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Author Topic: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis  (Read 5056 times)

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Offline Laurna

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Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« on: October 21, 2014, 05:00:19 am »
Previous chapter:http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,1316.0.html

985 December 24
Cynfyn Castle

Jessa’s aim was improving. She attributed much of her success to the fancy bow she’d been lent. Not knowing which bow the commander’s wife had used before, the attending squire chose one that he considered appropriate for an experienced noblewoman.  His choice made Jessa shy back; it was a longbow of polished red oak with a leather grip. Without realizing her trepidation, the squire slipped the hemp cord over one end and then the other, bending the length easily into a curve. She looked at it skeptically, voicing her concern over its draw weight. “Forty pounds” had been the squire’s answer as he handed across the sleek weapon. Her first test of the cord made her nod in acceptance. It was nearly twice the weight of yesterday’s bow, but not so heavy as to impede her draw. In fact, after a few shots she found it an improvement, as the arrow traveled faster with better precision than the day before. The higher weight, however, gave her little time to mark her target. Even so, she was improving. Without Deryni Guidance, she could hit the butt from the forty yard mark half of the time. Minding what her mother had said, it was only on every second or third draw that she practiced her innate abilities to Guide the arrow into a corrected path.  Each of these attempts found their home in the rings on the target; the last two had made the yellow center. With each success, her smile deepened; steadily she was getting a feel for how the magic worked.

It was good that only a few men were out in this cold air of Christmas Eve morning. Most of the castle residents were in morning service, where she should be. Jessa knew she should have felt guilty for sleeping in and missing the opening of the service, but that feeling escaped her. She would use the excuse that entering the chapel in the middle of Father Emesto’s sermon would be far more disrespectful than missing the whole service. Much better to attend Father Pernal’s preferred service at noon. This was a breach from her years in the convent. Why then did she feel so little guilt? The sisters of Saint Clair would call her thoughts blasphemous. If she had dared such a thing two months ago, the punishment would have been severe, but experience gained beyond the convent walls had changed her perception. She was discovering that the anti-Deryni dogma, which was so commonly decried in sermons, was not a part of every practitioner’s preaching. There were a few who held a more tolerant view, whose sermons appealed more ardently to her inner faith.

Many were the actions of the clergy which she found contradictory to the love and tolerance that she studied in scripture. Jessa was glad Father Pernal was one to understand that a person born of the Deryni race was not by fault a servant of evil. He spoke of a person’s motivations and actions being a clearer indication of a person’s soul, not the circumstances of their birth. He stressed that morality was the responsibility of every man and woman, and those with more power had a greater responsibility to bare. His words were a far cry from what Jessa had heard every morning in the convent. In that place, they had preached fear, fear of those who were different. With fear came hate, and hate lead to oppression. Far too many men, women, and children accused of nothing more than being Deryni had been tied to the stake by fear-mongers.  Barely three fortnights had passed since Jessa had been counted as one among them. Unlike the fate of others, Jessa had been rescued from the flames. She’d forgiven her abductor, may Sir Thomas’s soul rest in peace, but the suffering from that event was not easily shed from her memories. So much changed on that day. Like a phoenix in the midst of fire, she knew of reawakening. She was Deryni and she was Healer; she had purpose, and now she was able to use that purpose for the good of her people. Much more so than could that novice who'd been sentence to a life of cleaning the cellars and Healing only when the abbess deemed it necessary.

Jessa put a third arrow in the dead center of the yellow bull’s-eye.  She allowed self-satisfaction to fill her heart before the teaching of both Father Pernal and her mother reprimanded her thoughts. Be responsible and not so many in the center, they had told her. Taking heed, Jessa eased her tension, choosing to change up the sport. Marking the yellow, she drew back fully and then loosed the arrow, purposely Pushing it away from the target.  It was a subtle change in the magic, more like blowing an insect away with her breath than guiding the arrow home. To the naked eye, the angle of the projectile did not differ, but by the length of the field, the arrow had dropped considerably. It slid under the frame of the butt and skidded into the dirt mound beyond.

