The Shadow of Knottingham

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Femina
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Trying something new with something similar. Hope you enjoy.

The Shadow of Knottingham
Chapter One
The Shadow and the Sheriff



On the day Robyn Hood’s greatest enemy arrived to Knottingham, Sheriff John sat at his desk in a quiet office at the local garrison. He was a powerfully built man, black of hair with a prominent and well groomed handlebar mustache, smooth shaved jaw, keen brown eyed gaze and a musculature that was hidden beneath his platemail which once aided him in wrestling the the masked vigilante, Robyn Hood, to the ground where he had come as close to capturing the Shadow of Knottingham as anyone ever had. John failed that day of course… and he no longer regretted that fact.

John was deep in thought, his mind drifted back to the day he had truly been introduced to Robyn… oh not the first time he’d seen her wherein as all men who saw her were liable to gain a light infatuation with her, not the day he’d first spoken to her and bristled beneath her impossible ability to turn his every barb into an insult back at himself, nor even the first and only time he felt her beneath him that night he nearly caught her and was forced to remember his honorific vows. The day he remembered wasn’t any of those, he recalled only the day he fell in love with Robyn Hood, the day he truly understood why, while he and his dubbed her ‘the Shadow’,she was cheered and fawned over by the people, a true Maid of the Masses.

John was out on patrol in the city collecting taxes and, foolishly, sent his escort back to the garrison to collect some things when he was suddenly attacked by a desperate family of bakers who had not a penny to their name and saw his solitude as their chance. John stood no chance. The first strike was a lucky brick to his noggin which had left him dizzy and unable to defend himself. In those moments, as he tucked himself up in vain attempt to protect his body from their merciless kicks and impromptu melee items… she came.

He recalled that first swath of green as she streaked into the alley crying out for his attackers to stop. He remembered seeing her place herself between them and he himself where she took an accidental blow, which she did not return, from one of the bakers who had yet to realize who it was come to John’s rescue. In his dazed and weakened state she seemed like a glorious statue or deity. She wore her traditional gear, a green long sleeved gambeson armored shirt beneath her stylized corset with the robin emblem emblazoned over her bust. She wore hood, mask and headwrap wisely to protect her identity, brown leather boots and gloves, and finally that oh so tantalizing leather underbreif over her pelvis, visible under the bottom trim of the corset, yet pulled up over the coup de grace of her costume, green tights that clung so that her strong legs were dazzling and prominent. Despite showing near as much to no skin at all she was a marvel still! Her outfit seemed not to hide a single curve of her toned, athletic form, wide hips, or impossibly powerful legs. All of it so pleasingly wrapped by the gently almost silken sheen that seemed notable even over those articles of clothing that should not have, such as the gambeson shirt. All of her was greens with brown and golden leather embroideries or trimmings… yet on that day the thing that marveled John most about her was where she stood… between her own people whose lives she fought so hard to better… and their anger at her own sworn enemy.

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“Friends please,” he recalled her having said, “This violence is not the way.” There had been bitterness from them until Robyn produced a sack of gold, gave it freely to them and sent them off… rather than disappear or flee as she ought to have, she bent down and helped John to his feet, “I should think to ask you not to be overly hard on them either John,” she asked, her voice soft as melody, carried an uncommon authority as well as the usual disappointment he heard from her whenever she spoke with him or his men, and always she had called him John, never Sheriff, “for is their anger not the fault of your extortive means?” Before he could so much as protest that it was not he, but the King Richard himself who set tax wages, Robyn handed him a sack of coins, “For today’s taxes all around,” she told him, “because we need to get you off the streets before anyone else finds you out alone or brings you further harm.”

John had protested that he needed no escort, and yet she stayed with him anyway all the way back to the Garrison. She gave him a shoulder to lean on whenever he was near to collapse, she let him walk of his own volition whenever he could not bear the shame of his adversaries kindness. When they turned the final corner where the garrison came into view, his men spotted them and began running toward them, no doubt thinking to save him from Robyn Hood.

