June "Grab bag" stories/poetry/art/etc....

This is thread to post your contributions to the June Grab Bag fun! Stories, poetry, artwork, whatever your talent to share.

The elements for this month are:

Distraction
A Broken Weapon
A New Home
Confusion
A Thief
schizophrenic

Artists need NOT include ALL the elements in a contribution. Centering on ONE element will be enough ... or an illustration to one of the prose stories. Grab-Bags are not for writers only - picture artists are welcome and appreciated and encouraged to join in!

Distraction
A Broken Weapon
A New Home
Confusion
A Thief
Schizophrenia

Foxhair’s trembling hand was on Shadow’s shoulder. Her voice was quivering. Her shaky voice had nothing to do with the chilling snow that whipped around them all. She was shaking because of the devastation the Frost Men had brought to their holt. “We need to leave Stonehowl. We must find a new home, or at least find some place to stay until the Frost Men leave.”

Even the stone shaped wolf head, at the top of the caverns, seemed to howl mournfully, as the wind passed through the vacant eyes and left it’s gaping maw, creating the haunting sounds of the wolf howl.

Shadow’s gaze became vacant, glazed, staring out into nothing.

Spearclaw, one of the members of the Priderwalkers who had come with Shadow and his tribe, stood next to him. Spearclaw had great admiration for Shadow and how he had successfully led his tribe for so long; choosing to communicate with those that were different than him; fighting only when there was no other choice. He could see that look in Shadow’s eyes; as if he believed, at this very moment, there was indeed, no other choice than to fight the Frost Men. Spearclaw added his concern to Foxhair’s, “Chief, I would have to agree with Foxhair. We must go before the Frost Men return. We will come back for the dead.”

Shadow shook his head, though he spoke no words. His mind was still reeling from what had happened, attempting to process and conceive the loss of life. He looked around and saw that the white snow was stained with blood. Bodies of his tribe lay in the snow, slowly being buried by the still falling frost.

“I will make them pay,” Shadow finally spoke.

“We will make them pay,” Spearclaw assured Shadow. “For now, we should retreat through the mountains. Perhaps find a cavern we can take shelter in. If we cannot find any caverns to take shelter, we can always go to my people in the plains.”

Shadow kneeled down and picked up a broken sword, whose tip was still stained with blood. He stared at his reflection, shining in both the metal, and the bright, crimson blood. He snarled and tossed the weapon aside. “They think they can come here. Kill my tribe. Steal our home. Steal our food. They’re wrong. They may have won, for now. But, we will come back. And when we do, this land will drink the blood of all the Frost Men.”

Foxhair, though deeply mourning the loss of her cub with Shadow, somehow found herself also mourning the loss of Shadow. Though he stood there before her, this war had changed him. Like a thief in the night, it took away everything that was different about him. She whispered, “Yes, we will have our revenge.” Once again, even the stone shaped wolf head, seemed to howl, as the wind blew through the eyes, and exited the mouth, mourning the loss of those who once called it home.

They gathered a few leathers to keep them warm and began their trek through the mountain pass. Shadow never stopped looking over his shoulder. He was not fearful that they were being followed; instead, his eyes burned with seething hatred for those who destroyed his family, his holt and his friends. He hated running away. Even for just a moment.

None of them spoke a single word as they made their way through the rocky, snow covered path. Most nights, they huddled close to one another, using their body heat to keep one another warm; the youngest of them in the center, protected by their elders. Shadow however, stood off to the side; staring back at the path. Staring back at the way home, his expression vacant and as chilling as the freshly fallen snow around them. They traveled through the mountain pass for three long days and nights. On the fourth night, a portion of the path that had been snowed in completely from the unusually long whitefall.

Shadow cursed and screamed furiously, even as the cold winds whipped about him. “I’m going to kill those humans. I am going to kill them all!”

Foxhair watched, concerned. The tears that fell from her eyes, were almost instantly frozen on her rosy cheeks. Vineweaver came to stand next to her, placing his supportive hand on her shoulder, able to hear her thoughts, though she was not sending.

“{He’s acting like Wildthorn,}” Vineweaver sent to Foxhair.

