Gilbert of Allemagne

[Professor S]

Well, I'm writing again. Those of you who are familiar with my attempts to write again after my "Ego Check" story might scoff at me saying that as I tend to write a page and then abandon the project.

To those that scoff, I have completed four pages of a story that is a return to my previous setting of Wyseth Port, but is completely different in theme and tone. I honestly have only a slight clue where this is going, but I am in a place where the characters are writing the story for me, and that is always a great place to be.

I hope you enjoy and keep in mind that it is only slightly edited.

Gilbert of Allemagne
By Kurt "Professor of S Studies" Miller


When I first stumbled into The Turk’s Head Inn, I wouldn’t have called it a friendly establishment. Holding my hand over a gash in my left arm and nursing a few other scrapes and bruises, the clientele were not sympathetic. A fat, semi-toothed man spat out “Trouble walking, mate? Get yourself hurt that way.” The hyena’s laughed in chorus. I was somewhat relieved to know that no one recognized me, seeing that recognition would have been a bit embarrassing in my state.

Falling into a chair by a table in the darkest corner I could find, I enjoyed my first rest of what had been a trying day. The cut on my arm had already stopped bleeding, so I knew it couldn’t be deep. My eye throbbed and I felt a few loose molars with my tongue. There was some relief that the worst injury I received was to my ego. Having evaluated my condition and concluded that I would not die, I allowed my attention to drift to my surroundings.

It had been a few years since I last visited Wyseth Port, and the borough did not let me down. The Inn was filled with derelicts, whores, rowdy fishermen and other unsociables. They talked too loud, drank too much and laughed inappropriately. I had heard that Wyseth had been a model little port city years before, but a couple of violent incidents pushed the good folk out.

“Glory, what in the world happened to you?” A red-cheeked waitress asked with angry eyes, “You’re gettin’ blood n’ mud all over the place.”

“I’ve had a bad day. Could I have something to drink?”

“Not until you clean up.” She threw her apron in my face, “We don’t take to vagrants in here so make yourself presentable while I fetch a doctor.” Those words put me in a panic.

“No doctors! I’m fine.”

“You’re a mess, that’s what you are.” She turned and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Hey Sam, you here?!” The loud talking and inappropriate laughter stopped.

“Which one?”

“The one that’s a healer!”

“Yeah, I’m here.” I finished wiping my face to see a man that appeared small, but was only bent, appear from the crowd. He wore small spectacles that pinched his nose and made his beady eyes look a bit less beady. “What seems to be the problem?”


“This fella’s all beat up.” The waitress laughed.

“I’m fine, all I need is” I was rudely interrupted by a set of hairy fingers in my mouth.

“Hmmmm, his color and teeth look alright, besides a few loosies.” He rammed his forehead against my brow, “He doesn’t seem to have the fever, either.”

“Well it ain’t his head that’s hurt, Sam.” She pointed to my bloody arm. I tried once again to gain control of the situation.

“It’s just a scratch and it’ll heal-up fine if youAAUUGH!!” The doctors hairy digits pried unto my cut.


“Hmmmm, its bleeding pretty badly and might be infected.”

“It might help if you kept your hands out of the wound.”

The good doctor hadn’t heard a word. “Keep him here, I’ll go get my remedies.”

I pressed a clean napkin into my re-opened gash that appeared to have gotten worse since the examination. “Could I get that drink now?”

***

The ale was good and even better when consumed after a brandy or two. With the apron, now changed from dirty white to a lovely reddish-pink, tied tight around the wound I felt as right as rain. “Physician, heal thyself” is the phrase, I thought. My self-medication was taking effect and the daydreams of the bent doctor’s horrific contraptions melted away as I talked to the townspeople. They did not seem so loud after all, and their jokes had suddenly become hilarious. I even managed to win five silver in a rousing game of Tesserae, using my knucklebones of course. This horrible day seemed to finally be turning in my favor.

“Play me a song.” I asked the dulcimer player as I tossed him one of my ill-gotten silver.

“What would you like?”

“Play me a song about heroic deeds. About great men and doing great things in far-off lands.” I admit stroking my ego every now and then, but who wouldn’t want to hear a song about themselves? I tried not to smile knowingly as I finished my request, as the people might begin to recognize me. “Play me a song about Gilbert of Allemagne.”

The minstrel stopped hammering the strings and looked up at me with dinner-plate eyes. I feared I might have revealed my secret.

“Gilbret of what?” He asked

I stooped down to clean the blood from my boot where my heart had dropped.

“Not Gilbret, Gilbert… of Allemagne… near Saxony.” I was becoming frustrated.

“Never heard of him.”

“Gilbert Morrin.” Looking on his vacant eyes, my hopes began to thin. “The Savior of Avebury.”

I waited for a sign of recognition. Nothing.

“The Warrior of Wessex.”

I looked around the tavern for a helpful voice and found only crickets.

“The Scourge of Skara Brae.”

“Sorry, mate.” He looked saddened, and I couldn’t place whether it was because he couldn’t remember my song or that he thought I had gone loony.