The archer laughed at the outcome. Pushing things away was quite a different feeling than guiding them.  She was contemplating the difference when she felt a comforting presence come up behind her.

“Very nice,” spoke the voice of her heart. “I was wondering if you would try that.”

“Try missing, my lord?” Jessa questioned with an innocent pout. Turning, she saw Sir Washburn’s knowing smile and that of Lord Muir’s at his side. “Good morning, Lord Muir,” she greeted, making her curtsy before the Earl.  As she looked up, her face relit in a smile.  “I’m learning the great talent of missing!” she innocently exclaimed. Beyond the castle lords, a number of people arrived to fill the galleries. The chapel service must have ended.

“I can see you miss quit well.” Lord Muir stated as he accepted her greeting. “Though I can see it is not every shot that you miss. Nicely placed.” He gestured to the target at the end of the field. More than a dozen arrows protruded from its face; the majority were high and right, but the cluster near the center was hard to ignore. Only a few arrows were scattered in the dirt mound behind. “Correct the hesitancy in your release, and those….” He pointed high and right. “...will find their home closer to the yellow.”

“Thank you, my lord. I will endeavor to practice as you say.” She tilted her head toward Wash. The earl’s brother raised his brows, holding back his pride, and waved for her to continue in her practice.
 
“For you,” Jessa replied, taking up a new arrow. She nocked the arrow as she had most of the morning, between thumb and fourth finger, saving her index and middle fingers to pull back on the string. For the last several releases she had willed the pain away from the blisters that marred her skin. Repetition was the way to gain skill. She would deal with the damage to her hand when others weren’t so focused on what she did.  She drew back, concentrating to make a smooth release when Wash’s hand clutched her elbow.

“Hold!” he demanded. “Drop!” The voice was the commander’s, it allowed little resistance. She let the bow string disengage with difficulty in her tiring arm. Wash caught the arrow before it fell forward.  He did not smile as he reached across for her right hand.

“Dear Lord! I believe you are done!” he swore on examination of what he saw. Her palm opened to reveal red wounds on her fingers that oozed from ruptured blisters and missing skin.  He looked back up into her eyes, trying to understand why she did not Heal these. Why had she let them get so bad? “You should have told me and stopped before it came to this.”

“Lady Elzia said I should be more careful,” she said quietly. But “more Human” was the word she used in her Mind Speech. She says I am too obvious and need to hide my skills with more care. If that means having blisters, than that is what I must do.

“The baroness is cautious.” Overly so, Wash continued. He pulled a kerchief from his tunic and wrapped her fingers with care. Please, cleanse these and heal them; keep them covered if you must, but I won’t see you in pain.

She nodded, knowing her time at archery was done.  Just when she had discovered a variable to the magic!  With a fresh idea, her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Perhaps a shot or two by either of you before we retire?”

The Knight Captain’s look reprimanded his lady in the way Jessa recalled her father would just before giving in and indulging his little girl. “Are you sure that is what you want?”

“Lady Jessa, you’re incorrigible.” The earl laughed at the side glance his brother gave him. “As in the old days,” Lord Muir challenged.  “First to miss?” 

“We’ll be here all day,” came Washburn’s dry remark. With a roll of his eyes and shake of his head, he called for his bow.

“Perhaps,” Jessa whispered, wondering if she dared to play the game her way and if these men would allow such an incursion.

They backed away to 200 yards and tossed for who would draw first. The earl won and took a white feathered arrow from his squire. Four rounds passed as each man placed his arrows in a cluster at the yellow’s center. The black feathered arrows appeared a hair inside the white feathered ones. On the fifth arrow, as Wash drew, Jessa remarked quietly, “May I, my lord?” She had been studying the strength in the commander’s draw and the velocity that drove the arrow to its target. She felt she had the ability to Guide it home. Wash gave a slight nod and let the arrow go. She focused, and the arrow found the yellow but was not as centered as the others.