“{That is why I am worried,}” Foxhair sent back. “{We know how Wildthorn’s hatred towards humans ended…}”

Vineweaver nodded. Wildthorn had been Shadow’s closest friend, and the Chief before him. When Purespring, Shadow’s own sister had accidentally been killed by humans who were hunting for food; Wildthorn became obsessed with taking the lives of every human in the offending tribe. That obsession with revenge, had led to his own death. In less than one week, Shadow had lost his sister, his closest friend, and had become chief of the tribe. Still, he refused to follow Wildthorn’s path – he continued to try and work peacefully with the humans.

Now Foxhair was watching Shadow’s uncontrollable fury. She had never seen such darkness in her love mate. The wide variety of emotions that spilled across his fragile features. His rage. His laughter, which was riddled with madness. His sorrow. Then back to uncontainable wrath. His schizophrenic behavior worried Foxhair; she feared that his anger would lead to his own demise, and soon, she would not only have lost her cub, but her love mate as well.

Stream sensed Foxhair’s tension, and sent to her, “{I wish my healing could take away his pain.}”

“{Some wounds,}” Foxhair sent back, “{cannot be healed by the healer’s touch. I only pray this this pain does not scar him so deep that he becomes something else.}”

Snowcloud, whose white hair made it almost impossible to see when she stood against the snow, looked back at the others, her green eyes illuminated, blooming like the plains that both she and Spearclaw had come from. “Over here, there’s a small cave. We can seek shelter there for the night.”

Shadow turned, and for a moment, his rage subsided.

Foxhair was thankful for this brief moment’s distraction, where she could see in Shadow’s eyes, the need to be the chief he was expected to be; and focus less on his anger.

Shadow approached the cavern and kneeled down. “It’s small, but it looks like it would hold us all. Everyone, in here for the night.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

________________________

Shadow (Male Soul Name: Tyru) – Black Hair, Tanned, Green Eyes (Elder brother to Purespring, Chief) – Wolf Beast: Mooneyes – (Black Wolf, White Eyes)

Foxhair (Female Soul Name: Loun) – Red Hair, Green Eyes (Hunter) – Wolf Beast: Elkheart (Dark
Brown/Black Wolf)

Vineweaver (Male Soul Name: Reyk) – Auburn Hair, Blue Eyes (Tree shaper, Soul Mate of Stillbreeze,
Plant Shaper) – Wolf Beast: Creekhunter (Dark Grey Wolf)

Stillbreeze (Female Soul Name: Hewl) – Brown Hair, Brown Eyes (Soul Mate of Vineweaver, Tanner) – Wolf Beast: Silvermane (Silver Wolf, female)

Echo (Male Soul Name: Ayav) – Brown Hair, Green Eyes (Cub of Stillbreeze & Vineweaver, Magic) – Wolf Beast: Talonmist (Grey Wolf, Deceased)

Windfetcher (Female Soul Name: Burm) – Auburn Hair, Brown Eyes (Cub of Stillbreeze & Vineweaver,
Next Potential Chief… If She Has Her Way!) - Wolf Beast: None, formerly Glimmer

Stream (Female Soul Name: Vree) – Red Hair, Green Eyes (Healer) – Wolf Beast: Callbreaker (White Wolf, Deceased)

Spearclaw (Male, Soul name: Lren) – Brown Hair, Green Eyes (Scout) - Pridewalker

Snowcloud (Female, Soul Name: Mill) – White Hair, Green Eyes (based off white lions) - Pridewalker

Madness Lingers

Who?
Who?
Split in two.
No escape from the voice of madness within.
Troll or elf?
Elf or troll?
Which way does the dice now roll?
Voices screaming
Day and night:
“You are nothing but a broken tool!
A sword than long-since lost its might.
You thought you’d found some peace at last,
A place that you could call your home.
Ha!
You fool!
You never will!
She stole your heart,
And left you there,
Wounded,
Broken,
All alone!
Cold as ice and tempered steel,
Nothing can she ever feel.”
No!
Those voices now must cease,
This hammering might bring some peace.

That was a treat, Redhead! I love stories and poems about Two-Edge!

Another fine chapter, Tymber! You have an uncanny ability to maintain a pace of storytelling.

The ground came up and whacked Grubfinder in the nose.

