him with Cormac.

    The priest did not struggle, or fight, or plead for his life, he turned to me and smiled, ‘Aed, don’t forget who you are boy. Don’t become one of these animals; your Father made you a better man than this. I am not afraid to die, St Peter awaits me’.

    ‘Where your going only Aegir waits for you priest. Bring Dogface too, we will soon see how brave the bible worshipper is’, Sven motioned at me, and the other Norse picked me off the floor and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

    The dragon ship was still, its anchor had been dropped and its oars had been dipped in the water holding it as a steady platform, so that all the men could witness Cormac’s torment in its centre from their sitting positions along the boat.

    The man who was carrying me dumped me at the foot of the mast, then lashed me upright to it, so that I was better able to witness proceedings and then mockingly waggled a sausage like finger at me to stay put, he then rejoined Sven on the larboard side of the boat, the big man holding Cormac with one hand like a ships rat as he perched precariously on the ships rail.

    ‘I will speak in the tongue of the Saxons for the benefit of Dogface, over there’, Sven pointed at me, and the men who could speak English translated for their brethren without a second language, they laughed at my new name. I was too crestfallen to care; my only concern was for Cormac.

    Here we have a member of God’s children, a worshipper of the white Christ, a man who would seek to shrivel your manhood, take your wife, deflower your daughter and ‘take’ your son into the church, what shall we do with him my shield brothers?’

    A chorus of suggestions came back, ‘Kill him, cut his family jewels off, give him to the sea, no give him to that old witch Hildegard, she will make a man of him, eighty summers old or not’ , the last suggestion had the crew rocking with laughter.

    ‘No, I say we give him to Aegir and Ran, they have real parties, celebrations fit of a King, let alone a priest, and how the Gods will love their own pet priest, and let us tie his beloved bell to him, so that the Gods may hear him and run to embrace him upon his arrival’.

    Cormac turned once more from his position standing on the rail of the dragon ship and smiled at me, he had heard every word they had said, but he was still unafraid, I could see the words of the Lords prayer on his lips.

    The sausage fingered man, tied the bell to one foot and tied a heavy looking woollen sack to the other; more laughter arose from the rowing benches as Sven continued. ‘And as an offering to the Gods, I have given them a sack full of our enemies weapons, the priest can deliver it for us’.

    ‘Goodbye priest, give my best to the Gods, and please do enjoy yourself down there’, then Sven pushed Cormac off the side, he hit the water with the bell, tolling and sounding behind him, the sack of weapons closely followed, for an instant his bodies natural buoyancy kept him afloat, then the combined weight of the metal, and his tied hands and feet dragged him under…..

    A tear rolled down my cheek, my last link with home now gone.
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; November 09, 2012 at 09:29 AM.

  6. #6
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/4

    You're shooting out this updates

    Bloody Vikings! Cormac was very brave...

    Keep up the good work I'll be able to rep you in the next 24 hours
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/4

    I seem to be a whirr of activity at the moment - hoping for another update tomorrow, possibly for TOR

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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/4

    Chapter Four – Gone Fishing

    I would like to say that I honoured the memory of my parents and of Cormac’s sacrifice, but that would be a lie….

    Sven Magnusson was as good as his word, he made me forget everything, in time I lost my name, my culture, my faith and my sense of belonging.

    I was taken from a small village in Cumbria in the Kingdom of Strathclyde when I was a boy of thirteen, by the age of eighteen I was a Norseman in the Kingdom of Dublin.

    I sat with my legs dangling over the end of the jetty, a fishing pole resting at my side. I had come here to fish, but as the Sun had shone brighter and its warmth had spread over my back, I had been lulled into a light sleep and a sense of enormous well-being.

    Sven allowed me one day off a week, each Saturday was my own, to do with as I pleased, after a week off constant training. Sven was tireless, whereas my Father and I to too a certain extent were gifted in the art of war, Sven believed in the application of constant training.

    His constant training regime was frowned upon my many of the older men, who preferred to train only in times of war. Sven’s answer was that a man should always be ready to fight, as war arose at the most unexpected of times.

    When I had been taken from my village, I had wondered how so many of the Norse of his crew had spoke Gaelic, when they had first brought me to Dublin, the answer was immediately obvious. I had assumed that the Norse had come from Norway or Denmark when in fact they had only crossed the Irish Sea.

