#april fool's day seemed an appropriate time to post about events which never happened

[boarchasers]

One For Another

((This needs the Read More, so I guess we’ll just have to deal with tumblr’s broken formatting.))

lycannalla:

Character Exploration Challenge I

Think back to a pivotal point in your character’s story. It may be them deciding to leave home, or deciding to join a guild. Maybe it’s a tragedy that put them on the path they’re on now. Whatever it is, consider what would happen if they didn’t make that choice or the opposite happened. Where would they be now? How would they be different? What would be the same? 

It wasn't hard to find the tent. The Nord inside might have been a hunter, but when it came to his camp, stealth was out of the question. A wolfhound was stretched out beside the fire, snuffling occasionally, and the sound of metal scraping on wood, accompanied occasionally by cursing, came from under the canvas.

Canvas was something of a misnomer, too. This was not, as tents went, a luxury example. It was barely a tent at all. A deep red cloak was held up by a pair of sticks and tied to a convenient pine tree and that, essentially, was that. Apart from some furs to sleep on, the only covering for the ground underneath was a thick mat of pine needles. They deadened the footsteps of anybody approaching. In theory. Frithjofr couldn't sneak through an empty, unlit cave in the middle of the night. He got as far as the fireplace before the dog jumped up and the scraping noise stopped.

'Who's there?'

The hem of the cloak was pushed back and a sullen, suspicious face, covered in a thin beard, looked out. When it saw the dog bouncing around Frithjofr's heels, it broke into a smile.

'Uncle Frith!'

''Lo. Minnel sent me up to look for you. Everything all right?'

'Just practising my carving. I'm not as good as Hjolrin.' Haaki held up the lump of wood he was working on in rough, hardened fingers, complete with a fresh scar across the knuckle. 'Um, it's supposed to be a fox.'

'Better'n anything I could do.'

'Sit down. I've got some potatoes I can cook.'

Giving Dog one last scratch behind the ears, Frithjofr settled himself on his knees beside the fire, scuffing up his leggins with soot. Haaki scraped some of the embers from the fire with his boot and dropped a couple of potatoes on them before sitting down himself. As soon as he was down Dog trotted over and rested his head in his master's lap. Haaki fondled his ears idly and asked,

'Why did Minnel send you? I'm fine. I'm not a kid any more.'

'You'll always be a kid to her.'

'Nobody ever goes looking for Hjoll, and she and Brandy're older than him, too. It's not fair.'

Haaki prodded the potatoes with a stick, and jabbed at one so hard that the skin burst. He swore under his breath, glanced guiltily around, and when Frithjofr didn't comment, did his best to poke the inside of the potato back inside. There was clearly something else on Frithjofr's mind. After picking up a stick of his own and twirling it between his fingers a few times, he said,

'Uh, 's not just about checking up on you.'

Haaki's hand stopped stroking Dog's head.

'It's about the Legion. Isn't it?'

'Uh. Aye. She wanted me to try 'n talk to you--'

'I know she did. You won’t change my mind.'

Unbidden, both of their heads turned, just for a second, to look at the cloak tent. There was an old, faded stain at one end, over where the chest would be if someone was wearing it. Haaki looked back to the fire first.

'She's worried,' said Frithjofr. Haaki concentrated all of his attention on the disembowelled potato.

'It wouldn't happen to me.'

'Could happen to anyone.'

'The war's practically over now.'

'It was practically over when--'

'You're not going to stop me. Minnel's tried and Brandy's tried and Hjolrin's tried and now you've tried, but I'm going to go anyway. It's... it's a point of honour, isn't it? You said you wanted to be in the Legion once.'

'Nah, said I respected the Legion. 'S different. I can't tell the pointy end of a sword from the other one. What good'd I be?'

'I'm trained. I'm good with a bow and better with a crossbow.'

There was a long silence, filled with Dog's sniffing and a log shifting in the fire. It wasn't until Haaki removed the potatoes and handed over the one still intact that Frithjofr said,

''M not gonna stop you. I just want to know you know what you're leaving behind. Somebody'll have to look after Dog--'

'Hjolrin will.'

