First Chapter
After getting seriously bored to death by my Norwegian language Curriculum this year, my mind quickly wandring over to thinking about alternate history and different timelines. One thing led to another, and an idea formed in my head, one which I could not dispense off, and thus my second attempt at a TL was born. Hopefully after writing this little piece here I will be able to continue working on my Norwegian language Curriculum. Even so, I intend to continue this as long as it interests me and I find it fun.
Critique is always welcome of course.
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He caught his mind wandering once again, but for once he did not bother. Thinking about abstract subjects and whatnots was for him a rare pleasure which he rarely has had time to practice the last four years. Quite comically he had noticed that the most usual place for him to do this, was while relieving pressure.
Suddenly becoming aware that he had been standing in the dark for quite some time, he decided that it was time to go back towards the encampment. He slowly walked towards the fire where he had left the water skin, which was in fact filled with wine he had gotten from an Italian merchant in Dublin, or was he a Moor, southerners looks all the same. Even so it was perhaps better he call it a wineskin.
He made eye contact with the sentry, who he suspected had been seconds from oozing into what was sleeping. The boy embarrassingly straightened up.
"Your Grace" the youngster replied whilst trying some form of panicked salute.
It did not really bother him
"Olaf, right?" he replied
The boy stood astonished for a second until he shook himself out it and replied
"Yes, your grace"
"Well Olaf, I am going to be frank with you. We are currently in enemy territory, at night” He paused, giving the boy a stern stare, before cracking into a smile
“Prime time for an ambush eh??”
The boy nodded
“Tell me boy, how old are you?”
“Fourteen, your grace”
Not that old, he wondered why the youngster had been brought along the trip. On second thoughts, he had to admit, even with his vision blurred by the lack of light and addition of alcohol, the boy looked a lot older than he stated and looked like he would give a decent fight.
Hell, his grandfather, if he was here and still alive, would frown and lecture him upon how his other grandfather had begun fighting at an even younger age. Six when he had killed his first man, nine when joined his brothers war party, seen his first large battle at fifteen. Though the second point was kind of forced upon his grandfather. No matter it was most likely biased after a hundred years of glorification.
Noticing he had been standing there for a few seconds looking at the air, he shrugged and looked back at Olaf.
“Well Olaf, even though the Irish are cowards and frightened to death by us, it always good to keep awake, should their attitude change eh?”
“Of course, your grace” the boy smiled.
He continued walking forward, feeling suddenly tired and his body aching. Must be all the sparring he had done earlier. Nothing a good night sleep can’t cure he thought as he laid down. Perhaps he should challenge the boy in tomorrow’s sparring sessions. He quickly fell asleep, not having a lot of time to think about it.
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Critique is always welcome of course.
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Chapter 1
17th of August 1103Somewhere in Ulster
He caught his mind wandering once again, but for once he did not bother. Thinking about abstract subjects and whatnots was for him a rare pleasure which he rarely has had time to practice the last four years. Quite comically he had noticed that the most usual place for him to do this, was while relieving pressure.
Suddenly becoming aware that he had been standing in the dark for quite some time, he decided that it was time to go back towards the encampment. He slowly walked towards the fire where he had left the water skin, which was in fact filled with wine he had gotten from an Italian merchant in Dublin, or was he a Moor, southerners looks all the same. Even so it was perhaps better he call it a wineskin.
He made eye contact with the sentry, who he suspected had been seconds from oozing into what was sleeping. The boy embarrassingly straightened up.
"Your Grace" the youngster replied whilst trying some form of panicked salute.
It did not really bother him
"Olaf, right?" he replied
The boy stood astonished for a second until he shook himself out it and replied
"Yes, your grace"
"Well Olaf, I am going to be frank with you. We are currently in enemy territory, at night” He paused, giving the boy a stern stare, before cracking into a smile
“Prime time for an ambush eh??”
The boy nodded
“Tell me boy, how old are you?”
“Fourteen, your grace”
Not that old, he wondered why the youngster had been brought along the trip. On second thoughts, he had to admit, even with his vision blurred by the lack of light and addition of alcohol, the boy looked a lot older than he stated and looked like he would give a decent fight.
Hell, his grandfather, if he was here and still alive, would frown and lecture him upon how his other grandfather had begun fighting at an even younger age. Six when he had killed his first man, nine when joined his brothers war party, seen his first large battle at fifteen. Though the second point was kind of forced upon his grandfather. No matter it was most likely biased after a hundred years of glorification.
Noticing he had been standing there for a few seconds looking at the air, he shrugged and looked back at Olaf.
“Well Olaf, even though the Irish are cowards and frightened to death by us, it always good to keep awake, should their attitude change eh?”
“Of course, your grace” the boy smiled.
He continued walking forward, feeling suddenly tired and his body aching. Must be all the sparring he had done earlier. Nothing a good night sleep can’t cure he thought as he laid down. Perhaps he should challenge the boy in tomorrow’s sparring sessions. He quickly fell asleep, not having a lot of time to think about it.
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