A tree root formed a loop over the trail, just high enough he didn’t feel it even brushing the hair on his toes.  Such things did not exist in the caverns below.  A Troll can see fairly well in the dark, but most of the tunnels are completely unlit, too deep for bright-worms and not worth a precious glowstone.  This is why Troll tunnels and pathways are always kept clear of even the slightest protrusion.  If a bump or a stone, or even the occasional root (in the upper tunnels) was in the path, there wasn’t a Troll who wouldn’t stop and knock the problem out of the floor, if for no other reason than to make a cart easier to pull, or to destroy an offending obstruction that injured one’s foot.  In the dark, all one had was one’s feet to guide them.  Closing his eyes had been a bad idea, and having tripped would cause him an eight of days of pain from a bruised nose and cheek.

Out of habit, Grubfinder reached for his pick, but was disappointedly reminded it had been taken from him before he was thrown up here.  He hadn’t had a chance to respond to the jeering guards as they stripped all his “unnecessary” possessions, pointing out he wouldn’t need this or that, or that the Elves didn’t need to learn of such things.  He peered around for a sharp rock or anything he could use to deal with the root.  There was nothing around.  He stomped on it, figuring it was only as big around as his thumb, but the damp, fibrous root simply bent over under his weight.  He finally had no other option but to give up and move on.

Having decided to learn more about his new home while looking for the others, he had made it about half way around the stone-works and still had no clue what it was for, nor could he find anyone working on it.  For that matter, he had found no sign of anyone. Even the gathering of Elves he had run into the night before were gone and the rain had washed any sign of them away.

The noise still bothered him.  After the downpour had stopped, dawn had broken, and an unending prattling of birds, insects, leaves and other things followed him where ever he went.  He partially wondered if they were louder where he was, his disturbance stirring them up, but there was no way to tell: he could not hear a quieter sound over what was nearby.  The sheer multitude of noises made no sense. Each nonsensical chirp, buzz, snap, slither and clap seemed to be louder than was needed to get its pointless point across, screaming out over the others to be heard.

The wall went on and on.  It really wasn’t all that big, but the noise and the bright sun made the trek seem longer.  The corners were stacked up tall, perhaps full height, at a little over three times his height. The surprising thing for him was that they were so thick!  They were nearly as wide as he was tall, and he could not recall a device that could breach them.  The stone was solid and sturdy, an igneous rock that would take time to tunnel through, even for a Troll.  What could possibly be the reason the Trolls would help Elves build such a thing?

At this point, he became even more baffled why there was no one around.  Stone walls don’t build themselves!  It wasn’t that he cared so much to be with others, but the sooner he could prove himself as an asset and a worker, the sooner he could head back below.  Maybe he could get his old job back. Grubfinder would even settle for carting tailings.

He thought to himself, “Well, if I can’t find anyone, no one needs grubs or anything else from me… might as well find some food for myself!”  It wouldn’t be hard to find something to kill, with everything screaming ‘hit me!’ at him.  This section of the wall had various stone chips on the ground, flat and sharp.  Funny that there weren’t any when he needed them earlier.

He selected a few, closed his eyes to clear the distraction of bright sun light, and listened for a moment. It seemed like the smaller something was the more noise it made, and the larger game was a bit quieter. A thumper (what did they call those things? Ravvits? Rabbits? Didn’t matter, for him it was food) was scratching away at an ear, knocking energetically at the ground. He could feel it in his feet, and figured out about where it was.  Quietly, he moved in the direction he felt was right, using a tree to block his girth from view of the prey.  His hand was poised, ready to throw one of his rocks.  He peered over a bush and found the thumper, who was still scratching away.  He sent the rock sailing.

The rock tumbled a bit more than he thought it would, and a flat side slapped the thumper on its flank. It rolled before coming to a rest with wide spaced legs, searching for a safe place to run.  Grubfinder had another rock ready as the creature started to run, and he threw it with a bit more spin to keep it steady.  The rock went well wide of the thumper and cracked in half on a small boulder.  The thumper was gone.

Grubfinder was not about to give up and go for the easy prey crawling under his feet… If there was a reason to, he wouldn’t even have to look, he would just jab his fingers into the soil and pull up a handful of larva under the dead log behind him, but this was far from appetizing. Some might find them tasty, but it was a last resort for him.  He shrugged and listened again.

This went on until the daystar was fully overhead and Grubfinder was hot as a deep-shaft. He had finally managed to hit a bird large enough to make a meal of, and figured he needed to get back to his room… this sun had snuck up on him and threatened to burn him to a crisp!  He made short work of the bird and started back around the wall.