'--and Finnr'll miss you. So will everyone. They've already lost one brother, one uncle. I mean, 'm not a Boar-Chaser, not properly, but I know how important you are to each other. That's obvious even to me. Minnel still keeps his shield on the wall. Hjolrin never talks to anyone since... y'know. And Brandy's always telling me he's going to sell his books, but he never does, and y'know why? Because you hold onto each other. They don't want to lose him for good and they don't want to lose you.' Frithjofr bit into the potato and mumbled around it, 'That's all I got to say.'

---------------------------------------------------

Frithjofr and Minnel deciding to leave for Cyrodiil is a pivotal point for every Boar-Chaser, so it seemed appropriate (and efficient) to use it for this prompt.

The first and most obvious result is that neither Minnel nor Finnr are killed by legionnaires, and Frithjofr doesn’t get into his various troubles. Instead he continues to help out on the Boar-Chaser farm, eventually moving into a small house of their own a little further west on the Whiterun Plains. There’s no Burd, and no nirngoats; they live a fairly humdrum and unremarkable life, raising Finnr amongst his family.

This leads to Frithjofr becoming a much calmer man. He has better control over his thoughts, and is less prone to amble into danger, but he’s also less sympathetic to people in difficult situations. His morals haven’t been challenged in the way they were during his Cyrodiil adventures. He continues to believe that Stealing Is Always Bad, never having experienced the desperation some people are forced to and with the constant presence of Trond (initially - we’ll get to that). Generally speaking, he’s not quite as sympathetic to people on the fringes of society, be they common thieves or followers of Sheogorath. He never meets a considerably number of his current friends, and if he does, the consequences may be quite, quite different - Tortulja and Luth, for example, wouldn’t find him so sympathetic, nor as endearingly stupid, and his close friendships with them would never have the chance to grow.

His cowardice is less likely to change, although the Boar-Chasers are quite insistent about what it means to be a Real Nord. Most of the time, if they will allow it, Frithjofr remains content to stay at home with Finnr while Minnel takes care of anything remotely courageous.

Having someone like Frithjofr around to compare himself to boosts Trond’s confidence further (as if it needs it). Knowing that his sister will still be around to help the family, and without the resentment the circumstances of her death fostered, Trond tries for the Legion again and this time, with the Civil War creating a constant demand for new troops, gets accepted. Unfortunately, unlike guard work, there’s no option of ducking into the nearest alley away from danger when things get rough. He’s struck down by a Stormcloak shortly after joining. His personal effects are sent home and divided among the remaining Boar-Chasers -- his shield goes to Minnel, his books go to Brandrel, his sword goes to Hjolrin and his cloak goes to Haaki.

With Minnel’s help, Brandrel survives his fight against the bear. The Boar-Chaser farm becomes his responsibility when Minnel moves out with Frithjofr, and he does a much better job at caring for it than Hjolrin, Trond and Haaki do in the real timeline. As much as Trond’s death upsets him, he tries to channel all of that emotion into his work, leaving no time to pursue his amorous interests in Rodda Cold-Tree (or anyone else, for that matter) but creating a thriving farmstead.

On the more definitively negative side, Hjolrin retreats into himself, as he does in the real timeline, but even more severely. Neither Minnel nor Brandrel are as skilled at bringing him out of himself as Trond was. Without Trond there running his mouth to fill any awkward silences, Hjolrin is even less likely to attend any social events, and he’s rarely obliged to since Minnel is still the official head of the clan. He’s never introduced to Arlain, and spends the majority of his time alone in his camp, isolating himself even from his family. Haaki is the only person who ever really talks to him, and in this world Haaki is usually busy pursuing his own independent hunting work.

Because without the same purpose Minnel’s death gave him, and not having been as close to Trond, it takes a while for Haaki’s innate passion for Vengeance!™ to manifest itself. He evidently maintains his stubbornness (and his personal belief that the world is unfairly biased against him), and his dedication to his family is just as strong, too; the difference is that this time he has more support, and from his favourite people, in dealing with the loss. He completes his apprenticeship with Hjolrin and, at his brother’s insistence on being left alone, sets up his own camp in the woods. He can be hostile to unexpected guests in case they turn out to be part of a Stormcloak scouting party, who will not find any sympathy from him.