    Many of the men had intermarried with local Gaelic women, there being a natural shortage of Norse women away from their homeland; I was not the only red-haired youngster running around dressed as a Norse.

    Sven had not married though, a handsome man he had many dalliances with local women, some even married, however no man had been Loki-crazy enough to challenge him to single combat.

    There was only one man who could best him, me.

    He had hid the surprise from his eyes when I had first knocked him to the ground in our training sessions, and as the years had passed my besting of him had grown more frequent.

    Don’t misunderstand me though, I was still wary of him, yes I could admire his skill at arms, his understanding of tactics and his natural command of men, but he was every so slightly unhinged, and you had to be careful not to get on the wrong side of him.

    He had told me the only reason he had attacked our village was that he had spotted our small chapel and wished to kill our priest, this alone showed his erratic side at work.

    In the end he had let his men slaughter the inhabitants, ravish our women and take what little valuables we had, but he had not allowed for slaves other then Cormac and I.

    The longboat, as I now knew they were called, had been packed with stolen loot as it was, he had had a very profitable sailing season, raiding up and down the cost of Strathclyde as far south as the southern kingdoms of Wales.

    As the years had passed my hatred for the man had been replaced with a grudging respect, though the thoughts still crossed my mind now and then to have a training accident and run him through to avenge my parents, priest and my village.

    As I sat dozing away, quietly minding my own business, I felt a sharp whack to the back of my head, and turned to rub the offended part of my skull whilst jumping up at the same instant, ‘What the hell….’.

    ‘Sven needs to step up your training I would think boy. Fancy letting a big lump like me sneaking up on you, come he wants to see you’, it was Halfr, the sausage fingered man, as big as an Ox and twice as ugly, he was Sven’s helmsmen and shipwright. ‘Come on, no dawdling, on your feet Dogface’.

    Yes, that’s right; five years had passed and I was still known as Dogface.

    ‘Keep your big mitts to yourself Halfr, I take it he is at the hall?’

    ‘Yes lad, now come on’, the big man was pretty amiable really, sure he was ugly, but he wasn’t a bad man. For a Viking that is.

    I left the fishing pole behind me and walked behind the big man who set a brisk pace up the hill leading from the jetty and straight to the hall of Sven, a large rectangular shaped building of wattle and daub, but stoutly constructed of oak timbering, it had cost a small fortune for Sven to have it built last summer.

    A guard permanently stood by its entrance leaning on his long spear, he recognise us and waved us through with an evident lack if interest.

    ‘Ah, so you’re here at last Dogface, has Halfr told you why I wanted to see you?’, Sven was sitting on a large high backed chair, it was actually a bishopric’s seat, that he had taken a fancy to, and had brought home from his last raid.

    ‘No Father he hasn’t’, yes, that’s right, Sven had made me start calling him Father, shortly after my capture, at first I had said no, but after a dozen thrashings, I gave in to the inevitable.

    ‘Good, I wanted to give you a surprise. First you are coming with me this season on the whale road. Secondly when we get back, you are going to marry Aifdis, Halfr’s daughter on our return’. Sven eyes had locked on mine for any signs of dissent.

    ‘Yes father, I will be most pleased to join you on the whale road and most honoured to marry Alfdis’. I had kept a straight face, just; yes I was looking forward to going Viking for the first time in my life. No, I was not looking forward to marrying Alfdis, if anything she was even uglier than her father.

    Sven smiled at me, a hint of amusement, twinkling in his blue eyes, ‘Good boy. You see Halfr, he has no objections. And when we get back from the trip to Francia we shall give Dogface a suitable name, so that your daughter does not think she is marrying a hound’.

    I had to stop myself from laughing. If anyone was marrying a hound, it was me.

    Still, a season was a long time, and I would be going to Francia, I had heard that the Franks were great warriors and could not wait to test my mettle against theirs. As I have said before, a foolish thing to wish for from a foolish boy.

    Halfr turned to me, ‘For some strange reason, my daughter is taken with you boy, you best treat her right, or swordsman or not, I will rip your heart out and dedicate it to Odin. Understand me? Halfr pointed a sausage like finger at me, I get the message loud and clear, the big man doted on his only child.

    ‘I understand Halfr, I will be a good husband to Alfdis’, I made sure I gave the big man my most solemn expression, and he turned back to Sven satisfied.

