Old_Wolf
January 9th, 2002, 08:03 PM
Hello,
This is another "request for comment" kinda threads. http://www.sffworld.com/ubb/smile.gif
Mostly I've written dopey poetry in the past. This is sort of my first stab at writing something with any substance. The main character, Reginold the Blue Jeans Wizard, just popped out of nowhere one day and made me laugh. So I jotted down this little blurb that was inspired by my univ. library. It isn't complete, but a few friends found it amusing. Just kinda looking for any kind of comments. Thanks. http://www.sffworld.com/ubb/smile.gif
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Reginold had decided a long time ago that the world was going mad. As the years had progressed nothing he’d experienced had really dissuaded him of that notion. What he was doing right now certainly wasn’t changing his mind. Perhaps it was the fact that he was standing in the middle of a below zero wind-chill winter night, right outside of a perfectly warm and open university library. Perhaps it was the fact that he was only wearing a jacket, T-shirt, tennis shoes, and his signature blue jeans in a foot of snow. More likely, in Reginold’s humble opinion, it was the fact that while he was standing in the middle of that freezing cold winter night in minimal apparel he was talking to a 900 year old stone gargoyle. Oh, the fact that he was talking to a gargoyle wasn’t what was fostering his view that the world was mad. It was the fact that it was an Irish gargoyle. Gargoyles are rare in Ireland, occasionally found on Catholic Churches or old castle manors, so finding one in front of a university library in the middle of Missouri was very strange indeed. How this particular gargoyle could have ended up in its current situation was completely beyond even Reginold’s somewhat largish 957 year experience.
The little statue sat on a pedestal just to the side of the library’s main entrance. The rock beast wasn’t something that would seem appropriate outside a library, being a squat figure only three feet in height, with features vaguely resembling a half cat, half-human face and a body that could be closely equated to a faun or satyr with proportionate bat wings. Perhaps it was the little figure’s peculiar visage that had pulled Reginold into examining it before entering the library. It was while the blue jeaned one was looking at the detail in the gargoyle’s face that the statue had spoken.
“And what, exactly, would you be findin’ so interesting about me face?” were the first words out of that odd mouth that seemed a cross between human lips and a cats chops. Reginold had been taken aback by the little fellow’s question, not because the statue spoke, but because of the somewhat worn Irish accent the question was placed in. Reginold, remembering that gargoyles were somewhat rare in Ireland, had figured it to be English, or perhaps Scottish.
“I was merely looking at the detail of your face.” Reginold replied when he had recovered his composure. Reginold straightened his roundish glasses and leaned down from his six foot height to resume looking at the little creature’s face. The wizard’s intense blue eyes peered out from behind a well maintained bushy brown beard that reached high up his cheeks. Reginold’s shoulder length brown hair decided to intrude itself over one ear into his eyes and he pushed it back unconsciously. “The elements seem to have had very little effect on you, you look to be in near perfect condition. A sculptor of great talent must have carved your form.”
“Sculptor?” the gargoyle snorted. “A sculptor’s tools have never touched this rock body, me boyo. After near 900 years o’ sittin’ in the elements any sculptors work would o’ been far gone by now. Me body is 100% pure Druid work, and that’s the honest truth. I would be taken it that you’ve run across me kind before, ‘ave ye?”
“What could possibly have given you that impression old boy?” Reginold asked the question with a certain amount of sarcasm. Either the sarcasm was lost on the stone beast, or it decided to answer anyway, just to make conversation.
“Well, me first clue would be that you’ve yet to run away screamin ‘bout the devil in front o’ the library’. I had a rather unfortunate experience involving a pretty young lass doing just that last fall.”
“Ah, so that’s what all the fuss was about. I never actually figured out what she could have been talking about. I did a few simple detection spells near here, but never did find a devilgate. I guess you explain that matter. Why exactly did you decide to talk to that unfortunate girl?”
“She was doing exactly what you were just doing, only the lass had been doing it for 2 bloody hours! I get a bit ruffled by people staring at me face after a bit. I suppose she was an artist or some such working on a project. I do regret scaring the wee lass, but I must admit she was beginning to get on me bad side. I just asked the girlie if she wouldn’t mind taking a few pictures and leavin’ me be.”