On his next draw, her Guidance was greatly improved; the arrowhead gliding into the midst of the cluster centered there.

“I was so certain your arm was tiring and you were going to give me the win,” Lord Muir commented. “Though I can see I was wrong.” The earl raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as he looked at his younger brother, but his next thoughts were for his brother’s wife. Lady Jessa, do you think you can Guide my arrow from where you stand? he inquired. You would not let your earl lose honor by missing on this day of all days, would you? In his dare, Muir gave Jessa a bow before he raised his bow, pulled back the cord, and loosed the arrow. Terrified she might be the cause of his missing, Jessa managed just in time to push the earl’s offset arrow back to center. It struck the target next to the black one just out of the main cluster.

I am sorry, my lord Muir, Jessa said, almost in tears from the near miss. She was beginning to regret the game she had begun.

However, Muir simply laughed. Not bad at all.  Next round try to make me miss; you do want your husband to win after all, don’t you?

“But…” Jessa hesitated realizing she had spoken aloud.

He set you a challenge, my beloved. This is the sport you wanted to play, is it not? Give it a try. Wash laughed as he aimed and made a perfect shot.

Jessa was uncertain, but she nodded her acceptance.  She stood with her back to the gallery, her eyes slightly glazed and her posture tall. Muir nocked the arrow, drew, and released. Jessa wrapped her thoughts around the field tip. As the detail of time slowed, she Pushed. It did not dip as she’d willed it. The earl’s magic held its course, daring her to do better.  In the last few yards of its travel, she Pushed again. She felt Muir’s strength holding its aim true. In the last instant she gave a third Push and watched the head sink in a hair’s breadth within the yellow’s margin.

“Close brother, oh so close to losing the bout.” Wash laughed.

Jessa sighed feeling defeated until Muir whistled a happy note of nonchalance. His mind speech, however, proved how much she had impressed him. If you can do that, my lady, then I am proud to have you as one of my family, Muir stated. Wash only nodded at his brother, knowingly.

“One last arrow. Dare me to miss!” the tall Knight Captain challenged.

Jessa’s mind was tired. She had not the energy to try that again, but she was not about to give up on her husband’s challenge. She stepped in close beside him. “I dare you to not miss,” she whispered in his ear.

She focused as he drew back the bowstring, set his mark, and then… Jessa blew three words across her husband’s ear, “Master Cervus Dulcis.” Her breath was like a butterfly landing soft and tickling upon his cheek.

His arrow shot high, high up over the butt, thumping incomprehensibly into the stone wall. The look on Washburn’s face was of astonishment. Jessa backed away, realizing she had just overstepped her bounds. Muir was too shocked to laugh, but a snicker escaped from under his breath. The galleries had gone quite silent. 

“Oh!” escaped the young bride’s lips. She backed away more, fearing she had done more than lost her husband the match.

Sir Washburn’s face creased in disbelief. Never in all his years had that happened before. He failed to realize how his brooding stance, that of a formidable warrior dressed all in black, staring at his fallen arrow, established trepidation in all who watched.  The tension across the field was tangible; everyone was holding their breath. This tall man forced a breath, looked up to the sky and then down. A smile formed under his mustache, followed in an instant by uproarious laughter. He turned and stepped to his wife so quickly that she could not retreat. In a full embrace, he swept her up and spun her around, laughing all the while. “What mischief you cause!” he called out. “Wherever did you hear that?”

In the midst of his swing, her veil fell away, her gown flew high, and her breath caught in her throat. She was both elated and terrified in that moment. In no way could she answer him. “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he said, dropping her down. His lips met hers, his breath taking her in until she was dizzy and weak in his arms.  For a moment they parted, letting her catch her breath, but then he kissed her again lovingly.

