#sims 3 historical story

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The Scotsman and the Culdee of Innish Breacaimsir, Chapter Two

“Yes. I get supplies every so often from one of the brothers on Iona,” Caedmon said.

“Iona!” Alasdair said, standing up and wrapping the blanket around himself. He at least knew where Iona was, although there was a strange feeling at the back of his head, as if he wasn’t remembering something correctly. “And how far by boat is that? When will the brother arrive?”

“Oh…” Caedmon said. “Uh, on the quarter-days and cross-quarter days, usually. He last came in on Saint John’s Eve. And it’s just after Lammas…so he’ll next be in on Michaelmas.” 

“So that’s a month,” Alasdair said. He looked again at the cell they were in–there was barely enough room for one of them, and he was much taller than Caedmon. Certainly there was only one pallet. And he had stolen the blanket to cover himself. It would be a very long and disagreeable month, especially with only a blanket for clothing.

“It’s fine, I can sleep in my robes,” Caedmon said before Alasdair could say anything. “I do that often in the winter. Otherwise I might wake up dead from cold. And we can split the pallet. I’ve been too vain, sleeping on such thick hay.”

“Do you not have any other clothes I could wear?” Alasdair asked.

“I’m a hermit,” Caedmon reminded him. “I’m not supposed to have a lot of clothes.”

“I can’t take your blanket!”

“Saint Martin gave his cloak to the beggar without expecting the beggar to give him anything in return,” said Caedmon, piously crossing himself. “And it’s much too cold here for you to walk about without anything on. Even if it is summer.”

“Well, what about food? I don’t want to eat you out of house and home in the meanwhile.”

“I am happy to share my bread with you, and water is in abundance.”

Alasdair groaned. The man was irritating him more and more. “How’s the fishing around here? I can at least fish for myself, and give you some.”

“I see lots of fish, and lots of sea-birds. There’s deer in the forest on the other side of the island. Once I even saw a whale, the kind of fish that ate Jonah.”

“Whales aren’t fishes,” Alasdair said. “They’re mammals.”

“They live in the sea. They’re fishes.”

“Not according to–never mind that. How long does it take the brother to arrive from Iona?”

[scythesms]

There was a new lightness to Edmund’s step, a buoyancy that didn't go unnoticed for long. The children were the first to notice. Paul, however, was still processing the change. He tried to suppress his curiosity but couldn't resist. It was strange; he’d never seen Edmund so… happy.

“What's put you in such high spirits?” Paul asked, fully aware of the reason behind his friend’s uplifted mood. He wasn’t an idiot. What were friends if not two individuals who could freely discuss their sources of joy and the “lady friends” in their lives?

Edmund halted, turning to face his friend, a smile still faint on his lips. “Is it so strange for me to be anything but miserable?”

Paul wasted no time in responding, his words laced with honesty. "Yes."

Edmund reminisced playfully, “Remember when you'd visit and barely utter a word?”

Paul dismissed his pale attempt at evading the topic at hand as they continued their walk through the manor. “Elaine told me your friend was invited inside – Imogene, is it?”

“You’re making my children your informants?”

“That’s improvement, my friend! A visitor!” Paul deafeningly congratulated Edmund, whose light expression fell under the weight of Paul’s words. 

Edmund quickened his pace, signaling his reluctance to dwell on the subject. But Paul remained steadfast, refusing to let the matter fade away. Edmund's unease grew when Paul broached the topic head-on, questioning his intentions with Imogene. 

They reached a standstill, Edmund’s gaze wandering to a portrait adorning the wall. His eyes lingered on the painted features of his late wife, Rosalyn, and his throat tightened. It felt as though they were face to face and he wasn’t merely confronting remnants of their shared history.

“She’s my friend – just a friend,” he promised, though uncertain whether he was trying to convince Paul, himself, or the memory of Rosalyn.

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[sircesimblr]

Far out at sea, there was a storm. A ship sank, people died.

