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Author Topic: The Traveller. A short story in instalments. Part: The final.  (Read 7529 times)
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Mannix
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« Reply #30 on: 19 July 2008, 18:13:48 »

Don't like scousers.  Hmph, well I never.
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Tharoc Wargrider
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« Reply #31 on: 19 July 2008, 19:41:39 »

NO, I didn't say I don't like Scousers, just the accent.Well, mainly the really strong side of it.
I have a very good friend from the 'pool, we've been restoring a VW Beetle together for a year or so now.

So there.  Put your lip away!
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« Reply #32 on: 19 July 2008, 21:17:54 »

I know Tharoc, I was only joking.  I don't have the accent anymore anyway.  Actually, when I hear it I do thing it sounds strange, especially the double oo. :D
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« Reply #33 on: 20 July 2008, 04:58:17 »


                                             THE TRAVELLER
                                              Part: The last.


“You mean you took it off me while we’ve been driving along?” I asked, amazed.
He nodded, watching me all the time with those little black ratty eyes.
“That’s impossible,” I said. “You’d have had to undo the buckle and slide the whole thing out through the loops all the way round. I’d have seen you doing it. And even if I hadn’t seen you, I’d have felt it.”
“Ah, but yer din’t, did yer?” he said, triumphantly. He dropped the belt into his lap, and now all at once there was a black bootlace dangling from his fingers. “And what about this then?” he exclaimed, waving the lace.
“What about it?” I said.
“Anyone round ‘ere missin’ a bootlace?” he asked, grinning.
I glanced down at my boots. The lace of one of them was missing.
“What!” I said. “How did you manage that? I never saw you bend down.”
“You never saw nuthin’,” he said proudly. “You never even saw me move a nailsbreadth. An’ y’know why?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because you’ve got fantastic fingers.”
“Zackly so!” he cried. “You catches on pretty quick, don’t ya?” He sat back and sucked away on his pipe, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream, punctuated with the occasional ring. He knew he had impressed me greatly with these two tricks, and that made him very happy. “I don’ want t’be late, “ he said. “What time is it?”
“There’s a time-candle in the lantern in front of you.” I told him.
“No there ain’t.” he said.
“You’ve taken that, too,” I gasped.
He held out his hand and there was my time-candle in his palm.
“Are you married, guv’nor?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Jus’ noticed that you ain’t wearin’ no ring, is all.”
I jerked my hand up and sure enough, my wedding ring had vanished.
“Nice bit o’ stuff, this is,” he said. “Superior quality. Nice n’ ‘eavy. Easy to sell, too. Never ‘ave any bother getting’ rid of quality goods.”
“I’d like it back, if you don’t mind,” I said, rather huffily.
He placed the ring carefully in his lap along with my belt, bootlace and time-candle.
“I wouldn’ nick anyfin’ from you, guv’nor.” he said. “You’re my pal. You’re givin’ me a lift.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I said.
“All I’m doin’ is answerin’ your question,” he went on. “You asked me what I do fer a livin’ an’ I’m showin’ yer.”
“What else have you got of mine?” I asked him.

He smiled again, and started to take from the various pockets of his jacket one thing after another that belonged to me – my traders permit, a small steel ring holding the keys to my house and offices, some coins, a letter from a customer, a travelling quill and ink bottle, a small knife, and last of all, a beautiful Heartstone and Elfstone ring belonging to my wife. I was taking the ring to a jewellers in Remusiat because one of the Heartstones was missing.

“Now there’s  another lovely piece o’ goods,” he said, turning the ring over in his fingers. “An’ very old, too, if I’m not mistook. Am I right, guv’nor?”
“You’re quite right,” I said, impressed with his knowledge. “You’re absolutely right.”
He put the ring in his lap with the other items.
“So, you’re a pickpocket,” I said.
“I don’ like that word,” he answered. “It’s a coarse an’ vulgar word, is that. Pickpockets is coarse an’ vulgar people ‘oo only do easy little amateur jobs. They lift money from ol’ ladies.”
“What do you call yourself, then?”
“Me? I’m a fingersmith, is what I am. A professional fingersmith.” He spoke the words solemnly and proudly, as though he were telling me he was Master of the School of Ximaxian Magic, or the Chief Priest of Santharia.

“I’ve never heard that word before,” I said. “Did you invent it?”
“Course I di’nt inven’ it,” he replied. “It’s the name what’s given to them as ‘as risen to th’ very top ‘o their trade. You’ve ‘eard of a goldsmith an’ a silversmith, f’rinstance. They’re experts wi’ gold an’ silver. Well, I’m an expert wi’ my fingers, see, so I’m a fingersmith.”
“It must be a very interesting job.”
“It’s a marvellous job,” he answered, “It’s luvly.”
“And is that why you go to the cock-fights?”
“Fight meetings is easy meat,” he said. “You just ‘as t’stand aroun’ after th’fight, watchin’ fer the lucky ones t’queue up an’ draw their winnin’s. An’ when y’see someone collectin’ a big bundle o’cash, y’simply follows ‘im an’ ‘elps yerself. But don’ get me wrong, guv’nor. I never takes nuffin’ from a loser. Not from poor folk neither. I only goes after them as can afford it, the winners an’ the rich.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I said. “How often do you get caught?”
“Caught?” he cried, disgusted. “Me get caught! It’s only pickpockets what gets caught. Fingersmiths never does. Listen, I could have the teeth out of yer ‘ead if I wanted ‘em, an’ yer wouldn’t even catch me!”
I believed him. Those long, elegant fingers of his seemed able to do anything.