With a worthy bow to the Earl of Lendour, the Knight Captain admitted his defeat. “You win fairly, my lord,” Wash called out. “But I do believe the prize is all mine.” His arm surrounded his wife, and he led her away from the astonished onlookers in the gallery.

*******

The Great Hall of Castle Cynfyn was full of activity in the afternoon’s gathering cold. Clouds were moving in, and with it came the threat of a new winter storm. Those who lived in the outer barracks or the artisan dwellings abandoned those buildings in preference to the warmth and the gathering growing in the great hall. Each new arrival found himself pressed into joining those already in the midst of preparation for the decorations that highlighted the twelve days of celebration about to begin. Tree branches of cedar, oak, and hollyhock lay in huge mounds near the main doors. Men with small hatchets cut branches into sprigs, placing them in baskets for the children to carry. The young boys and girls raced each other, snatching up the baskets, running them haphazardly through the hall, finally delivering them to the women gathered near the center of the room. Boughs, wreaths, and garlands were shaped from the lengths of long, twisted grape vines. Strands of raffia and hemp interwoven tied the greenery to the vines. Red berries and ribbons added a contrast in festive colors. When complete, the decorations were carried to the walls of the hall where men on long ladders were actively hanging them on every possible cross beam and support. Cheerful voices filled the room; many offered their voice to the madrigals that sung of stories from the past. Interludes of harp and lute filled the hall with sound when the voices rested between songs. The hearths were blazing with caldrons of honey-spiced wine, generously poured. It was as if the celebrations had begun a day in advance, and indeed many said this was how the earl liked to spend the afternoon of his Christmas Eve.

Jessa stepped past the grand entrance into the great hall, her hand resting on the strong arm of her Knight Captain. The events of her earlier debacle had been forgiven in intimate conversation after the task of healing and wrapping her fingers was complete. He’d assuaged her guilt by the time she attended noon service. Washburn continued to remain at her side through the service and offered escort back to the festivities growing in the hall. She was blissfully happy until they walked through the throng of residents, who were exchanging sideways smiles and whispered phrases.

“...never seen him miss...”

“... the commander missed?”

“She caused him to…” 

“How?”

“Looked like a kiss to me!”

“His arrow may have missed, but Cupid’s arrow didn’t!” followed by quiet giggles.

Once more, Jessa’s guilt over wounding the commander’s reputation brought a mournful expression to her face. With regret, she whispered up to his ear, “I am so sorry, my lord. “

Washburn’s reaction was instantaneous. With a quick turn of the arm, Washburn had both his hands about her waist, and he was lifting her to stand on a bench nearby. “My Lady Jessamyn, my angel!” called Lendour’s commanding knight above the voices in the hall. “I, Knight Captain of Lendour and rogue of the family Cynfyn, do proclaim myself humbled before your beauty and undone by your sweet tongue.” Jessa, unsettled, watched him with wide eyes as his arm swept wide and across in a grand gesture of a bow. She blushed, unable to withhold the blossom of a smile that arose to her lips. All eyes were upon her, but her gaze was solely upon the gallant man before her. Wash stood tall and reached for her hand. “Here ye all, for this day, I proclaim Lady Jessamyn slayer of vanity and keeper of my heart.”

A cheer arose in the room. “With what word was vanity slain, my lord?” called a strong voice somewhere near the back. Some seemed shocked by the call and others cheered for an answer.

Washburn’s eyes widened as he looked up at his lady, daring her to say the words aloud. The young bride ducked her head, ashamed.

”Go on,” he encouraged. “They will haunt us until they hear it. It sounds far better from your lips than it would from mine.”

She raised her eyes to his and tightened her fingers over his hand. “Master Cervus Dulcis," she whispered. Then with more conviction, answering those who’d not heard, she called out, “My beloved Master Cervus Dulcis!” The air grow tense in its silence, then the older members of the castle cheered; they remembered a time when a boy had been caught in the kitchens some twenty years before to the very same day.  As the story went around the room, many more cheered. Washburn took his wife in his arms and brought her down to the floor with a laugh and a hearty embrace.