Some survived.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Violette had a plan, and only the first step involved acquiring her mother’s permission. She had hoped that it would work, but after countless times of being told to stay in her room, she didn’t truly think that it would.

So near bedtime, she asked her Tante Marguerite to read her a story, knowing that the old woman would almost certainly doze off before the princess found her prince. Even once the book had been shut and her aunt’s eyes closed, Violette sat on the rug, innocently playing with her doll and waiting patiently.

Once the woman began to snore Violette knew that she was in a deep sleep. Still clutching her doll in case she needed to play innocent, Violette stood to count each snore: one, two, three, four, five. That was her cue, so she swiftly and confidently slipped on her shoes and snuck away from her charge.

Downstairs. You are never to go downstairs, Violette. Yet even from the top of the stairwell she could hear the music. It was faint from there, but with every step down the hallway it grew louder and clearer.

For as long as she could remember, she had heard the sound of music in the night moving through the hallways like waves, calling to her and fascinating her. She knew that it was her mother and father, since she heard them practicing, but she had never seen them play together, never knew what they were like or what this magical place that she only knew as downstairs could possibly look like.

Violette followed the sounds through the rooms, down one flight of stairs after another until she reached the door that led from their apartment to the street. Across from it was the stage door, the one that her parents had always told her was strictly forbidden. Violette reached her small hand forward to open it, and then worked her way down a dark hallway before she emerged through the beaded curtain into the red walled club.

The intensity of music there was louder than she had ever heard, seemingly deafening everyone in the club to her footsteps. A heavy cloud of smoke hung in the air, mingling with the adult's preoccupation to conceal her there, skirting along the walls until she could see her parents up on stage.

She stopped at the edge of the crowd, looking up toward her mother and father. As she gazed up her mother hit a note more clear and piercing than any she had ever heard on the radio; suddenly her voice tapered off into a soft but immensely sad hum, the sound almost low enough to be sorrowful, until her father began to play the piano again, the notes seemingly discordant but somehow perfectly arranged.

They were like stars in the night, shining atop the crowd of dancing bodies, setting the tempo of the whole room. She was fascinated, entranced, and riveted that they could be this way, so magnetic and raw. They were never like this upstairs, always reading or talking quietly with one another. Up there they seemed more real than ever before.

The heels scurried closer to her, the tempo growing faster. She moved toward the crowd, no longer caring if anyone were to notice her or push her aside as they danced.

“Lottie!” A voice suddenly hissed. Turning, Violette spotted her Aunt Josephine approaching. Before Jo could utter a stronger admonishment, Violette gave her a mischievous grin and ran away.

Now that she had seen them, her mission was complete. She could safely go back upstairs to listen to the show through the parquet floors as she always did. In the months since she had returned from England, she had placed her ear on every intricately designed floorboard to find exactly the spot where the music was the loudest. Now, as she listened to the muffled sounds from below, she could imagine what her mother must feel like up there on stage, shining like a star in the night.

[georgiapeachsims]

Years 1065-1075 of my Medieval Shipwrecked Save

[dsimsdecades]

The ladies of the Sánchez family gathered to celebrate Ana Lucia’s birthday. The men were away on a business voyage and, regrettably, missed the occasion. Magdalena and Isabel devoted themselves to making Ana Lucia’s day extra special and succeeded. While Ana Lucia inherited many of Francisco’s features, her mother’s emerald eyes were unmistakable.

Andrea Beatriz also missed Ana Lucia’s special day. As she readied herself to depart, she was hit by an intense wave of contractions. In a matter of moments, she was gazing upon not one but two tiny newborns! The unexpected arrival filled the hearts of the children with joy and delight. Carabi and Andrea, however, felt a little overwhelmed. Now, the house was filled with the cries of two newborn babies. The couple had hoped for another daughter but were blessed with two additional sons. Ultimately, what they wanted most was to ensure their children were healthy and happy.