He noticed something odd, though.  His head wasn’t hurting as it had earlier.  He hadn’t even realized his head felt like it had gone through a rock crusher until now, when the pain drifted away like a broken fever.  He relaxed a bit too, and felt much better all around. The fresh meat must have done some good! Perhaps a little more would help settle everything else out too.

So he listened, and realized why his headache went away: the birds were silent!

A few bugs still buzzed here and there, but otherwise there was complete silence.

He opened his eyes again and stumbled back, away from the bright creature in front of him.

Fangs as long as his arms stood out from the gaping mouth. Rows upon rows of triangular teeth filled in the other areas of the orifice.  A long, triangular head supported jaws, fully capable of devouring him whole.  The furry body was longer, perhaps eight legs on each side, and a short but sturdy neck connected the two.  The whole creature was of a sandy color, brightly reflecting the daylight.

It hadn’t made a sound.

Indeed, it silently followed Grubfinder as he stumbled his way through the forest alongside the wall, looking for a low spot to cut across the square.  He had to keep looking back to be sure it wasn’t some fever-dream, but there it was, almost hovering over his right shoulder, mouth straining to ensnare him.  He found the gap he was looking for, only two blocks high. Not necessarily high enough to stop this monstrosity behind him, but if it shortened the distance to the room with the heavy wooden door he’d take it.  He surprised himself, vaulting over the gap as though he’d done it before.

As he suspected, the short stack of blocks did not block the creature, but it was slowed a bit by it. It’s stubby legs couldn’t step high enough to clear the wall, but the power of six others pushed the creature to the top of the blocks bluntly, and it worked it’s way over finally… it only lost a little ground in the process.

Grubfinder was getting winded. This all-out sprint was not at all like pulling a heavy cart: it was somehow much more tiring even though he wasn’t pulling anything.  He was starting to wonder if he would make it back to the room, even if the creature keeled over and died in it’s tracks: his lungs felt like he was breathing black-stone dust that had been set ablaze.

A glance backward proved that the creature had indeed not suddenly died.  In a way, it seemed to look healthier and less likely to die than the first time he saw it, now that it was chasing something in full, open daylight.  His legs were turning to rubber as he slammed into another gap in the wall, having cut the corner fully.  With none of the lucky grace he had experienced jumping the first gap, he told his body to jump, lift his legs to clear the blocks, and succeeded in slamming both knees into the top of the upper block, causing him to tumble across the rough stone and spill over the other side in a mass of sprawling arms and legs.

He’d have laughed if he had been watching himself, trying to stand, run, move in the direction of safety, look back over the wall, and find that half of his body wouldn’t do anything he wanted it to.  He looked like some animal that had had it’s limbs removed, trying to get away from a predator.  The truth wasn’t far from it.  Laying in the shade of the wall, Grubfinder felt like a pale white grub, freshly pulled from the dirt, wriggling.  A moment passed where he wondered if the whole thing was in his head: the walk, the creature, his rubbery legs… perhaps even getting sent up here wasn’t real?  He had heard about the odd Troll that had fallen ill and started seeing visions, believing they were in other places or with others that didn’t exist, even to the point of killing themselves due to the belief they were an elf… that would be wretched!

If this were a dream, then it would be easy to explain why his legs wouldn’t move, all wrapped up in a sleeping silk?  But any other nightmare would have woke him up long before his heart would pound this hard.

He opened his eyes and looked over at the wall. The sun gleamed on the edges of the gap, framing bright blue sky, but nothing else appeared in the gap.  The shade from the wall felt cool compared with the searing sun he had been running in, but why was he feeling anything at all?  Shouldn’t the creature have overtaken him the moment he tripped?  Even with a little delay with it getting over the wall, he had been laying there unable to move for more than enough time… What was going on?

Eventually, he could move enough to sit up and drag himself over to the wall.  He peeked over carefully and saw no trace of the creature.  He slowly stood, popped his head over and looked around at the sunny clearing on the other side of the wall more completely. It was completely vacant.  Blinking in the bright sunlight, he backed away and looked around himself just to be sure it wasn’t behind him.  Other than a few skittering squirrels there was nothing around him.

Cautiously, he made his way back to his room, which was still vacant. He sat with his back to the heavy door, not finding a proper latch to hold it shut.  He sat and thought about what had happened. Could the creature have… eaten the others up here?  Was it even real?  Thinking about it, he only saw it in the blinding sunlight where he could only squint.  It hadn’t made a sound, not even the slightest tremor in the ground as it appeared. He couldn’t even remember hearing it run after him!  He trusted his other senses much more than his sight, especially up here where nothing made sense.