“Now, I must endure that name for months to come,” Wash whispered with a shake of his head. “Only you, my angel, could cause such a stirring in this staunch mountain land.  I take it with pride that my wife can break the lassitude that has too long filled these old halls.”

Placing her hand upon his arm, Sir Washburn proudly guided his lady toward the dais and the chairs circling the upper hearth.  Here the nobles of the castle mingled beyond the industry of those on the main floor, and here in the Yuletide spirit, they greeted the couple who stepped up into their midst. The Earl called for two goblets of wine, and gestured for his brother to take the offered wine and pass one to his bride, but when they would sip, he shook his head, no. With an eager wave to a page in the corner, Muir could not restrain his mirth as the page approached holding forth a tray ladened with red candied stags on white shield meringues. Wash groaned as he saw them, and Muir gave a hearty laugh.

“Take one and only one, my brother, and I too will take only one.” Muir gave a knowing grin, which caused Lord Donneral, who was standing near, to cover his smirk with a cough and a turned head.

“Don’t tell me after all these years, you intend to own up to that misadventure,” Robert managed to asked of Muir when he’d recovered.

“I?” asked the earl. “I admit to nothing,” he replied turning innocently to all who knew a lie when they heard it. “The only thing I will admit to was the reprimand from father who lectured me for hours on my responsibility to those loyal to me.” The Earl gave a nod to his friends and family in gratitude.  “Pass the deserts around, young Kent. They are a token of my gratitude. Taste the sweet delicacy and learn why they were quickly devoured by four restless boys on this day, twenty years ago.” Muir gestured for each person to take up the sugary treat as the pages passed them around the dais.  “I offer two toasts before we eat. The first to Robert, Artimus, and Washburn for their years of loyalty, and the second to my brother’s new wife,  to Jessa whose spirited distraction has allowed me to defeat my brother for the first time ever in archery.” As the gathering cheered and sipped their wine, Muir turned to see Jessamyn shyly blushing, “Nay lady, step before me.” He pulled her forward with one hand while raising his goblet to give her a toast with the other. “May you, my sweet sister-in-law, have many sons to earn wayward titles, like our Master Cervus Delcis, and have many daughters who are as daring as their mother to keep us all honest men!”

“Hear, hear!” answered all around.

As others drank their wine, Wash held up his candied treat and offered it to his wife. She took a bite of the shield and stag, tasting the sweetness of cherry and cream. “To many sons and daughters!” Wash echoed cheerfully to his wife. Then he finished the last of it with a bite and followed it with a swig of wine.

Muir called for a merry tune from Troubadour Harlow, and many joined in the singing of a lively song. Only Lady Elzia seated at Jessa’s side seemed to frown at the delicate dessert and shed a tear of sorrow.

Next Chapter:http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,1321.0.html
« Last Edit: October 28, 2014, 04:59:29 am by Laurna »

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #1 on: October 21, 2014, 09:52:04 am »
Nice chapter, though I hope Jessa is not getting too carried away with her new-found (but well deserved) happiness. 

Lady Elzia's reaction took me by surprise at the end - she seems unable to trust that her daughter's happiness will not turn to ill fortune.

Of course, the story isn't over yet, is it?   ;)
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

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Offline Evie

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #2 on: October 21, 2014, 11:02:36 am »
Yeah, could be a touch of foreshadowing there....   :)
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Offline Laurna

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #3 on: October 22, 2014, 03:44:17 am »
Quote
Nice chapter

I'm smiling, thank you very much Jerusha. Do you remember a time not so very long ago, during my previous story when someone said (or rather everyone said) "when are you going to have a Nice chapter", Nice in the sense of my character's happiness instead of them falling into dire straights at every turn.  ;D So here is my chance to offer a Nice story.