Beginning | Previous | Next

[onlylivingboyinsanmyshuno]

University of Britchester's newest graduate, Patrick Crale has landed a job at an imports/exports firm in the bustling port town of Brindleton Bay. But this is just the beginning for him. With a mind sharp as a tack and a will of iron, he's ready to climb the corporate ladder, build a dynasty, and make the Crale name synonymous with power and success.

Patrick is the founder of my current save which I hesitate to call a Legacy or Decades challenge since its more of a test run of a semi-gameplay based challenge I am writing that does take aspects of the Legacy challenge. It involves some aspects of luck/rng (I am using rolls for deaths, pregnancies, war, and other life events) and a scoring/points system (which will be a secret known only to me) but I also have a narrative sorta planned out for this current save. I'll probably write more as I work it out.

Also it begins in 1910s because I want it to hence why its not a proper Decades challenge.

[syninplays]

Not to brag but I had my sims looking all wild west-inspired before ts4 announced the new pack 🤠😤

[booomcha]

A Valentine's Day Date! (It’s the 20s!)

Helen Buford was in the middle of a dilemma. She’d never married and felt too old now and had been hurt too much to pursue that ambition. But her sister, Viola, had convinced her to give love one more chance. The crazy part was that Viola’s husband, Walter, had set her up with his brother, Jack St. Dennis. She’d only briefly met Jack years ago at Viola and Walter’s wedding. He was Walter’s…

[anothersimlishtragedy]

Part 3 - The Stranger and the Ghost

"Well, I guess I'll be off then."

Magnolia looked up from her task of sweeping the kitchen and took a second to compose herself at the sight of Jamie wearing her late husband's clothes. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat and fiddled with the broom handle , staring down at her shoes in solemnity.

"I'd like to thank you for taking care of this here." Jamie motioned towards his side.

"You were bleeding on my floor. Weren't nothin."

He chuckled, which caused her to start. "I'm sorry - I'm not laughing at your expense. I'm just thinking about how many times I thought about sullying your pretty bedspread last night laying on top of it with my filthy clothes and boots. I am real sorry about it."

They could both sense each other's discomfort and uncertainty. Magnolia was tired of pretending she wasn't happy about the situation and was the first the break the silence.

"I know you prolly wanna know about your brother, and you deserve to, truly you do. But I ain't got nothing I can tell you 'cept what I already did, which is he's dead."

Jamie started to speak but Magnolia continued.

"I know how hard it is, losin' a loved one. So you'll be forgivin me then iffn' I come off harsh or uncaring in some way."

They both stood there in silence for a few seconds as the stove crackled.

"I didn't know my brother all that well, Mrs. Brannon. I'm certainly sad to hear of his passing, but truth be told, I'm not all that surprised given his reputation."

Magnolia looked up from the floor at him.

"And what reputation would that be?"

Jamie shifted, the pain in his side waking up now as well.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be too gentlemanlike of me to discuss in front of the gentler sex, ma'am." he hid his gaze from under the brim of his hat to avoid the flush that he expected to see on her freckled cheeks and the warm pink that had flooded his own.

Instead, she let out throaty laugh that shocked him entirely.

"Well, you're just a proper socialite, ain't ya?"

Jamie frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Magnolia approached him and he swallowed hard at the sight of her angular nose and steely green eyes flash, so close in front of him.

"There ain't nothin gentle about me, and I'll tell you right now, ain't nothin you can tell me that I ain't heard or seen before. I shovel shit with my bare hands," she paused to hold up her calloused palms and shake them slightly towards him, "and I've had to keep this farm runnin' on my lonesome without no help from nobody. Naw, there ain't nothing gentle about the female sex, Mr. Brannon. Least not me there ain't."

She turned to twist the cap off a mason jar filled with clear liquid and took a deep pull, then twisted it back on. The smell of moonshine wafted between them and he almost laughed out loud.

She wasn't a delicate flower; she was poison ivy, ready to spread a nasty red rash of sarcasm and no-nonsense on the ass of anyone that rubbed her wrong.

"All right." Jamie said.