“I’ve got it!” Spirits were rising, “The Re-Roller of the Rollright Stones Who Rolled Them Back to the Right Place!”

Yes, he definitely thought I had gone loony.

“No songs about this Gilbret fellow, but I know a good song about Thorin the Brave, Hero of the Hinterland!”

My shoe kept getting bloodier and bloodier as the name made me wince. Reaching for my sword to find an empty scabbard, lost to my never-ending bad day, I let the musician know my feelings on one `Thorin: Hero of the Hinterland’.

“If you play one note of any song that even mentions Thorn the `Brave’, you’ll be wearing that dulcimer on your head, verstahlich?” Several pairs of hands grabbed me by the shoulders and waist, and I slowly realized that I was gripping the poor minstrel by the neck. I let go and began to apologize profusely for my reaction, blaming it on the brandy and blood loss. Taking back my seat I decided I needed to relax a little more and let today slip behind me.

With the townsfolk keeping a wary eye in my direction, my stomach reminded me that I had not eaten in quite some time, and I noticed that one of the barmaids left a glass jar of black olives at my table. At least someone recognized me, even if they were too shy to admit it. Being an adventurer and hero, I spent most of my time traveling and living off of staples such as bread, cheese and the occasional poached deer. Treats such as sweets and yes, olives and such, were gained from appreciative, doe-eyed patrons of my art. Olives were a delicacy not often to be had and I smacked my lips at the thought of them. I thrust my hand elbow deep into the jar and fished for the biggest and the most ripe.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up to see the bent doctor staring back at me through his glasses. He seemed amused.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Someone has left me a present, and I am helping myself to some olives.” I was feeling much better. “Would you like one?”

“Those aren’t olives.”

“What are you…” My voice trailed off as I realized my arm was numb and a little stingy.

“Those aren’t olives.”

I pulled my arm out of the jar.

The olives had attached themselves to it.

“They’re leeches.”

Knocking my chair back I reeled against the wall, staring wide-eyed at my leech-covered appendage. I tried to rip them off my skin but my nails just slipped over their slimy blackness.

“Calm down, calm down.” The doctor re-situated his glasses “You won’t get them off that way. You have to release them with fire. Let me get a candle.”

Instead of waiting for the doctor I decided to grab a knife off the bar and started scraping the buggers from my skin. Patience had ceased to be a virtue for me.

“What are you doing?” the doctor yelled, “You’re hurting them! We need those to treat your cut. More importantly, leeches are not easily or cheaply acquired.”

I turned the knife from the small leeches on my arm to the big one wearing glasses and holding a candle. Startled, he jumped back and the rest of the townsfolk kept their distance.

“GET… AWAY.” I stated in a frantic calm, “I will not tolerate any more of your witchery. I will remove these leeches. I will bandage my arm…” I looked down at the blood seeping from the leech wounds. “…well, arms now I guess. I will rent a room and then I will go to bed. This day will end and tomorrow will come.”

The door to the Inn swung open revealing a breathless young man with a wide smile.

“He’s here!”

“Who’s here, Jerold?” The barmaid scowled, “We have a situation here with a crazy man.”

The boys face seemed to glow with anticipation.

“Thorin the Brave: Hero of the Hinterland!”

To Be Continued, and I'm serious this time...

[Typhoid]

Can I inquire why you chose French over English?

If this is explained, I'll back it up by saying I didnt read it.

[Professor S]

Originally Posted by Typhoid

Can I inquire why you chose French over English?

If this is explained, I'll back it up by saying I didnt read it.

You should have added "+1!!!" to the bottom of that post.

[Typhoid]

Originally Posted by Professor S

You should have added "+1!!!" to the bottom of that post.

And so should you, to that one.

Considering you didnt explain anything.


Thank you, dear sir.



EDIT: What is it about you that makes it so hard to answer a simple question?

And dont retort with "why cant you just read it."

You take jabs (sarcastic or not) anywhere you can. It's sort of pathetic in a sense.

[Professor S]

Listen, if you want to read the damn thing, just read it, or if not, don't. How about that? Nonsensicallt babbling about it being in French doesn't add anything.

And I take jabs when they are called for. Its just that you always seem to call for it

[Typhoid]

Can I not simply ask WHY you wrote it how you did?

That speaks nothing of the story itself.


Getting mad at me for asking why you wrote it how you did is like getting mad at a little kid for not understanding mathematics. It's redundant and pointless.


And while it may not "add" anything, it gives some sort of understanding. You need a certain reason to write something in a certain way. I was simply asking that reason.



I give you the glory of a shovel, to pry all of that sand out of your vagina.

[KillerGremlin]

Not bad, but...

“This fella’s all beat up.” The waitress laughed.

I'm not a big fan of the word laughed in this context...I think you could play with it a bit.

Not bad, keep writing, keep posting....you know.