    ‘Sven, it is agreed, they shall marry upon our return, I hope you will encourage my future idiot son in-law not to get himself killed in his first raid? Saxon-Killer is ready to sail, we catch the morning tide I take it?’, Saxon-Killer was the name of Sven’s longboat, the mightiest ship afloat in the Irish sea, the ship I had been taken on.

    ‘Yes, I will make sure that Dogface, does not get carried away. Morning tide, it shall be old friend’, Sven got up from his throne crossed the room between us and hugged the big man, ‘Our two families joined Halfr, just as I always wanted’.

    Halfr returned the manly hug, and smiled at Sven ‘Aye, its good. I need to be away, I have some final preparations for the ship and I need to make sure the men will be sober enough for the morning’.

    Sven nodded his acquiescence, and both men broke the hug, Halfr nodded at me and then strode out of the hall closing the door behind him.

    Sven turned back to me, ‘I know that Alfdis is not the prettiest mare ever to be taken for a ride, but she is spirited lad, she will make a good wife and will give you healthy strong sons, and me grandsons’.

    ‘You had best be off now, prepare your sea chest, that’s right, I have one for you, its in your room, that and a new coat of mail, I know you had outfilled the last’, Sven waved me away and returned to his throne, picking up a goblet of wine on his way past the long dining table in the centre of the hall.

    ‘Yes Father, thank you for the gifts. I will be a good husband’. I left the room in a whirl of emotions, yes I would be off adventuring, and what young man does not wish to do so. But, I was getting married too, and what young man wanted to do that!

    I entered my small room and saw the finely carved sea chest that my father had bought me, I opened it up, and saw an even finer coat of mail lying at the bottom, I took it out and placed it over the white cotton tunic I was wearing, it fitted like a glove.

    I crossed to the corner of the room where my weapons were stacked, a simple round shield with an iron boss, my sword beside it and my broad bladed battle axe.

    I withdrew my sword from its scabbard and caressed the blade; soon I would be using my weapons in anger for the first time, the first time as a man, not as a scared boy of thirteen.
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; November 09, 2012 at 09:29 AM.

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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 20/4

    Great update I'm looking forward to the him going on his first raid

    Although:
    forward to going Viking
    Does that make sense?

    Also poor lad on having to marry Halfr's daughter

    Keep it up!
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 20/4

    Hi Shankbot,

    ‘Yes father, I will be most pleased to join you on the whale road and most honoured to marry Alfdis’. I had kept a straight face, just; yes I was looking forward to going Viking for the first time in my life. No, I was not looking forward to marrying Alfdis, if anything she was even uglier than her father.


    Regarding the paragraph above and the term 'going viking', its a term I have borrowed from books written about the Norse. Most Norse were settlers, who were part-time warriors, albeit good ones! But they had everyday reglular lives as fisherman, farmers, tradesman etc.

    To go Viking, is to take yourself away from that normal everyday life, to go to sea, to become a raider, a pirate if you like (in Norse an honourable profession) a full time warrior (at least for a sailing season), that's what I was trying to convey.

    Hope that explains it.

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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 20/4

    Cheers for explaining that mate Now it makes sense

    I'm sorry for my ignorance
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 20/4

    Chapter Five – A pleasure cruise to Frankia

    Everyone thinks of the Kingdom of the Franks, as being one mighty empire, in reality after the death of Louis the Pious, his sons had ripped apart the kingdom into the West, Middle and East. A civil war contested the right to rule of Lothair, the chosen inheritor of the kingdom, this weakness the Norse exploited to the full; in the early days we had a happy hunting time.

    Yes I use the word ‘we’ now…

    The bow of the longship crested easily over the surf, and the ship glided to a gentle halt on the beach, slowed down by the massed oarsman and the skilful tiller work of Halfr.

    My stomach lurched, not from the gentle landing on the beach, but from the sight before me, standing on the beach awaiting our arrival, were at least a hundred or more Franks, they stood in a shield wall, much the same as we would use to combat an enemy, big men, clean shaven unlike us, round shields, spear, axes, swords, mail, the same….but different.

    Sven was the first off his ship, he landed with an elegant grace for a big man, his sword in one hand, his shield embossed with a green serpent, symbol of his house in the other, or should I say our house.