"He's got a bad reputation back home of brawling, philandering, and most recently before he took off to these parts, stole some money from some pretty dangerous people." When he finished speaking, he studied her body language for any signs of disbelief or shock.

"He tom-catted around up here, in Appaloosa Township. He didn' t think I knew it but, hell, I ain't an idiot. He'd saddle up and ride into town then show up two days later with a wad of cash in his pants smellin like piss and whore."

Magnolia took one last swig from the mason jar then twisted the cap and wiped her face with the sleeve of her work dress.

"I bet you're wonderin' why I married the sorry sucker in the first place, huh?"

Jamie paused, then shook his head yes.

"I'm still askin' myself that question."

[simblrangel]

Bloopers

First up... Father Avery looks rather upset with seeing Virginia in a bar.

Speaking of bars... this corpse prop I used for the operation theatre is placed on two functioning bars, which means Sims would summon a bottle from his chest area and pour themselves a drink...

I considered including this anyway because it kinda looks like medical science.

Next...I think this is what happens when you try to pet a ghost cat>

Finally, omg, what did Rose say to make them so mad? Wrong answers only.

[windermeresimblr]

The Scotsman and the Culdee of Innish Breacaimsir, Chapter 1

Alasdair awoke again, lying on rough sheets over a thin and poky pallet, aching as though he’d fallen from a cliff. Perhaps he had. His hands had scrapes on them (not terribly different from normal) and he could feel bruises and knots forming all over. His eyes felt a little swollen; he hoped he hadn’t broken his nose yet again. He shivered, trying to wrap the blanket (one blanket, and rough wool at that) tighter around himself. Worse still, he was totally naked, once again without his awareness of the matter. Where were the clothes he had been given? Where was he? He looked about for his belongings, but none were found. 

The surroundings were unfamiliar–the ceiling was thatch, the walls and floor rough-hewn stone, and–it was cold and dark, lit only by a candle perilously close to the straw and some light from a door, if it could be called that, some distance away; it was made of rough planks, open at top and bottom. He could see a cross hung on the wall, with some kind of prayer-book on a low table below it, but there was otherwise no ornamentation or other signs of a person living there. 

He was reminded of the sheilings on his cousin Matthew’s estate, although this building was much smaller than any he’d seen in his youth. It was more like one of those round prison-cells found in the south. But the ‘door’ was definitely not meant for a prison-cell; he could have crawled out through the gap at the bottom if he was less sore and disoriented.

“Foolish, to leave a candle burning like this,” Alasdair said aloud, if only to reassure himself that he could still speak. “I could have turned and knocked it over.” 

At this, the door swung open; Alasdair flinched and blinked at the blaze of light. A man in a monk’s robe entered and made his way to the pallet; he was speaking in some very strange variant of Gaelic, by the few words Alasdair could make out. There was a buzzing, itching feeling in his ears, making him dizzy, and he screwed his eyes shut and leaned back on the pallet for a moment. And suddenly, he understood what the man was saying, with another wave of vertigo and buzzing. 

“...you’re awake, praise be to Saint Colmcille, I was sure you were dead when I found you…” He had a gap in his teeth that made him whistle while talking, and the stubble on his tonsure was somewhat overgrown. Alasdair was unsure whether being in a monastery was a good sign or a bad one.

“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked. 

“I am Caedmon, the hermit of Innish Breacaimsir,” the monk said. “Although I suppose I’m not such a hermit anymore now that you’re here. Even if I’m supposed to live in seclusion, I can’t very well ignore someone washed up half-dead at my well!”

“You’re a hermit,” Alasdair said, feeling his stomach drop. Outside of men hired to live in rich landowner’s follies, or perhaps Robinson Crusoe, he’d never met a real hermit before. As far as he knew, there hadn’t been a religious hermit in Scotland since after the Reformation. And where was Innish Breacaimsir? He’d never heard of such an island.