We drove on for a while without talking.
“That sergeant’s going to check up on you pretty thoroughly,” I said. “Doesn’t that worry you a little?”
“Ain’t nobody goin’ t’be checkin’ up on me,” he said.
“Of course they are. He’s got your name and address written down most carefully on his scroll.”
The man gave me another of his sly, ratty little smiles. “Ah” he said. “So ‘ee ‘as. But I’ll bet ‘ee ain’t got it all written down in ‘is ‘ead as well. I’ve never known a Watchman yet wiv a decent memory. Some of ‘em can’t even remember their own bloody names.”
“What’s his memory got to do with it?” I asked. “It’s written down on his scroll, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, guv’nor, it is. Trouble is, ‘ee’s lost the scroll, ain’t ‘ee. Matter of fact, ‘ee’s lost both of ‘em, the one wiv my name on it and the one wi’ yours.”

In the delicate fingers of his right hand, the man was holding up triumphantly the parchment scrolls he had removed from the sergeants pockets.
“Easiest job I ever done,” he announced proudly.
I nearly swerved Nightshade into an oncoming cart laden with milk churns in my excitement.
“That sergeants got nuffin’ on either of us now,” he said.
“You’re a genius!” I cried.
“’Ee’s got no names, no addresses, no traders permit number, no nuffin’,” he said.
“You’re brilliant!”
“I fink you’d better pull off this main road as soon as possible,” he said. “Then we’d better build ourselves a little fire an’ burn these ‘ere scrolls.”
“You’re an amazing fellow!” I exclaimed.
“Thank you, guv’nor,” he said. “It’s always nice t’be appreciated.”



Right, confession time.

While I can claim credit for the Santharization of this story, credit for creating the original must go to Roald Dahl, a writer of whom I am a big fan.

I decided to Santharize this tale as a way of 'kick-starting' my brain into creative mode. After the RL events of the past few weeks, every time I sat in front of the screen to do a bit of developing, my brain froze. I couldn't get it to move away from the problems I was having in RL. So, being an impatient sort of chap, I decided to force the issue by 'translating' one of my favourite Dahl stories into a form my fellow Dreamers could appreciate. I was never intending to try and have it included on-site as my own work.

I suppose I could have done it in WORD and kept it as a RL exercise, but I felt that I needed to be inside the Dream to 're-acclimatize' myself, as it were.

So, there you have it. As a mental exercise, it has definately worked. Over the last few days I have had several new ideas, some of which you may have seen me discussing briefly in some of the forums. And with a renewed energy it shouldn't be too long before you start to see the results.

Hope you enjoyed the story, by the way.


« Last Edit: 20 July 2008, 05:03:40 by Tharoc Wargrider » Logged

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« Reply #34 on: 20 July 2008, 13:43:18 »

Glad to have you back Tharoc. grin Nice story by the way.  Can't wait for whatever your developing.

Mannix
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Ta`lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #35 on: 20 July 2008, 16:48:42 »

Tharoc, how much did you change? This is a great story and if you renarrated it freely, we might be able to use it, with a hint and reverence to Dahl. (Oh, I know him as well, he some nasty stories written, mean ones, if I recall the right one correctly)

I don't think, that there are cockfights in Remusiat, do these birds even live there? Just think at something a icetribe might do. a wison duell?  don't know right now, how the mating section looks like.. or a wison race...... every event where people watch would do, right?

Or think up an event in Barsalon - if we can take the story, that is.
« Last Edit: 20 July 2008, 16:52:04 by Talia Sturmwind » Logged

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Tharoc Wargrider
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« Reply #36 on: 20 July 2008, 19:33:51 »

I'm glad you enjoyed the story, Talia, as I said, it's one of my favourites. I have changed quite a lot of the tale; the locations (obviously!), the occupations, the names, the horse was originally a BMW, the sergeant was a policeman, etc etc. The main thing I have changed is the language spoken, but the conversation is basically very similar to the original.
I don't want this to be put forward as an entry as it isn't entirely my own work. As I said, it was done as a way of getting myself back in the 'zone' of developing.
I realise that a lot of entries on the site will have been influenced by other peoples work, and perhaps use ideas taken from other sources, but that is how developing works. It would be unfair, if not downright illegal, to put this forward as my work.

I have to say though, I had fun doing it, and I can recommend it as a way of clearing your head if you ever find yourself in a mental rut.

If anyone would like to read the original story, just to see how I changed it, read Roald Dahl's "The Hitchhiker".
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Alysse the Likely
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« Reply #37 on: 23 July 2008, 08:15:14 »

@Talia:  Not ALL Roald Dahl is nasty...just warped.  My kids adore his children's stories, and so did/do I.


@Tharoc:  Good job Santharizing this tale!  As a huge Dahlian fan, myself, I figured it out by the end of the third paragraph of your first installment, but that did not dispel my enjoyment of the tale in the slightest.  Actually, it made it more fun, seeing how you transposed it into a suitably Santharian context.



Well, I certainly look forwards to seeing what you have planned for the next little while.  Me, I have a famous lady orc to work on...


Alysse
« Last Edit: 23 July 2008, 08:30:03 by Alysse the Likely » Logged

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« Reply #38 on: 24 July 2008, 03:23:10 »

AHHH! The good lady Ch'oan!  I can't wait to meet her!

I'm putting The Daughters Of Ch'oan on hold until you have finished with her, as I can then integrate them with your work. I'm also going to make sure they fit in with Azhiras Kaaer tribe, as she said she fancies having some interaction between them.

And I'm glad you like the Pirates idea. It should be relatively easy to put up a basic entry, as I'm going to base it on the facts of RL piracy, with a Santh twist where neccesary. The fun should start when I create the individual pirates/crews/ships.
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