    ‘Hail Franks, we’ve come for your gold, your souls, your priests and your womenfolk, not necessarily in that order though’, Sven had spoken in Norse, not for the benefit of the Franks, but for his own men. This brought a roar of approval from the crew who prepared to follow their blond haired leader onto the beach.

    We disembarked in quick fashion, to an onlooker, it would have seemed like a mad scramble, but there was an order to it, each man knew his place and soon our shield wall almost matched the Franks own, they had the obvious advantage of holding the highest ground on the beach, and the length of their shield wall overlapped our own.

    Sven had placed me in the front of our shield wall, at the very centre, were the action would be the toughest, it was a place of honour, I had felt myself swell with a youthful pride when Sven had told me where I would stand in the line, I look back now down a long winding road of many years, and laugh at my own foolishness. I thought myself immortal as a young man.

    The Franks stood waiting, they would not move, why should they, they expected us to march up the sandy slope and lock shields with them. But Sven had a snake on his shield for a reason; he had seen the signal fires lit all along the coastline as we had approached; a keen eyed sentry or villager had spotting our longship.

    But he had not spotted our long ships, or more men would have been on that beach waiting for us, Sven had his second vessel, a slower smaller vessel approach from another direction, it was a merchant’s vessel really, one captured in another raid.

    The benefit of using such a vessel was surprise, nobody in that right mind would have used it as a raider, but then were talking about Sven here, aren’t we?

    He hadn’t even bothered giving it a name, he just called it ‘the boat’, that was it.

    So we stood on the beach waiting.

    The leader of the Franks had on a shining ornate sliver helmet and a red cloak; I could see him talking to another man, probably wondering why we weren’t moving.

    Then suddenly dark flights of arrows broke the silence you could hear them whirring through the sunlit sky, they hit the backs of the Franks from both their left and right. Our archers had crawled unseen until they had flanked the enemy and could attack them from the rear.

    I could see men falling, they only had three choices, spilt and engage the archers, then our shield wall could take them in two weaker halves , or they could come down the beach and engage us, this would make our archers cease shooting, in case they hit their own comrades, or lastly they could form a schiltrom, and we would have to prize them apart after our archers had rained death on them.

    They chose the second option, there men broke, not to run, but to come howling at us down the slope, zigzagging to put our archers off their aim, most of the surviving Franks hit us in an unseemly rush, a large man with an axe came running straight for me, I hunched down and looked over my shield, as I locked it with the man next to me.

    I thrust my blade out….the fools own momentum, could not be checked, and he impaled himself on my blade; my blade was stuck in his ribs, I twisted and turned the blade, severing and pulping his internal organs and finally managed to pull my sword free from the sucking gaping wound. The man fell to the ground before me and I thrust down with the blade into his throat…take no chances I say, I dying man can always decide he would like some company on his way to Valhalla or the Gates of St Peter.

    I noticed that our archers had ceased fire, and were dropping their bows and drawing their own short swords and axes. We now had the Franks caught between us, their ferocity intensified as fear gripped their guts, and they fought with increased savagery in their desperation to break us and fight a way clear off the beach.

    I found myself pressed up against the man with the silver helmet and red cloak, a swarm of his warriors around him, giving as good as they got.

    Red cloak’s sword arched upwards from his right to my groin, a dirty and ignoble move….but an affective one. I brought my shield down and blocked it whilst reversing my grip on my sword, I smashed the iron hilt into his face, breaking his nose and smashing his front teeth…well one dirty move deserves another.

    He groaned through a split lip and broken teeth and I could tell by his eyes which were glazing over, that he was dazed from the blow, I swung my shield back up and caught him in the chest, to push him away to give me enough room for a killing stroke, and as I did….an axe came between my blade and his chest, a lithe figure swept before my eyes, a small man, in a well kept mail coat and simple helm, moving at great speed, his axe now on its way to my right foot, I reversed my footing, and parried the blow then swung my shield at his head, he blocked it with his own. He was good this man…

    We were locked in a private duel, red cloak forgotten about, I moved one way, the little man moved the other, I brought down a killing stroke, he parried it, then vice versa, in the end I tried a trick of desperation taught me by my father, I pushed out with my shield, he closed with me, and I stuck my right foot behind him and kicked him in the back of the knee, then pushed his torso with my shield, his balance comprised he fell and I prepared to open his neck with my sword….then in an instant I changed my mind, I reversed my blade for the second time that morning and knocked him unconscious.