He sat and started rocking, overloaded by the experience, trying to figure out what he would do next.  He could handle the light better at night, he supposed, so perhaps he would try to head back to the tunnels when night fell.  He should be able to keep a look out with both eyes wide open at night far better than walking blind through that blasted sunlight….

TrollHammer wrote:

Another fine chapter, Tymber!  You have an uncanny ability to maintain a pace of storytelling.

Thank you! I love doing these little challenges - because I sit down and try to knock out a story with these elements in 45 minutes to an hour and I never know where I am going with it! (And making them all connect can be a bit jarring, but fun none the less!) Thank you for giving it a read and comment!

Speaking of great reads, you sir, once again, knocked it out of the park and raised the bar!

TrollHammer wrote:

The ground came up and whacked Grubnose in the nose.

My suggestion here however, is to break up the flow from Grubnose to nose, because it's the same word (nose) so quickly. So maybe something to describe his nose, to slow down the pace of the sentence like:

The ground came up and whacked Grubnose on his pick-shaped, bulbous nose.

(Or whatever)

TrollHammer wrote:

A tree root formed a loop over the trail, just high enough he didn’t feel it even brushing the hair on his toes. Such things did not exist in the caverns below. A Troll can see fairly well in the dark, but most of the tunnels are completely unlit, too deep for bright-worms and not worth a precious glowstone. This is why Troll tunnels and pathways are always kept clear of even the slightest protrusion.

Such a great, descriptive paragraph! Love this!

TrollHammer wrote:

The noise still bothered him. After the downpour had stopped, dawn had broken, and an unending prattling of birds, insects, leaves and other things followed him where ever he went.

Can I just say that you write his torment very well?

TrollHammer wrote:

He thought to himself, “well, if I can’t find anyone, no one needs grubs or anything else from me… might as well find some food for myself!”

The "well" should have the "W" capitalized. (He thought to himself, "Well, if I can't...")

TrollHammer wrote:

So he listened, and realized why his headache went away: the birds were silent!

A few bugs still buzzed here and there, but otherwise there was complete silence.

Minor, but it's this kind of detail I love. You describe the silence, but also mention bugs buzzing around. Nice attention to detail to paint a visual picture of what Grubby's experiencing.

TrollHammer wrote:

Fangs as long as his arms stood out from the gaping mouth. Rows upon rows of triangular teeth filled in the other areas of the orifice. A long, triangular head supported jaws, fully capable of devouring him whole. The furry body was longer, perhaps eight legs on each side, and a short but sturdy neck connected the two. The whole creature was of a sandy color, brightly reflecting the daylight.

It hadn’t made a sound.

And now we know why everything's quiet!

TrollHammer wrote:

He opened his eyes and looked over at the wall. The sun gleamed on the edges of the gap, framing bright blue sky, but nothing else appeared in the gap.

Again, more great descriptions! So well done, sir!

TrollHammer wrote:

Eventually, he could move enough to sit up and drag himself over to the wall. He peeked over carefully and saw no trace of the creature. He slowly stood, popped his head over and looked around at the sunny clearing on the other side of the wall more completely. It was completely vacant. Blinking in the bright sunlight, he backed away and looked around himself just to be sure it wasn’t behind him. Other than a few skittering squirrels there was nothing around him.

We're left to wonder if it was real... or if feeling better, was a part of some fever-dream!

Well done, sir. Well done.

Thanks Tymber, made the corrections, opening line should make more sense now.

TrollHammer wrote:

Thanks Tymber, made the corrections, opening line should make more sense now.

Oh! I totally missed that his name wasn't Grubfinder initially!

And, the suggestions I make are just that! Suggestions! Up for discussion! Just because I see it one way, doesn't mean it's that way! I love discussing creative stuff! Last month I mentioned in Redhead's poem, that it was cool - but knowing the gender(s) of the people speaking would have been better for me to visualize in my head what kind of voice was being spoken! She defended her stance, and stuck with it! Which is awesome!

When I read something, I _always_ try to give feedback. Even if it's highlighting lines (like in yours above), that I really liked! I try to give feedback, so the author knows I took the time to read it!

Because as a writer myself - our creative egos are a fragile thing. We post something, and no one comments, we don't know if it's good or bad! If anyone cared enough to read it or not!

