Would one get sued for writing about a trio of near-men, one tall and military in aspect, one short and scruffy and the other normal sized and philosophical and in fact a philosopher king if they lived on another world entirely even if it looked a bit like Yorkshire? Are trios of beings going up a hill generic enough to avoid plagerism but near enough to toss up on a Last of the Summer wine message board? Cleggy would know.
It was a very long and steep hill. Most of the cobblestones that made up the road had been worn smooth by the endless travel of generations of the poor and wretched. Too smooth to gain the sort of traction that a cart needed to make it to the vanishingly distant top of the hill. Especially when the cart contained the relics of the war career of T. Othello Orson.
What a T could have stood for that could possibly have be worse than the sobriquet of Othello Orson, I never discovered. At some point I, and everyone in the regiment, simply started to call him Tell. He hated this which I suspect is we made it his nickname. Annoying Tell was one of the great pleasures of life in the intensely hot jungles that we frequented in the days before I ascended the throne of the Empire. Anyway, he was tall and Tell the tall amused us.
Tell was upfront of the cart, walking along. He was saying somewhat unkind things to the poor collection of bones held together loosely by a horse’s skin that was attempting to pull the cart up the hill. Then he turned and tried to help the poor animal by pulling on the cart himself. He had on a very long scarf that he would sometimes tread on. This made him lose his balance and fall heavily into the cart which really didn’t help the horse very much.
In the rear of the cart there was a scruffy short fellow in raggedy clothes who was pushing. He gave the impression that he was working very hard in his pushing, but I suspect that this was all an elaborate ruse. Scabs had never really worked very hard at anything except enjoying life in his own way which was often at full speed and at the top of his lungs. His nickname had come from his tendency to race along at top speed and then either fall over or collide with something immobile generally while looking the wrong way and yelling. Age had tended to the full speed issue. The crashing into things while talking loudly was undiminished by age.
Tell who had come from my early manhood past and Scabs who had come from my childhood past before reappearing only a few months before from nowhere hadn’t meant until this morning. They were getting along gloriously from my perspective. Tel was slow smoldering until his wick was burnt up and then the explosion was a joy to witness. Scabs was a semi-sentient tinderbox designed to light anyone’s wick. How could this combination not end in excitement was the way I looked at.
“Could you push like you mean it?” Tell yelled from beside. Scabs with his mouth full of biscuit crumbs yells something back that was I think in gnomish and quite unintelligible which was a blessing since a nice Gorlick mother and her seventeen children were wandering down the hill. A good sized family even by Gorlick standards.
The horse which was a bit scatter footed to begin with objected to the noise from his left ear and turned his head to try and viciously take a bite from whatever it was that was making annoying noises. He miscalculated and bit down hard on Tell's scarf. He also bit down hard on his tongue. This caused the poor animal to make his first high speed movement since I had known him. He bolted in a rather sideways direction as the half rotten pole that connected the beast to his burden snapped in twain. The cart went flying back down the hill with Scabs hanging on for dear life and issuing a series of words that appalled the Gorlick mother but delighted her children, the eldest of of whom seemed to be taking notes.
Since the scarf was still between the horse’s teeth and solidly wound around Tell’s neck, the lanky ex-soldier was pulled along at a tremendous rate of speed. He half ran and half bounced along the cobblestones and then through a hedgerow and into a pile of manure that a farmer was saving up for reasons unknown.
Tell ended up headfirst in the amazingly large pile of muck. He kicked his legs and may have been calling for help. I wouldn’t have advised him opening his mouth at this particular junction. Scabs was rapidly vanishing down the very long and steep hill and for all I know he might have been setting a new land speed record for dwarvish kind. His words carried surprisingly well and they were in common. I sat down on the bag of Tell’s laundry that I had been carrying up the hill to help contribute to the cause and I waited to see what would happen next.
Me sitting down watching as Tell was neck deep in trouble while Scabs was heading toward imminent physical danger screaming all the way would pretty much define the next few years of my life. I consider them the best years in the very long life of this Elvish chronicler.
Hello now that we have a free moment, I would like to introduce myself and tell you that I’m pleased to meet you. My title is longer than this page and begins with His Royal Majesty, Protector of the High Realms of… then it becomes geography for quite a while. Frankly I find being a King very boring. It wasn’t supposed to happen and since I saved the entire world and in fact several others peace has rained like a peaceful drizzle from an only mildly overcast sky.
“Let the bureaucrats run the whole thing until we have some other intergalactic crises,” I told my cabinet, and I snapped my fingers. Smoke poured into the room, and I vanished from view. Elvin magic is occasionally useful. There I was happy as a lark in a little tavern half a world away from anyone who could possibly know me.
An amusing little argument was going on better a hobgoblin the size of a small house and an undersized dwarf how apparently had been drinking rather more than his pocketbook allowed for. Once I realized the slightly unhinged short guy was Scabs… Well, another magic word and the two of us were running away from the cozy little tavern and the hobgoblin. Really, I only meant to freeze the burly bouncer, not the entire bar. These things do happen.