This is another "request for comment" kinda threads. http://www.sffworld.com/ubb/smile.gif
Mostly I've written dopey poetry in the past. This is sort of my first stab at writing something with any substance. The main character, Reginold the Blue Jeans Wizard, just popped out of nowhere one day and made me laugh. So I jotted down this little blurb that was inspired by my univ. library. It isn't complete, but a few friends found it amusing. Just kinda looking for any kind of comments. Thanks. http://www.sffworld.com/ubb/smile.gif
-----
Reginold had decided a long time ago that the world was going mad. As the years had progressed nothing he’d experienced had really dissuaded him of that notion. What he was doing right now certainly wasn’t changing his mind. Perhaps it was the fact that he was standing in the middle of a below zero wind-chill winter night, right outside of a perfectly warm and open university library. Perhaps it was the fact that he was only wearing a jacket, T-shirt, tennis shoes, and his signature blue jeans in a foot of snow. More likely, in Reginold’s humble opinion, it was the fact that while he was standing in the middle of that freezing cold winter night in minimal apparel he was talking to a 900 year old stone gargoyle. Oh, the fact that he was talking to a gargoyle wasn’t what was fostering his view that the world was mad. It was the fact that it was an Irish gargoyle. Gargoyles are rare in Ireland, occasionally found on Catholic Churches or old castle manors, so finding one in front of a university library in the middle of Missouri was very strange indeed. How this particular gargoyle could have ended up in its current situation was completely beyond even Reginold’s somewhat largish 957 year experience.
The little statue sat on a pedestal just to the side of the library’s main entrance. The rock beast wasn’t something that would seem appropriate outside a library, being a squat figure only three feet in height, with features vaguely resembling a half cat, half-human face and a body that could be closely equated to a faun or satyr with proportionate bat wings. Perhaps it was the little figure’s peculiar visage that had pulled Reginold into examining it before entering the library. It was while the blue jeaned one was looking at the detail in the gargoyle’s face that the statue had spoken.
“And what, exactly, would you be findin’ so interesting about me face?” were the first words out of that odd mouth that seemed a cross between human lips and a cats chops. Reginold had been taken aback by the little fellow’s question, not because the statue spoke, but because of the somewhat worn Irish accent the question was placed in. Reginold, remembering that gargoyles were somewhat rare in Ireland, had figured it to be English, or perhaps Scottish.
“I was merely looking at the detail of your face.” Reginold replied when he had recovered his composure. Reginold straightened his roundish glasses and leaned down from his six foot height to resume looking at the little creature’s face. The wizard’s intense blue eyes peered out from behind a well maintained bushy brown beard that reached high up his cheeks. Reginold’s shoulder length brown hair decided to intrude itself over one ear into his eyes and he pushed it back unconsciously. “The elements seem to have had very little effect on you, you look to be in near perfect condition. A sculptor of great talent must have carved your form.”
“Sculptor?” the gargoyle snorted. “A sculptor’s tools have never touched this rock body, me boyo. After near 900 years o’ sittin’ in the elements any sculptors work would o’ been far gone by now. Me body is 100% pure Druid work, and that’s the honest truth. I would be taken it that you’ve run across me kind before, ‘ave ye?”
“What could possibly have given you that impression old boy?” Reginold asked the question with a certain amount of sarcasm. Either the sarcasm was lost on the stone beast, or it decided to answer anyway, just to make conversation.
“Well, me first clue would be that you’ve yet to run away screamin ‘bout the devil in front o’ the library’. I had a rather unfortunate experience involving a pretty young lass doing just that last fall.”
“Ah, so that’s what all the fuss was about. I never actually figured out what she could have been talking about. I did a few simple detection spells near here, but never did find a devilgate. I guess you explain that matter. Why exactly did you decide to talk to that unfortunate girl?”
“She was doing exactly what you were just doing, only the lass had been doing it for 2 bloody hours! I get a bit ruffled by people staring at me face after a bit. I suppose she was an artist or some such working on a project. I do regret scaring the wee lass, but I must admit she was beginning to get on me bad side. I just asked the girlie if she wouldn’t mind taking a few pictures and leavin’ me be.”