Eventually, however, his nature gets the better of him, and his anger over losing a brother festers. This time, rather than run off to the Stormcloaks, he aims for the Legion, instead. He proves luckier than Trond. His ultimate fate would depend on the canonised outcome of the Civil War, but he is moved from infantry to archery, where he serves with honour until the war’s conclusion - not having the ulterior motive of hunting down Frithjofr means he never has any reason to desert. The psychological scars warfare leaves on him are nothing compared to his current path - in the end, it makes him a more disciplined, reasonable person, who better understands the fortunes of war and why Trond was taken from him.

He never spends time in Windhelm. Happily for him, this means he never runs into Hlenil. Unhappily, he never meets Sibby, either - and without his rebellious, adventurous side, it’s questionable whether she would show the same interest in him even if they did meet. Much like Frithjofr, Haaki doesn’t develop a lot of his closest friendships, either, and never adopts Splendid (the dog or the religious zeal).

[rfhusnik]

The Return Of The Man From The Green City Part One

                                      Written By: Rashon Leyf I’ve heard they’re all special in the eyes of the universal masters; thus, I’ll send this to those I consider to be especially so. And, after all, let’s face it, they all have their freedoms – still, no matter have past dictators, radicals of the political left or right, religious zealots, or radio and television talk show hosts tried to wrest those opportunities to tell an ever-changing world that they’re real, and that they matter, from them. Outside today, the most significant of the twelve months nears its ending. But, despite its unusual entrance from March, this year’s installment of April still provided its supplied and usual symbolisms. Now is a new beginning. Now is a chance to start over - but only if we’re really sorry for mistakes we’ve made. And, although we’re told all is warming, April promised us the reality of a cold and bitter winter which might easily last beyond its appropriateness. But, in my mind, and probably for a long time (well into May or June) I’ll tell myself it’s still April beginning. And using that prosaic template, I’ll now write these words to a very special man who’s come to us yet once more from his home in the green city. My recognition is that yesterday, had we known then what we know today, we might have avoided certain evil. Yet, the plastic component we applied to past mistakes allowed them to show  through when, in momentary comprehensions, their content seemed especially blameful. And, thus, most likely they’ll now remain in our minds no matter if they were forgiven. But, some of life’s travelers say their errors can now be placed in an altered perspective by a new wind just beginning to blow from the left side of morality.   And a lot of people may not realize what the actual consequences of what they wish for would  be. And such people usually only judge the conduct of others. Their own actions are left without critique. And sometimes such people quickly condemn honest efforts of others, yet have no resolutions to offer for problems they can’t help but note. And, often the small victories such people supposedly achieve, are eventually shown to be but normal byproducts of time passing by.   And just now, as I’m looking at the list of items Ralph wants me to “touch upon” in this piece, I can see that I’ll probably need to ask him to divide this particular writing into two posts – something I know he dislikes doing. But, I fear there’s just too much to be said here. And, oh yes, I have some of my own “stuff” to share also. First of all, Amber and I receive numerous contacts from people who say they’re concerned about us. And for that, we’re humbled. And we thank all those who keep us in their thoughts and prayers.   But, in reply I must say, “No, Amber and I aren’t the only minority type people living in this city – not by a long shot! Truthfully, the ratio of whites to minorities here is basically the same as anywhere else in this nation, although this city is not like any other in the nation – and again, not by a long shot! And, a number of other blacks and Hispanics were already living here when Amber and I arrived here. And Amber and I made a conscious decision to relocate here. We moved here at the beckon call of Ralph Hawk, who had convinced both of us that his “calling” was indeed based on other realities of earthly life. And thus, since no one, including minorities lives what would probably be termed a “normal” existence in this city, Amber and I have decided upon this bold approach to life here. We’ve determined that we’ll not allow anyone, regardless of his or her race or political or religious background, to inflict any sort of blame, or condemnation of lifestyle upon us. And we’ll live our lives as we please in this city of strangeness, despite any outside criminal sexual conduct by males, radical feminism by females, domestic and international terrorism, fake news, religious problems which run the gamut from intolerance to careless statements made to the media, illegal immigration problems, bureaucrats and politicians