Interestingly enough, my writing class last year told us you can not write about every day stuff. That would be boring and turn people away. Possibly, but I have read many of the stories on this site that are happy stories about the living of everyday life, and I greatly enjoy reading them. Granted, everyday life for a Deryni still has its tension, maybe that is why we love the Deryni. Still, the truth is, my characters deserve a Nice story and I want to accommodate them and give it to them. This is supposed to be a simple romantic tale.
Of course, too much happiness would be boring and unrealistic.  So... hmm... I guess we will need just a little bit of tension after this. Don't you think?


« Last Edit: October 22, 2014, 10:50:32 am by Laurna »

Offline Evie

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #4 on: October 22, 2014, 09:30:45 am »

Interestingly enough, my writing class last year told us you can not write about every day stuff. That would be boring and turn people away.

You can absolutely write about "everyday stuff" as long as there is something happening within the context of that "everyday stuff" that provides the basis for an actual story, and not simply a laundry listing of things that happened during an average day.  In a story, something has to happen.  That "something" doesn't have to be a major event--it needn't be something as earthshaking as a war, a death, or even two people fighting--but it needs to capture the readers' interest enough to give them a reason to keep reading.  Even if it's simply some internal conflict or question that has to be resolved by the protagonist, there needs to be some sort of action going on for it to be a story, because conflict is the heart of story.

For instance, let's look at your story.  Sure, on the surface of things, we have two newlyweds going through the course of (for them) everyday events.  But now let's look at what is really going on, the stuff that makes it a story. Early on, you show that Jessa is feeling insecure about how to fit in with this new role in life. She hasn't figured out yet how to fit in with the other Court Ladies.  This revelation creates sympathy in the reader.  Now we want to know more about her.  Is she going to succeed in learning how to fit in with the other ladies, and in learning how to be a suitable consort for Wash?  We have a reason to root for her now.  Similarly, she is having to learn how to balance her desire to learn how to use her Deryni powers and her need to use them responsibly.  The readers now have another reason to keep reading.  Will Jessa end up learning how to balance these things, or will her actions inadvertently lead to Cynfyn's downfall in some way?  I've had the benefit of reading ahead of everyone else, so I know that Jessa is soon to learn something that is going to shake her up in a major way.  How will she deal with this new revelation?  Will everything turn out all right for her in the end?  (Yes, we've read the end of your last story, so we know how their love story will eventually turn out, but what we don't know is how many bumps in the road there are going to be from the earliest days of their romance to the end of their years together.  This new obstacle throws in some short-term suspense as the readers wonder how this new revelation might impact the newlyweds' happiness in the near-future, even though we may already know how things will turn out in the long run.)

These internal conflicts, and the questions they bring up for the readers, which they can only find the answers to if they continue reading--these things are what make a story.  The fact that they happen in the course of everyday events is perfectly fine.  Nearly all great dramas do, at least in real life.

Now on the other hand, here's an example of telling a character's everyday events in such a way that it does not tell a story:

Duncan McLain woke up.  It was a fine spring day, nice and warm, and he was content to roll out of his purple silk sheets to face the morning.  He went to his nightstand and began cleaning his teeth with a willow twig, glad he had not partaken of the garlic sauce the night before, because he would be listening to confessions later that morning, and no one wanted a priest to breath garlic breath all over them.  He opened up his linen chest.  Only two pairs of braies lay folded within. He would need to send his dirty clothes to the laundress again.  Tossing his silk-embroidered white linen nightshirt to one side, he stepped over to the close-stool, glad he had such a convenience handy and didn't have to sit on a cold wooden board in a drafty garderobe.  Perched over the chamberpot, he softly hummed a tune to himself....