I haven't written creatively, for fun, in a while. My last stab at creative writting was a mock-serious paragraph that actually makes fun of the truth, and it turned out this:

While not necessarily pro or con on the subject of the consumption of alcohol at parties, I feel that if more females felt compelled to partake in the activity that I would find myself in a disposition to not complain. Of course, there is many a bylaw that must be implemented in order to sustain maximum pleasure - particularly - no ugmos or fatties. This social uprising, that is the consumption of alcohol during the course of a party, yields peculiar results. We find that females are more inclined to sing and dance: every, and any, song will become the female's personal favorite. Females also acquire a notion to elevate themselves - be it on a couch, table, or bar - and dance. This dancing usually isn't very coordinated and often segues into the female removing her garments, in a particularly seductive fashion. Another curious trend is the notion to make sexual advances on another drunk female. This may result in careless kissing or gracious foreplay. Without a doubt, alcohol acts as a sort of catalyst, turning noisey, draggy, or shy females into rambling, dancing idiots. Thus, after spending a considerable amount of time indulged in research, I feel that promoting alcohol consumption to females at parties is not only a necessity to a good party, but a commendable way to improve one's night. So drink up gals!

[Professor S]

Originally Posted by Typhoid

Can I not simply ask WHY you wrote it how you did?

That speaks nothing of the story itself.


Getting mad at me for asking why you wrote it how you did is like getting mad at a little kid for not understanding mathematics. It's redundant and pointless.


And while it may not "add" anything, it gives some sort of understanding. You need a certain reason to write something in a certain way. I was simply asking that reason.



I give you the glory of a shovel, to pry all of that sand out of your vagina.

Maybe you could explain to me exactly how I wrote my story in French, and please feel free to quote.

[Typhoid]

Originally Posted by Professor S

Maybe you could explain to me exactly how I wrote my story in French, and please feel free to quote.

Allemagne is the French word for Germany. And you're no fool, you know what I was referring to. (Considering you chose the title, and you chose the word, so you have to know what it means and what language it was in.) You're a 28 year old teacher for god's sake, if you didnt get what the hell I was talking about, thats an issue for us both.

[Professor S]

That was one word. And yes, I know Allemagne is French for Germany (it was actually the common name for a bit ex. Charlemagne), thats why I used it. Thats not the point.

I think you don't get why I'm pissed at you. Let me explain.

When someone takes the time to post a story they have written online, they are eager to hear feedback, and hopeful that it will be good. Writers are very touchy about their work because its little peices of them put into words.

The last thing they want is a smart comment about one word and then hear about how you didn't bother to read the story to begin with. That is not appreciated. Sorry if I lit into you a little, but we writers are a touchy lot.

And KG, thanks for the feedback. I don't really like using "laughed" like that either, but I have a weird thing against using "said" a lot in that context and I always try and get around it with other words. I have to get over that.

[Typhoid]

Originally Posted by Professor S

That was one word. And yes, I know Allemagne is French for Germany (it was actually the common name for a bit ex. Charlemagne), thats why I used it. Thats not the point.

I think you don't get why I'm pissed at you. Let me explain.

When someone takes the time to post a story they have written online, they are eager to hear feedback, and hopeful that it will be good. Writers are very touchy about their work because its little peices of them put into words.

The last thing they want is a smart comment about one word and then hear about how you didn't bother to read the story to begin with. That is not appreciated. Sorry if I lit into you a little, but we writers are a touchy lot. .

No, I know that. I write things. I used to post them on sites. I know how eager the feedback level is on things. But you shoul still be open to questions nonetheless.

And my question was why you chose the French word. And finally, you answered it. Thank you.

And dont tell me how writers are. I've been writing various random poems/songs/stories/scripts since I was 8 years old. I know what writers want to hear. But you have to conclude that this is an internet forum. It isnt a catch-all for desperate writers starving for feedback on any medium.


Edit:

PS. I'm sort of disapointed you didnt take up the "That is redundant and pointless" thing I said. I was hoping if I lobbed one up, you'd take it instead of smacking the umpire in the balls with the bat when you get the chance.

[Professor S]

Originally Posted by Typhoid

And my question was why you chose the French word. And finally, you answered it.

Oh good lord, why didn't you say that to begin with. I thought you were making some sort of poor attempt at making a smart comment about my story.

You were just talking about that one word, not making a bad joke about the whole piece. Jesus, I feel like deleting 90% of the posts in this thread now. LOL!

[Typhoid]

Originally Posted by Professor S

Oh good lord, why didn't you say that to begin with. I thought you were making some sort of poor attempt at making a smart comment about my story.

You were just talking about that one word, not making a bad joke about the whole piece. Jesus, I feel like deleting 90% of the posts in this thread now. LOL!

Well, yeah, it was the one word. I even said I didnt read the story, so I dont know how you could get the idea that I--......wait...did you revert to a 14 year old girl and just say "LOL!".

[Professor S]

Originally Posted by Typhoid

wait...did you revert to a 14 year old girl and just say "LOL!".

You caught me, damn you... DAMN YOU!!!!

Sorry about the big hub-bub. I should only yell at you when you deserve it.

[Typhoid]

Strangie, I'm scared. We resolved this. And we're joking around.