“I had best leave you here sir, now you are safe,” she helped him lean against the nearby wall. Yet before she could go he reached out and caught her shoulder and would not release it. She looked back to him and for the first time he saw clearly all that anyone could ever see of her face.. Smooth porcelain skin, crystal green eyes and ruby painted lips that were just a little pouty, but not so much so as to give her a girlish or meek appearance. The set of near despondent disappointment in her eyes he remembered also, an expression he often thought back to and felt greatly for the sort of woman she must be to have felt whatever she felt in that moment, “Truly?” she had asked trying to break his hold once more, “I do not wish to hurt you sir!”

“I’ll not keep you,” John had wheezed, the disappointment in her eyes turned to confusion, “Just… please,” he asked, “Why? Why would you help me?”

He remembered the small knowing smile that had come over her then, “Oh you have never understood me at all have you John?” She shook her head gently, “It was the right thing to do. It is so simple as that.”

John had felt himself break a little then. The walls of authority collapsed, the distance he must put between him and others to take their livelihoods and leave them destitute in the name of the Kingdom simply could not survive Robyn and those words she said to him. He was at once smitten. He released her and stumbled back to lean against the wall, “I’ll not keep you,” he told her, “Robyn of Knottingham… may you always be here to look after us…”

She smiled joyfully, relief was there as well, this long feud was over at last. She curtsied… like a noblewoman or a lady of the court which he always thought had been strange, “I am Robyn Hood,” she said, “Here always to serve, and may you remember that if ever you need me.” And then she was gone before his men could reach them… but not for long.

Since that day life in Knottingham was greatly improved! On occasion, when a true and terrible crime occurred John could count on Robyn’s support to aid the investigation, in return the garrison had given up impeding her thefts of coin and coffer (unofficially of course) always writing to the King how very close they were to capturing the dangerous vigilante but always coming up short! Taxes were always raised, Robyn always stole back what was fair and the people always had coin to pay. Beatings and regulations had turned to ‘greetings Sheriff, here’s the tax might you be troubled for some tea’ and ‘to busy right now mrs but perhaps after my rounds?’ It was all a minor miracle! Indeed, despite the loophole in legality Nottingham's economic situation, while not the entirety of the Kingdom understandably, was somehow improving leaps and bounds by the day!

Such was the state of things that midwinter’s day. He was set to have his weekly meeting with Robyn in just a few hours time and was uncommonly excited and fretful as he wanted very much to ask her something dreadfully important.

That was when Leftenant Williamson burst into the room, he appeared quite startled, “Sheriff!” he burst, “Sheriff you must come! A madwoman and her thugs have just barged into the garrison!”

John had no time to inquire what he was on about because just behind him they arrived. First in were two enormous brutish looking beasts of men adorned in black robes bearing the cross of the church at the end of long chained necklaces. Behind them came a vision at first glance near as infatuating as Robyn Hood herself with confidence and supreme authority, a woman. This woman was clothed all in blacks and greys and gold. She wore a tight corset underbust over a shirt, tight fitting pantaloons that each were further tucked beneath long armored leather gloves and thigh high stiletto boots. The emblem of the cross of the church shone off her armbands and, from what was surely a reliquary, a cross dangled as something like a buckle for her belt. Her raven hair was pulled back into a neat braid but most alarming of all perhaps, was the near four foot long hard leather riding crop clenched still in her left fist, presumably from the journey there?

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“Sheriff John?” she asked in a thick Lyonessian accent, He frowned and nodded, “I am High Priestess Analot,” so thick was her accent it sounded as ‘Eye Preezetess,’ and for all that she appeared no older than her early to mid twenties, “I ‘ave come to zolve your Vigilante’ problem.”

John blinked taken quite aback by this strange woman. Eventually he just shook his head, “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing then miss… I have not rec...”

“High Priestess,” She interrupted him sternly, “‘Owever, for ze foreseeable future you may use my acting title, Sheriff Analot, or eef you prefer, Sheriff Anne will do.”

“Sheriff Anne!?” Sheriff John guffawed incredulously.