Almost like in the days of the old Scroll ... Tymber took over the task to open the grab-bag eager to continue the Stonehowl story. It's a good memory, Tymber.


I like how you've underlined the decision to leave whith the stonewolf's howl, Tymber. It inhances the feel of loss and mourning. Loss of lives, of loved ones ... loss of a home ... and last not least a loss of trust, of peaceful ways.
The loss of a chief and mate "how he was" - probably for a long time, maybe forever. The vision of Wildthorn and purespring ... the explanation of their meaning to Shadow and their ... makes the change even mor understandable, meaningful - and frightening.
You foreshadow things that might come ... or maybe not.

"Schizophrenic" fits for Shadow's behavior and was to be expected but it bugs me to actually read the term in EQ context, dealing with elves. It's hard to imagine that they use this word ... it would have been enough to describe it.

You did well to focus on Shadow with this chapter to make his chance visible and understandable. At the same time you've managed to give almost each tribe member some screen time. And I like that the story who starts with the loss of a home ends with the find of a new temporary home.

Embala wrote:

Almost like in the days of the old Scroll ... Tymber took over the task to open the grab-bag eager to continue the Stoehowl story. It's a good memory, Tymber.

Hah! Yes, my apologies. It feels so good to be back here - and doing the grab bags. I may have been a bit eager, come June 1st - to sit down, write the next part - have it done - and decided to do the grab bag thread! I am sure as we go on, my over eagerness will subside and I will show more control next time!

Embala wrote:

I like how you've underlined the decision to leave with the Stonewolf's howl, Tymber. It inhances the feel of loss and mourning. Loss of lives, of loved ones ... loss of a home ... and last not least a loss of trust, of peaceful ways. The loss of a chief and mate "how he was" - probably for a long time, maybe forever. The vision of Wildthorn and Purespring ... the explanation of their meaning to Shadow and their ... makes the change even more understandable, meaningful - and frightening.
You foreshadow things that might come ... or maybe not.

You are amazing. You know, I had not even _considered_ it like that (showing Wildthorn and Purespring in the previous chapter, when Shadow feels death around him) - to associating him with that behavior in this chapter - and the other elves making note of the similar behavior between Wildthorn and Shadow! I wish I could have claimed that was planned foreshadowing! That was pure coincidence that happened to work out like that! You, unknowingly, made my story suddenly have a lot more cool to it!

(In my head, Wildthorn is a combination of both Two-Spear and Bearclaw - he has that mental issue where he tended to be a little crazy, like Two-Spear; but had that deep love for Purespring like Bearclaw did; though I never got to really show too much of that, since he was destined to die, somehow, I knew, because I always intended Shadow to take the lead! Perhaps a future grab bag will take a dip into the past, at some point!)

Embala wrote:

"Schizophrenic" fits for Shadow's behavior and was to be expected but it bugs me to actually read the term in EQ context, dealing with elves. It's hard to imagine that they use this word ... it would have been enough to describe it.

Like you, I don't think the word Schizophrenic is even a word that anyone in the world of Two-Moons would use (since it's an Earthly term / diagnoses named for a mental disorder)... Which is why, I never have any of the Elves actually say the word. I just used it to describe the situation as emphasis to the reader (even though it's from Foxhair's perspective).

Embala wrote:

You did well to focus on Shadow with this chapter to make his chance visible and understandable. At the same time you've managed to give almost each tribe member some screen time. And I like that the story who starts with the loss of a home ends with the find of a new temporary home.

Thank you! I never know how these grab bag stories will go - but since I had trimmed down so many characters, and had a small circle to focus on - I wanted to focus on Shadow's misery, his anger, and his desire for vengeance - but at the same time, I wanted to remind the reader - "Here's a bit of dialogue from everyone that's with them, so you remember who is there!"

I imagine (depending on the grab bag elements), the next few chapters will focus on Shadow (and dealing with what he's gone through - and if they ever return to Stonehowl or what comes next for them - but he has things that need to be sorted out!) But I also hope to give everyone else a chance to "speak."

As always, thank you SO much for reading and taking the time for such thoughtful comments! <3

I know a bit about making things fit "unconsciously", Tymber. You've probably much more claim on it than you believe.