    I looked up to discover that the bulk of Franks, were dead or dying, a small group had fled from the beach, led by red cloak. Our men to busy with the men left on the beach to chase the fleeing Franks down.

    Sven walked towards me, his own blade covered in blood and gore, ‘Well that was fun Dogface, and you did well with the red cloaked warrior and this one at your feet. Why did you spare him son?’

    ‘I’m not sure Father, too good a fighter to kill; I thought he might come in useful. If we can trust him that is’, to be truthful it was the only thing I could think of saying at the time, but sparing that man’s life was one of the best things I have ever done.
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; November 09, 2012 at 09:30 AM.

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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 27/4

    An intriguing ending...

    Although I did chuckle at the fact they still call him dogface

    But I hope he hasn't forgotten when he gets back Alfdis will be waiting

    Great work And I'm liking the 'staggered' updates
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 27/4

    Just read through all of this in one sitting. An excellent work like the other. More background on his transformation from Celt to Norse would have been nice though - perhaps in the form of flashbacks? The last battle was particularly well written I thought.
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 27/4

    You should give 'Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief' a read.
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 27/4

    Chapter Six – Fulk the Mean


    I sat working my sword with a whetstone; I had already removed my mail shirt, under shirt and helm, I felt relaxed, the sea breeze cooling my skin, I crossed to where the Frank lay on the floor, I had not tied him up, he was in a camp full of Norse, there would be nowhere for him to run too. I looked at the man with interest, he looked a little older than me, he seemed small for a Frank, but his skill with an axe had been prodigious.

    Halfr had been cooking for the crew, yet another skill that the helmsman and shipwright seemed to possess, two thralls ran amongst the crew handing over food and drink, I motioned to one of them and took two plates of food from him.

    We were encamped on the beach, the bodies of the Franks stacked in a heap a couple of hundred yards away, stripped of anything of value, they hadn’t begun to smell yet, it was too soon for that.

    Our own dead had been laid side by side on a funeral pyre; we had lost a dozen good men, the Franks four times as many. Sven had lit the pyre earlier after cutting the throat of a captured Frank, he had then bathed his hair and face in the man’s blood; and had called out to the Gods, especially dedicating the man’s life force to Odin.

    I stirred the small man with my right foot, he groaned and turned over rubbing his head, he then looked up at me and then at his hands, ‘So Viking you have left my hands untied, I thank you for that, does your mad chieftain plan to kill me, and use me as bathing ointment too?’

    I had to admire the little man’s spirit; he had kept his humour and his manners.

    The even more surprising thing was the man had spoke in Gaelic.

    I answered him back in the same tongue, a wry grin on my face ‘Well, he might, he is prone to bathing in blood. You might be a tad small for his needs though, probably not enough of the red stuff in you for a decent bath’.

    The little man’s face split into a grin, he hadn’t thought I would speak his tongue, little did he know most of the men of the crew spoke it too.

    ‘Hah, so you’re a Briton, what are you doing amongst this bunch of heathens? You’re from the North by your accent; I’m from the Kingdom of Gwynedd, you’re from Cumbria, right?’

    ‘Your good, yes I’m from Cumbria, I’ve been with the Norse for around five years now, blood-hair over there is my adoptive father. My name is Aed’, I waited for the smile to disappear from his face at this latest piece of news, but he just grinned even wider.
    ‘Well lucky old you boyo, their’s you could have ended up as a blood sacrifice and instead you end up as a madman’s son. My name is Huw ap Llewellyn, I’m a sell-sword, I ended up coming to Frankia, when I got fed up with fighting Saxons back home, now I fight the Norse and Franks, well until about two hours ago I did. What do you plan on doing to me?’

    The last question was said with such an evident lack of interest you could have thought he was asking me for directions, I liked Huw. ‘Well, the first thing I’m going to do is feed you, here you go’, I thrust a plate into his hands and sat down on the sand next to him.

    ‘Ta very much Aed, your quite hospitable for a Norse, stroke Gael’.

    ‘Stroke Saxon’, I replied.

    Huw spluttered and almost choked on his food, ‘You’re bloody English, I’ve never sat down with an Englishman yet, even for a free meal, this is a day of firsts. Normally I would split your head open with an axe, but as you are partly made of God’s own race, I will let you live’. He smiled at me through a mouth full of food.