At that same moment Leftenant Williamson seemed to have heard enough as well, “Now you listen here miss…” he strode towards her and gripped her shoulder. That was when it all went mad.

“Heathen!” Analot snarled and with the most violent motion John had ever seen from a woman (and bearing in mind he had seen Robyn Hood in battle many many times) she backhanded Williamson across the face with her riding crop, then kicked out at him with her stiletto heel so hard in the chest that she didn’t so much boot him to the floor as she ‘stomp’ him down onto the ground… and she began to strike him over and over with the riding crop.

“WAIT! STOP!” John shouted, leapt to his feet and hurried around the table after her, before he could reach them the enormous thugs stepped forward and caught him around either arm, holding him back with inhuman strength! He was then helpless to do anything but watch as Analot’s crop fell again and again down on Williamson, drawing splashes of blood with each crack.

“Eemmoral!” Analot snarled, “eensolent, disobedient dog!” Williamson for his part at least did not take it all laying down. He struggled to cover his face and took a good amount of the blows against his armored forearms but finally kicked out at Analot who, struck in the thigh, took a few stumbling backward steps but managed to stay upright.

“Alright you bitch!” Williamson raged once he stood up and he reached for his sword as he started for her. John’s mouth stood agape at it all, as the two men holding him were to strong for him to bread free of. “That’s eno….” Williamson never even got his sword out before Analot stepped back into his guard and punched him in the neck. It wasn’t until the spurt of blood that burst from the site of the blow that John could see the small specialized dagger blade clenched in the terrible woman’s hand poking up between her middle and ring fingers.

Williamsons eyes went wide with shock and confusion. He tried to cover the injury but Analot caught his arm and stopped him, then she wrapped her other arm around his waist to support him while she knelt and began gently to lower him to the ground, all the while she whispered, “Hush, ‘ush poor zinner,” she at last let him all the way to the ground, his violent chokes came less and less, “Let ze darkness in,” she seemed suddenly so strangely maternal in action and vocalization that John was certain he was losing his mind, then she said finally, “and see ze light that will follow. I forgive you z’is sin, eet shall not stain you.” With a final wracking shudder Williamson stopped moving… or breathing.

Analot let out a long, almost sorrowful sigh and rose back to her feet. She strode up toward John who felt a sudden mortal terror in him for the first time since that day under the bakers boot heels... but she came up short and reached into a pack hanging off the side of one of the brutes and pulled out a rolled up parchment. She unrolled it all the way and held it out for him to see, “My divine right to do all zat ez necessary to hunt and capture ze Vigilante known ‘ere as Robyn Hood, and to reinstate law and order ‘ere to ze city of Knottingham, signed and ordained by King Richard ze Lionheart and his ‘olyness High Priest Michael ze Chaste.”

John’s eyes helplessly read out the words on the parchment that solidified what she was saying as true… and the wax seals pressed by three of the highest authorities in camelot… even by Lord Robert Wood, the Baron of Knottingham which she had not said. His eyes flicked to Williamson, dead before he was ever provided this evidence, then back to Analot… High Priestess Analot. “Forgive us High Priestess…” he began to say.

“Pleaze, Sheriff will do now,” she corrected him leadingly. He was sure that the look of sheer overbearing command in her expression contained the smallest hint of a smirk.

“Forgive us Sheriff.” John corrected himself.

“You ‘ave some time to remove your things from my office Captain, see to et quickly,” she turned and began to walk away, “Oh and John, do not ever feel ze need to apologize to me again,” she paused at the doorway and looked back at him with an almost bored expression, “God forgives, I do not.”

So it was, Robyn Hoods greatest enemy had arrived to Camelot, and many things would soon change.
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tallyho
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The opening paragraph is a bit confusing - if its a period piece they wouldn't have desks and offices, just tables and rooms

I like what I have read so far though (not read it all yet)
How strange are the ways of the gods ...........and how cruel.