[scythesms]

Edmund issued a search for an assistant during his temporary management of his family’s business as his father recovered. He struggled with looking after his children, his sick wife and father, and his still grieving mother alongside managing the manor and staff, taking control of his father’s business assets, and overseeing drafts of potential railroad operations.

Only recently did he find the time to sit down and go through the pile of applications collecting dust in the study. 

Edmund was halfway through the pile when he came across a relatively familiar surname. It must’ve been a mistake because the applicant hadn’t applied for the role of Edmund’s aid, but for a banking assistant position at Owens Banking, instead. Penned at the top of the submission were markings referring to his rejection due to lack of experience. Still, his completed studies and credentials took Edmund by surprise and were enough for him to be sought out.  

Helen led Paul Day into the foyer, following brief orders not to mention the names Edmund or Ambroise during introductions. Edmund’s efforts at keeping his potential hire from running came to a swift end the moment their eyes met. 

Paul’s face fell as he realized he’d been lured into a trap.

Before Paul could speak, Edmund told him he’d been called on for his application to Owens Banking. He then informed him of his rejection.

They. Paul scoffed. He asked if they delivered such news to every potential hire. Edmund countered Paul’s disdain with a proposition of his own and explained his need for a primary colleague and assistant. 

Paul didn’t appear any less irritated than when he first caught sight of Edmund. He didn’t consider the proposition for a second before opposing the offer. He knew their family, the Ambroises, had their way with preferential treatment, but he’d rather his employment on the basis of his qualifications and not because Edmund felt indebted to his mother.

Edmund didn’t deny it. He admitted that when putting his intentions aside, Paul was still the best candidate. His rejection at the bank was because of his lack of experience. With Edmund’s hire and reference, Paul would be able to acquire a job at any bank in town.

Paul failed to give a response before preparing himself to leave. As he did, Edmund advised him to think the offer over before coming to a decision.

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[sircesimblr]

A warm ocean current grabbed the survivors. It scattered them out, some into oblivion, some towards the open arms of Northeney. It had been decades since people walked and breathed on this island's soil. And even then, only briefly, only a few, only shipwreck survivors. Civilization was not aware of this island.

Uncharted Northeney longed to be known. It had waited patiently, through weather and time, it had grown and made itself more hospitable, it had so much beauty to offer, so much consolation to give. It was too modest to lure, it wouldn't dream of causing storms and currents to pull people in. It would not want to trap people, it wanted to rescue them.

So Northeney waited. And with each ebb and flow, carefully constructed its bay to become the perfect place for people to wash ashore.

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[sims-half-crazy]

Late Spring 1906

Fitz Motor Company planned an extensive marketing campaign for the debut of their newest automobile, the Tin Lizzie. It was an ambitious plan of national proportions and when Henry Fitz himself phoned Eugene's office, the answer was a resounding yes to the new boardwalk being used as a stage for the company.

The outing to the boardwalk, before the official opening of the festivities, had been planned for weeks. Eunice and Gordon were quite excited as the lumber trusses of the Whiz Bang roller coaster loomed in the distance ahead. Frances remained passive as she gripped her mother's hand. Gordon peppered his father about the mechanics of the roller coaster. Eugene did not know any of the answers to his son's questions. Gordon's chatter died as they exited the alley and he spied the new Tin Lizzie at the entrance to the boardwalk.

His sisters ran towards the carousel, but not even the lure of the lights and motion could pull him from his trance surrounding the motor vehicle. When he finally joined his siblings, he enjoyed the ride as much as Eunice, but Frances remained unimpressed. During the ride, Frances spied a roller skating rink at the far end of the boardwalk. She and Eunice quickly donned skates and enjoyed their newfound freedom on wheels. Eugene and Goldie basked in their children's squeals of laughter and merriment as it had been too long since those sounds had graced their family in excess. While the girls were skating, Gordon snuck off to take a closer look at another of the Tin Lizzies that dotted the boardwalk.

[georgiapeachsims]

Years 1075-1085 of my Medieval Shipwrecked Save