Now, I adore Duncan, but if I have to read too much more of that kind of "everyday stuff" without something happening, I'm going to pitch the book across the room.  If it's an electronic book, that's going to be pretty hard on my computer!   ;D  By the time I'm a few paragraphs in, something darn well better be happening besides Duncan deciding whether he wants bread and cheese for breakfast or leftover frumenty!  Either Alaric better be sending him a distress call via Mind-Speech, or Duncan needs to look out the window to see some masked marauder galloping away with Helena, or the Basilica needs to be on fire...something!  Even if it's some small, internal conflict, like him wondering if he really did receive some strange call from God to preach the Gospel to the donkeys of Llannedd, or if he just dreamed that because he had too much sauced goose the night before, please PLEASE let something arise that has me wondering what the solution to the problem is going to be.  Without that, there's no story!

So write about everyday things all you please, just don't forget that your end goal is to tell a story, not just to tell us what your characters did on an average day.  From what I've read so far, it doesn't look like you're in any danger of doing that, but you'd be surprised how many "stories" are out there in which nothing really happens to keep a reader caring enough to flip the page.
« Last Edit: October 22, 2014, 09:45:08 am by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline Laurna

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #5 on: October 22, 2014, 11:11:15 am »
Quote
he was content to roll out of his purple silk sheets to face the morning
Oh that in and of itself perked my interest. Purple silk sheets? How ever did he have enough extravagance to afford purple silk sheets. Purple is a very expensive dye. Not to mention the sumptuous feel of silk sheeting.  ;D

Quote
Tossing his silk-embroidered white linen nightshirt to one side, he stepped over to the close-stool
Umm, Really? You do realize you have just told us the man has taken off his clothes and now he stands bare naked in the room. My mind is doing flips with that image.   :o

He had best have a cold shower in the next chapter, while he continues humming his little tune.  LOL!

Now if the basilica is on fire, will he have time to grab some clothes before he has to run for safety? That is the question.

Nothing like a fresh morning to spark the imagination.
Ok Ladies... if I can write a silly Nice story, all of you can too. Write on, everyone, write on!
« Last Edit: October 22, 2014, 11:20:22 am by Laurna »

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #6 on: October 22, 2014, 11:56:11 am »
Quote
he was content to roll out of his purple silk sheets to face the morning
Oh that in and of itself perked my interest. Purple silk sheets? How ever did he have enough extravagance to afford purple silk sheets. Purple is a very expensive dye. Not to mention the sumptuous feel of silk sheeting.  ;D

He's a bishop. Have you ever seen the furnishings in a bishop's palace?  The furnishings may belong to the Church rather than him personally, but I'm sure Duncan is hardly reduced to sleeping on threadbare bed linens, even though he's just the Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth and not living in Archbishop Cardiel's possibly more luxurious apartments at the Cathedral.  In a medieval society, bishops would be considered on the same social level with nobility, and noblemen (and bishops) were expected to keep up appearances.  And don't forget that Duncan was also the son of a duke, not to mention a duke himself for a short time.  :)

That said, Duncan would probably be happy with fine bleached linen sheets, or if he wants a bit of luxury, perhaps some cotton sheets imported from a warmer clime.  Cotton goods were luxury items back in the day.
Quote
Quote
Tossing his silk-embroidered white linen nightshirt to one side, he stepped over to the close-stool
Umm, Really? You do realize you have just told us the man has taken off his clothes and now he stands bare naked in the room. My mind is doing flips with that image.   :o

He's bare-ass naked and sitting on the toilet, or at the very least standing in front of it and making like a courtyard fountain. Not the foremost image I want stuck in my head of any man, no matter how attractive he is. I don't particularly want to see even my own man in mid-poop or mid-pee, and I've been married to him for over twenty-five years!   Because eww!  :D

Quote
He had best have a cold shower in the next chapter, while he continues humming his little tune.  LOL!


 A medieval shower?  Good thing he's Deryni, since that would certainly require magic!  Either that or a nearby waterfall.  And if he uses the same shower spell Thorne Hagen did, it will likely have to be a cold one, since those tiny little lightning bolts wouldn't generate much heat.

Quote
Now if the basilica is on fire, will he have time to grab some clothes before he has to run for safety? That is the question.