in the nation’s capital who care only about themselves, media and entertainment characters who bend the truth, tell outright lies, and make fools of themselves as they host mid-day and late night television programs on which they demean national leaders and their spouses, and ridiculous probes (conducted at great taxpayer expense) into supposed events which never occurred. And Amber and I will never leave this city. And had you ever been so fortunate as to have been asked to relocate here, you’d have made the same commitment. But, one of the sad things I’ve noticed while I’ve been here, is that stories come and go from inside to outside this city, and then also from outside to inside it. And many times I and many others can’t know if the happenings and people spoken of in those tales ever really happened, or ever really existed in the world you and I know as real.   And so we face the eternal quandary yet again when we confront such anecdotes as the one about the teenager who drove a 1957 Chev, but had to leave it behind, and begin to enjoy a 1967 Airplane when he was forced to relocate near Haight-Ashbury because of draft board harassment. And then we also heard of the young literary woman who hated all men because her dad didn’t want her to move to Manhattan. And of course there was also the one about the guys who supposedly tied a pair of men’s long underwear across a roadway late at night, only to have it become entangled in a school bus’s rear view mirror the next morning.     And what about the guy who threw a bag of garbage on the lawn of some people who lived a few miles away, only to find it lying on his own lawn the next day? And then of course there was the one about the guy and woman who got caught pleasuring one another in a school broom closet; and, a couple of people even said that man was the same guy whom the cops had pulled over only weeks earlier because he’d been, as they termed it, “playing car tag” with another vehicle which had left the scene just before they’d arrived on it. And, of course, while speaking of sex and cars, there’s also the one about the guy and girl in the back seat of a police car which was being driven by an officer at the time. Someone said they may have been doing things they shouldn’t have been doing as he drove them to the police station.   But the one that always got me the most, was the one in which the guy who was always bragging about how good his cigarettes were, was hauled out of his home one day and taken down to the municipal court where he was made to testify before a judge. “Okay, tell this court the truth about the complaints we’ve heard about you. Have you been lying to your family, friends, and others?” asked the judge. “No, your honor” replied the hapless chap. “Every word I’ve said is true. I only smoke such types of cigarettes which I’ve learned through experience will deliver full rich tobacco flavor to me. And, also, I prefer those brands which feature what I term ‘easy drawing filters’. With such types of filters I needn’t strain myself every time I wish to take a drag. But, I’m still waiting for the development of what I call ‘glowing filters’. With such cigarettes, you know, guys like me, who like to ‘tie one on’ every once in a while, won’t need to worry about lighting the wrong ends of our cigarettes when we leave a bar, and it’s real dark outside.” But those stories constitute but a meager few of the many that reach us here in the city. There are many more – many many more! But I can’t repeat any more now. I’ve allotted enough space to such tales already. And yet, I’ve told the ones I’ve always found to be the most fascinating; except for one other which I’ll (hopefully be able to) relate in the second installment of this posting. And I know that as a person of color, my thoughts should focus much more upon such places and topics as the enslavement of my ancestors, what happened at the Lorraine Hotel fifty years ago, what’s “going down” in the hood, who’s performing at the Apollo, and many other such topics. And I do often think about those things. But yet, sometimes, I can’t help it, I find myself picturing that young man in San Francisco long ago. And can you see him? He’s placing a new covering across a window through which he often peers and sees people and a city in motion. And he knows those people and that large city (by the bay) are waiting and praying for an end to a worthless war being fought far away. And in the past I often asked about that young girl who radically disliked males. “Did she ever make it to Manhattan?” And one day someone finally answered that question for me. “Yes,” she said. “But she only stayed there for a brief while. She didn’t like New York. It wasn’t what she thought it would be.” “Where is she now? And what’s she doing now?” I asked then.   “I heard she’s moved to the capital of France. And now she lives with two other females not far from Tour Eiffel.” But see, such are the mind wanderings which occur to some of us here in this city when we receive a rare visit from that so-called “man from the green city”. And while he was still here, I asked him, “Man from the green city, why don’t you relocate here, and live with us in this city?” “I’m not worthy to live among people such as you” he replied. But then he also said, “But you know, someone told me that the man from the blue city might move here soon.” I’ve always believed that there’s only so much melding that can be done in a melding pot. So, instead of subjecting many mortals to pot, and extreme racial blending, maybe the leaders of our times should stress that all mortals should try to live out their lives in the nations in which they were born. And, also, it might be likewise constructive if we could hold on to the greatest of the legal differences between respective races. And when I look out the back window, and notice quietude, that’s when I’m happy! And I’m especially joyous when it’s that month which, by its very nature offers all men and women a chance to start over once again. Yes, obliging month, you who begin with a day dedicated to fools, you’re inclusive message is anything but foolish. And, on this day of the calendar’s fourth month, I want to express my sincere basic thanks to all such citizens of The United States Of America who, by one legal means or another (employment in either the private or public sectors, or in group or self-employment situations, or in retirement, or as investors, etc.) are supplying themselves with what they need to survive. But I also have words of encouragement for those who are truthfully working toward the goal of that previous sentence. And, I especially honor those who, while they support themselves, also strive to better life for others in the American states. And recently my friends Renni Maes and F. John Surells were married in a very nice white wedding. And since then, of course everyone here in our city has been asking when Amber and I will likewise “tie the knot”. The answer:  Soon, but ours will be a very nice non-white wedding. And my friends, if I’ve never said or written this to you before, hear or read it now:  We who live in this city are especially charged to both watch for, and comment upon possible mistakes and evils which we may note surfacing in societies outside our guarded existence! And in that vein then, and without any further discussion on my part (and without any further discussion simply because I have so much else to say in this piece and can’t allot any more words to this subject), “Woe to the Christian religion when its greatest ambassador tells an unknowing world that Lucifer’s domain does not really exist! And if Lucifer’s domain doesn’t really exist, are we to infer then that he also is only a myth? The Christian Bible, though presented with differing amounts of “books” by various Christian denominations, does contain many references to hell and Lucifer (or Satan as he’s more often called). And it also often warns Christians of the deviousness of Satan and his subordinate angels (or devils as they’ve been referred to since their “falling out with God”). And if there is no hell, and no Lucifer to provide some sort of punishment to those who, without ever expressing sincere remorse for doing so, continue to practice great evil, then what else is there but temporal courts to chastise such types? And what if evildoers die in the commission of great evil, or before the date a temporal court was to have sentenced them for their crimes? And be honest, don’t you believe that the lack of any fear of what might befall one in an afterlife could serve as a motivation for one to commit heinous temporal acts?   And I’d ask you also to think upon probably the greatest (and worst) example of such a person I’ve just now been alluding to. What about Adolf Hitler? He committed suicide before facing any court. And, in the absence of any hell, are we to believe then that the person who’s usually considered the most diabolical of all time simply “faded away” and was never held accountable for what he’d done? I’m a man who has certain personal initiatives, but yet, I’m probably more of a reactor to the reported actions (real or fake) of others. And thus I guess I’m only asking for common sense in regard to the so-called “gun debate” of recent times. And I’m recognizing that certain guns should be outlawed, and that measures must be taken to keep guns away from the mentally ill. But, I’m admitting that the second part of the previous sentence will be difficult to achieve. And, while I’m sympathizing with the victims of gun violence, I’m also understanding that just like alcohol and illegal drugs which once were, and currently still are banned from public ownership, guns will never fade away from the reality of everyday life in the U.S.A. Oh, but the strangeness of the city I live in overwhelms my being every moment of every day. And the masters of literature, about whom, and to whom I’ll speak in what I’m assuming will be the second part of this piece, continue to organize my existence here, while they simultaneously grant new freedoms to all (including myself) users of creative words. And the last thing I asked the man from the green city before his departure was “Is life improving in the green city?”   And he answered, “Oh, it basically stays the same, except perhaps that some say it’s real existence and significance are at this time still untitled. Yet, personally, I’m always trying to be good; but I guess human robots and football personnel are the real heroes near the Fox River.”