Oh, an irate farmer seems to be pulling on Tell’s legs and demanding to know why he is harming the pile of manure. I suppose I better go sort this out. The trials of story telling on the road in real time. It all gets quite confusing. Ah and there is a resounding crash from far down the road. I think the cart has come to rest. Anyway pleased to meet you.
It was a very long and steep hill. Most of the cobblestones that made up the road had been worn smooth by the endless travel of generations of the poor and wretched. Too smooth to gain the sort of traction that a cart needed to make it to the vanishingly distant top of the hill. Especially when the cart contained the relics of the war career of T. Othello Orson.
What a T could have stood for that could possibly have be worse than the sobriquet of Othello Orson, I never discovered. At some point I, and everyone in the regiment, simply started to call him Tell. He hated this which I suspect is we made it his nickname. Annoying Tell was one of the great pleasures of life in the intensely hot jungles that we frequented in the days before I ascended the throne of the Empire. Anyway, he was tall and Tell the tall amused us.
Tell was upfront of the cart, walking along. He was saying somewhat unkind things to the poor collection of bones held together loosely by a horse’s skin that was attempting to pull the cart up the hill. Then he turned and tried to help the poor animal by pulling on the cart himself. He had on a very long scarf that he would sometimes tread on. This made him lose his balance and fall heavily into the cart which really didn’t help the horse very much.
In the rear of the cart there was a scruffy short fellow in raggedy clothes who was pushing. He gave the impression that he was working very hard in his pushing, but I suspect that this was all an elaborate ruse. Scabs had never really worked very hard at anything except enjoying life in his own way which was often at full speed and at the top of his lungs. His nickname had come from his tendency to race along at top speed and then either fall over or collide with something immobile generally while looking the wrong way and yelling. Age had tended to the full speed issue. The crashing into things while talking loudly was undiminished by age.
Tell who had come from my early manhood past and Scabs who had come from my childhood past before reappearing only a few months before from nowhere hadn’t meant until this morning. They were getting along gloriously from my perspective. Tel was slow smoldering until his wick was burnt up and then the explosion was a joy to witness. Scabs was a semi-sentient tinderbox designed to light anyone’s wick. How could this combination not end in excitement was the way I looked at.
“Could you push like you mean it?” Tell yelled from beside. Scabs with his mouth full of biscuit crumbs yells something back that was I think in gnomish and quite unintelligible which was a blessing since a nice Gorlick mother and her seventeen children were wandering down the hill. A good sized family even by Gorlick standards.
The horse which was a bit scatter footed to begin with objected to the noise from his left ear and turned his head to try and viciously take a bite from whatever it was that was making annoying noises. He miscalculated and bit down hard on Tell's scarf. He also bit down hard on his tongue. This caused the poor animal to make his first high speed movement since I had known him. He bolted in a rather sideways direction as the half rotten pole that connected the beast to his burden snapped in twain. The cart went flying back down the hill with Scabs hanging on for dear life and issuing a series of words that appalled the Gorlick mother but delighted her children, the eldest of of whom seemed to be taking notes.
Since the scarf was still between the horse’s teeth and solidly wound around Tell’s neck, the lanky ex-soldier was pulled along at a tremendous rate of speed. He half ran and half bounced along the cobblestones and then through a hedgerow and into a pile of manure that a farmer was saving up for reasons unknown.
Tell ended up headfirst in the amazingly large pile of muck. He kicked his legs and may have been calling for help. I wouldn’t have advised him opening his mouth at this particular junction. Scabs was rapidly vanishing down the very long and steep hill and for all I know he might have been setting a new land speed record for dwarvish kind. His words carried surprisingly well and they were in common. I sat down on the bag of Tell’s laundry that I had been carrying up the hill to help contribute to the cause and I waited to see what would happen next.
Me sitting down watching as Tell was neck deep in trouble while Scabs was heading toward imminent physical danger screaming all the way would pretty much define the next few years of my life. I consider them the best years in the very long life of this Elvish chronicler.
Hello now that we have a free moment, I would like to introduce myself and tell you that I’m pleased to meet you. My title is longer than this page and begins with His Royal Majesty, Protector of the High Realms of… then it becomes geography for quite a while. Frankly I find being a King very boring. It wasn’t supposed to happen and since I saved the entire world and in fact several others peace has rained like a peaceful drizzle from an only mildly overcast sky.
“Let the bureaucrats run the whole thing until we have some other intergalactic crises,” I told my cabinet, and I snapped my fingers. Smoke poured into the room, and I vanished from view. Elvin magic is occasionally useful. There I was happy as a lark in a little tavern half a world away from anyone who could possibly know me.
An amusing little argument was going on better a hobgoblin the size of a small house and an undersized dwarf how apparently had been drinking rather more than his pocketbook allowed for. Once I realized the slightly unhinged short guy was Scabs… Well, another magic word and the two of us were running away from the cozy little tavern and the hobgoblin. Really, I only meant to freeze the burly bouncer, not the entire bar. These things do happen.
Oh, an irate farmer seems to be pulling on Tell’s legs and demanding to know why he is harming the pile of manure. I suppose I better go sort this out. The trials of story telling on the road in real time. It all gets quite confusing. Ah and there is a resounding crash from far down the road. I think the cart has come to rest. Anyway pleased to meet you.