Let's hope so.  While there's nothing quite like an exhibitionist priest running through the cloisters to start off the day, it only takes seconds to shrug into a nightshirt, so if the fire is so bad he doesn't have time to dress, he's likely going to be going through some major PTSD after such a narrow escape from the flames.  Again.  Because Holy Nightmares of Loris, Batman!

Quote
Nothing like a fresh morning to spark the imagination.
Ok Ladies... if I can write a silly Nice story, all of you can too. Write on, everyone, write on!

You'll notice even in the hypothetical silly story above, there is something happening.  The story gets more interesting once the Basilica is on fire.  Will Duncan get his nightshirt on before his escape or won't he? Tune in next chapter....  ;)
« Last Edit: October 22, 2014, 11:58:30 am by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline Laurna

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #7 on: October 22, 2014, 12:19:55 pm »
ROFL!!!

I am waiting with batted breath to read on!

Offline Evie

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #8 on: October 22, 2014, 12:26:01 pm »
So am I.  It's your story; I just temporarily hijacked your thread.   ;D

* Evie hands over a baseball bat to bat your breath with. 

Or did you mean bated?   ;)  (And no, not baited, for those of you who spell it that way.  That implies breath with a fish hook and a worm dangling off the barb!)
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #9 on: October 22, 2014, 12:57:07 pm »
Quote
* Evie hands over a baseball bat to bat your breath with.

Or did you mean bated?   ;)  (And no, not baited,

Oh Dear!
My true inability to spell is showing in public. It feels like standing in a crowd with only a night shirt on.
*Laurna runs and hides,*
and then whispers from behind the door. "Yes, I mean 'Bated' breath."
http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-bai1.htm I just had to look it up to see if it was bated or baited. I personally would have chosen the latter but see that it should be the first.
Don't mind me as I giggle with embarrassment.

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #10 on: October 22, 2014, 01:02:18 pm »
You'd be surprised how often I see it spelled as "baited breath," even in published books.  In fanfic, it's easy enough to understand ("bated" isn't that common a word these days aside from in that particular phrase, but it comes from "abate," not from "bait"), but in published works I don't get how it could slip past a professional editor.   :)
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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #11 on: October 22, 2014, 01:29:20 pm »
And here I was thinking of a nice, simple story, where Bishop Duncan sits upon the close stool, not realizing it is sitting on a long dormant Transfer Portal.  The TP comes to life and whisks him away to a fortress in the Anvil of the Lord, where the last remnants of Healer lore were hidden away by the Michaelines.  Now Morgan must ride forth to find his cousin....

So much for simple.   ;)
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #12 on: October 22, 2014, 01:58:02 pm »
Jerusha, I love the way you think.

Be reminded that the Basilica is on fire, Duncan is missing, poor Alaric is thinking the worst, and alas, our revered Bishop finds himself in a strange library at the Anvil of the Lord without a stitch of clothing on.  I hope he can find a robe in a cupboard before someone finds him there.

Evie, your boring, everyday life story is taking on a life of its own.  ;D
« Last Edit: December 27, 2014, 12:34:27 pm by Laurna »

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #13 on: October 22, 2014, 02:34:49 pm »
And here I was thinking of a nice, simple story, where Bishop Duncan sits upon the close stool, not realizing it is sitting on a long dormant Transfer Portal.  The TP comes to life...

My first thought was, "But they didn't have toilet paper back then."   :o  (Well, his is sitting on the close stool!)
 
If the Charmin did spring to life, it would certainly squeeze some excitement out of an otherwise dull morning.  ;D


« Last Edit: October 22, 2014, 02:48:09 pm by Aerlys »
"Loss and possession, death and life are one, There falls no shadow where there shines no sun."

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Offline Evie

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Re: Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis
« Reply #14 on: October 22, 2014, 02:51:02 pm »
If I were sitting starkers on a toilet that suddenly whisked me off to a far-off location while the toilet paper in my hand simultaneously became animate, that ol' crapper would definitely see immediate use!  Poor Duncan!   ;D
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