On a different note: I've noticed that you have a tribe of green eyed elves ... seems generic to your pack! ^^ Snowcloud made me wonder: You explicitely describe her "based on white lions" - this would mean white fur and blue eyes, not green.


Another tradition starts - Grubfinder already found a "booked place" in the grab-baggs, Hammer!
WOW... this was looooong! And well worth the read. You give us an amazing insight in the habits and thoughts of Trolls in general and Grubfinder's perception especially. The necessity to keep a path even, the description of thriving forest life as noisy, Grubfinder's way to hunt ... last not least the fact that you use different names for animals, based on the empirical world of a Troll - all this gives the Trolls so much more life and personality for me. You and Trollbabe ... you are true ambassadors of your people!

Great action sequence, as unexpected for the reader as it was for Grubfinder! Now this monster is a riddle. Otherworldly, magical .. merged. Or is it just a nightmare, a vision sent by a magic user? The silent, vibration-free movement and the clean breath (no mention of mouth odor) support the vision/dream ... but this beast had to climb. On the other hand - this could be a feedback of Grubfinder's expectations. I'm curious where this will go with the next elements!

I like how you've used most of the elements without even using the word as such. Very descriptive!

Embala wrote:

I know a bit about making things fit "unconsciously", Tymber. You've probably much more claim on it than you believe.

You give me far more credit than I deserve, my dear!

Embala wrote:

On a different note: I've noticed that you have a tibe of green eyed elves ... seems generic to your pack! ^^ Snowcloud made me wonder: You explicitely describe her "based on white lions" - this would mean white fur and blue eyes, not green.

You are very correct! They technically SHOULD be blue eyes! When I initially created her (when Shadow and the rest of Stonehow first encountered the Pridewalkers) - the idea was that her hair (mane) would be white, like a white lion (while the general hair color of the rest of the Pridewalkers tends to be brown to a light brown in color, like your typical lion). I had originally envisioned her eyes, however, as green, because I wanted them to be a stark contrast to her hair color and represent the color of the plains that they hunt on. I always have these ideas for these characters, and the stories to develop them - but then the grab bag suggestions come in and a new story is born based off those words - and sometimes, the stories I come up with origins and such, get pushed away. (I had a whole mess of ideas originally with the Pridewalkers, since it was actually a tribe I created for my ElfQuest RPG a zillion years ago! A lot of the character names are right from my old RPG notes!)

I often think, I should do stories (that take place in the past) to flesh out some of these characters.

Embala wrote:

Another tradion starts - Grubfinder already found a "booked place" in the grab-baggs, Hammer!
WOW... this was looooong! And well worth the read. You give us an amazing insight in the habits and thoughts of Trolls in general and Grubfinder's perception especially.

I agree, Trollhammer raises the bar every. single. time. I absolutely LOVE his writing style.

Embala wrote:

The necessity to keep a path even, the description of thriving forest life as noisy, Grubfinder's way to hunt ... last not least the fact that you use different names for anymals, based on the empirical world of a Troll - all this gives the Trolls so much more life and personality for me. You and Trollbabe ... you are true ambassadors of your people!

So very true! It's good to see the trolls loved and supported!

Embala wrote:

I like how youve used most of the elements without even using the word as such. Very descriptive!

Because he's an insanely talented writer.

TrollHammer wrote:

That was a treat, Redhead! I love stories and poems about Two-Edge!

Thanks. The schizophrenic theme just instantly made me think Two-Edge, and with recent events in Final Quest I thouht it was a good time to write something about him.

Back to another old tradition - Redhead's cryptic poems are back!

Not so cryptic this time - the elements screamed for Two-Edge. It starts like his old issue ... but the ongoing poem proves that Two-Edge deals with the most recent events of the FQ.
I love how you've descripted his thoughts, the old never fading voices newly stoked up ... and that you fond a solution for him to calm down at least temporarily.

This poem actually sounds like made up in Two-Edge's mind! *claps*


Reviving one more tradition ... here's a background picture for you, Redhead!

Yay! I hoped that if I brought back the poems you'd bring back the background pictures. My sneaky plan worked!

Irresistable bait. ^^ It's fun again, Redhead. Loved to do this!


As Redhead has pointed out - these grab-bag elements screamed for Two-Edge. He almost  smashed my plans for a contribution ... and then turned out to fit in perfectly.  

Distraction
A Broken Weapon
A New Home
Confusion
A Thief
schizophrenic



Do you find the elements in the scenes? Do you recognize the issue?