    Between our munching, we told each other our stories, it seemed that Huw had been trained as a warrior from the cradle; his Father and his Grandfather had been warriors and so on and so on. It was in his blood to fight.

    He had ended up in Frankia after being outlawed back home in Gwynedd, the King had taken offence at the little man, after Huw had had an argument with one of the King’s favourites, and had gutted the man on the spot after the man had threatened to horsewhip him.

    The argument had been over a woman, Huw’s sister, a rare beauty according to the Welshman, the man had been heard to say what he would like to do with her, so Huw had done for him instead. Friends had sneaked him out of the country and he had wound up on a merchant ship bound for the lands of the Franks.

    He had been working for ‘Red Cloak’ for a year, and in that time had only be paid twice, Red Cloak, whose name was Fulk, it seemed was a notorious skinflint, but also a very wealthy man, he had accumulated his wealth by preying on other petty lords, and in his time with the Franks, Huw had had to fight numerous times to gain booty for his lord. Fulk even had the nickname ‘the mean’.

    ‘Would you have any objections to fighting with us to get your back pay?’, I left the question dangling like a hook before a salmon, I knew instinctively that Huw was an honourable man and would not wish to turn on his former employer out of avarice, but he may if he felt the man owed him an honest wage.

    He scratched his chin, rubbing the small dark beard that framed his face, ‘Well, he does owe me money, and my loyalty was only ever to his coin, I never gave him my oath of allegiance, so why not. I can lead you and your boys to where he keeps his wealth, its not too far, that’s why he could get here so quick. I told him to wait for more warriors, but he would have none of it, a headstrong man, and vain too, you will have broken his heart destroying his good looks!’

    I beckoned to Sven who was deep in conversation with Halfr about something or other; he excused himself and walked over to me.

    ‘What do you want lad? I was busy with your future Father-in-law’, Sven was a formidable sight, still clad in his war gear and with blood all over his hair and face.

    I quickly explained about Huw and Fulk’s horde of wealth, Sven’s attention was swiftly grabbed. He stared at the Welshman but spoke to me in Norse, ‘Can we trust him, what’s to stop him leading us into an ambush?’

    I replied in the same language, ‘Yes, I think we can, his a mercenary and Fulk owes him wages, plus I have the feeling that Huw does not like the Frank very much’.

    Sven nodded and addressed Huw in his own language, ‘My son tells me that you can lead us to a horde of gold and that he trusts you. I am not so easily convinced, so you will lead us with a rope around your neck which I will hold, my son here will plunge a sword into you if you treat us false. If you are telling the truth I will remove the rope and give you your choice of war gear, a share of the coin and you may go where you wish. What say you man of Gwynedd?’

    Huw stared back at Sven and did not flinch, showing the fierce courage that his nation was renowned for, ‘Well you don’t give a man much choice, so yes, I will lead you with a rope around my neck like a beast to slaughter, only it will be a slaughter of the Franks and not my own, Norseman. You will see that I don’t lie’.
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; November 09, 2012 at 09:31 AM.

  17. #17

    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/5

    Another great chapter This Celt makes me wonder if one day Aed would return home and continue his adventures there
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/5

    Quote Originally Posted by robinzx View Post
    Another great chapter This Celt makes me wonder if one day Aed would return home and continue his adventures there
    Oh, I plan on him wondering around a lot, he may return home one day, but not for a while yet

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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/5

    Indeed. There is a village with his name on it.

    Great update, and I'm glad to see our friend has found someone akin to him.

    2 things I noticed:
    what are doing
    What are you doing?

    And secondly, I've noticed when you use speech you place the punctuation outside the speech-mark... You obviously didn't read my CQ article!



    The punctuation should really go before the speech-mark.

    +rep
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  20. #20
    Rex Anglorvm's Avatar Wrinkly Wordsmith
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    Default Re: A Whale Riders Journey - updated 17/5

    Quote Originally Posted by Shankbot12 View Post
    Indeed. There is a village with his name on it.

    Great update, and I'm glad to see our friend has found someone akin to him.

    2 things I noticed:

    What are you doing?

    And secondly, I've noticed when you use speech you place the punctuation outside the speech-mark... You obviously didn't read my CQ article!



    The punctuation should really go before the speech-mark.

    +rep
    Ah, my poor grasp of puntuation and grammar is exposed to the world

    I will try to do better next time

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