Embala wrote:

As Redhead has pointed out - these grab-bag elements screamed for Two-Edge. He almost  smashed my plans for a contribution ... and then turned out to fit in perfectly.  

Distraction
A Broken Weapon
A New Home
Confusion
A Thief
schizophrenic



Do you find the elements in the scenes? Do you recognize the issue?

I love that you were able to do all those elements from OQ #7...!

Embala wrote:

This poem and dark background is so cool! Very much Two-Edge's twisted mind...I like the last verses and believe Two-Edge did also work so hard in order to find some distraction from his mental illness and torture...

Love it.



And well..........WHAT IS TWO-EDGE...?  

Tymber wrote:

Embala wrote:

As Redhead has pointed out - these grab-bag elements screamed for Two-Edge. He almost  smashed my plans for a contribution ... and then turned out to fit in perfectly.  

Distraction
A Broken Weapon
A New Home
Confusion
A Thief
schizophrenic



Do you find the elements in the scenes? Do you recognize the issue?

I love that you were able to do all those elements from OQ #7...!

Well done, Embala! This issue was epic .

You have a talent for poems, Fairyring. As much as you have to talent to tell us something from another ones point of view (even when it's only a fictional character) ... and about that one at the same time.
You give an insight in Two-Egde's twisted, messed up mind - and his thoughts about his messed up, twisted mother. At least how he sees her in the loving and sad moments ... You've picked details from the story (like her long hair he loved to touch) that really illustrate his mood.
I like how you've pictured her as a broken weapon that hurts herself and their closest friends and family. I was never so much aware that BOTH Winnowill and Two-edge are insane - for different reasons in different ways.

With all this emphasis on Winnowill's black tresses the choice of background picture was self-evident. It works great! Recognizable for everyone who knows EQ, decent enough that the text stays clear ... and the whirling tresses add to the feel of disorientation and danger.



Thank you for the kind feedback, Fairyring.
The credit for the poem goes to Redhead Ember alone! She's the storyteller and poet  ... I'm the illustrator. It was kind of a game and tradition for us that when she makes a poem I must come up with a background picture ... and possibly with an illustrating collage.

The banners are a new idea ... a way that will hopefully allow me to contribute without spending too much time.This issue came to mind almost self-evidently with these elements.


Thank you, Tymber, glad you like it! There's probably each imaginable element hidden in EQ - when you know the issues well enough and have some creative imagination. Let's see how long I'll manage to find the elements I need - in a recognizable context.

Figured I'd take a swing at the image poems...


Larger version of the image is here:
http://www.tawmis.com/stonehowl/june2016_grabbag_poem.png

HA! WE've inspired you! Tymber played with pictures! Not only pictures evoked by words but real pictures to accompany and illustrate the story. Dark like the tale. Darkened like his memories.

All six elements orderly llisted ... and what's not spoken out loud reader's mind adds by knowledge and imagination, supported by the underlying pictures.The sentences, the message, are broken like Two-Edges mind.

I love that the text frames the one happy moment. Almost illuminates it. Your solution to make the title fit in - turned and twisted ... and exactly aligned with the deadly fire of Winnowill's sending.

(as a side effect it shows me that Wendy has composed all three panels according to those diagonal lines as well ... wasn't aware of this)

That's done so very well, Tymber!

Embala wrote:

HA! WE've inspired you! Tymber played with pictures! Not only pictures evoked by words but real pictures to accompany and illustrate the story. Dark like the tale. Darkened like his memories.

It was your image, using all the ones from OQ #7, that made me think of the ones from SaBM with Two-Edge's origin.

Put the pictures all in a row - and then used the images to make the poem.

Embala wrote:

All six elements orderly llisted ... and what's not spoken out loud reader's mind adds by knowledge and imagination, supported by the underlying pictures.The sentences, the message, are broken like Two-Edges mind.

I even tried to use a broken up font to show the broken mind.

Embala wrote:

That's done so very well, Tymber!

Thank you for inspiring me.

Tymber wrote:

Figured I'd take a swing at the image poems...

This poem is dark and amazing! Well done, Tymber! Like Embala said, the elements are orderly listed, but they don't feel forced.

The pictures in the background are well chosen - they show the cruelty of Winnowill and the horror Two-Edge had to see. Even if Winnowill wouldn't have split his mind he would have lots and lots of traumata.