I am here to help one and all enjoy this site, so if you have any questions or feel you are being trolled please contact me (Hit the 'CONTACT' little speech bubble below my Avatar).
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Femina
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tallyho wrote:
5 years ago
The opening paragraph is a bit confusing - if its a period piece they wouldn't have desks and offices, just tables and rooms

I like what I have read so far though (not read it all yet)
It's a fantasy story with historical (Read legendary since Robin Hood wasn't actually a real person) inspirations......

buuuuuut

Of course they had offices and desks in medieval times. They were just called other things and didn't look or operate exactly the same, but I'm writing it in modern English. I mean... I guess I could say 'in his chancery he idled his time away' but like.... one in thirty people are going to know what I'm writing about xD.
Dazzle1
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I like the start of this.

Robin Hood or Robyn Hood another unused character for this genre
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Chapter Two
Maryian Hood

At the same hour, only a few miles away Maryian Wood, daughter of Baron Robert Wood, prepared herself for that afternoon’s final trial before she could at last shed her disguise and get back to her life… sadly she feared this would be one of her greater trials yet. The lovely young noblewoman porcelain of skin, possessing eyes of crystal green eyes and long auburn hair tied back into a thick ponytail worried for her future. She wore a flowing blue gown with ribbons and layers of skirt intended to squeeze her into a pleasing enough shape without revealing much of the actual woman beneath, a trait in women’s clothing she chose to take full advantage of.

At this time, Maryian was taken by an uncommon bout of nervous pacing as she stalked back and forth in front of the large double doorway leading to her father’s conference room where he, and her mother, readied to confront her with the news that she was to be assaulted by another wave of horrid marriage proposals. It was meant to be a surprise for her, but nothing ever seemed to survive as a surprise for Maryian.

“Lady Wood,” the guard posted at the door whispered to her while she paced, “You're making me nervous walking about like that.”

“Oh…” Maryian acknowledged and forced herself to stop, but immediately began to clench and unclench her fists instead, “Apologies Daniel I… I just know what they are plotting in there and it puts me all to broiling!”

Daniel smiled, not the least because she, of all the Wood’s, was the only one who seemed to always know everybody's name, “How is it you always know?”

“Because I’m cleverer than they are,” Maryion smiled at him. He smiled back just as the door opened and another guard stepped out.

“Your parent’s will see you now Milady…” Before he could finish his sentence Maryian swept passed him and marched into the conference room. Even had she not known something was amiss before, her parents current beaming smiles and affected warm demeanor would have put her on edge the moment she saw them.

“I’m growing tired of being presented to all the men of the world like a piece of cheese,” Maryian barked before anyone could say so much as anything. Her father’s smile turned genuinely amused, her mother’s expression simmered.

“How is it she always knows!” Lady Wood hissed at her husband.

“Because she’s a Wood!” Robert announced back. He folded his arms and nodded at Maryian, “So you know, don’t change nothing. We’ll be entertaining suitors come the end of the month, you’re twenty-four now, far more than a damned woman ought to be absent a good cock.” Maryion simmered and winced at her father’s vulgarity, had her mother said something like that she would have shouted right back… she knew better than to gnash at her father… he was the Lord here, she a mere noblewoman.

“Quite!” Lady Wood nodded though she also fired her husband a disgusted wince before harping back on Maryian, “and you will choose one of them this time! I’ll not have you busying about here for the rest of our lives!”

“Oy! That any way to talk to your beloved daughter!” Robert asked his wife and he whipped his hand at the door, “Go on, she’s been told, now I have a few things I wanna talk to her about in private.”

“You had better be convincing!” Lady wood snarled at him with a very serious expression before she swept away and past Maryian without a word.

“Always my beloved,” Robert called after her but waited until the door slammed shut and he was alone with his daughter to speak with Maryian, “She doesn’t mean it when she says such things I’m sure. Just look at the way you stormed in here and she out… it’s no wonder where you get it from.”

“Mother was Twenty-Seven when she married you!” Maryian began to protest but her father held up a hand to stall her so she bit her tongue, through her eyes gleamed with fury and frustration.

“A fact I’m well aware,” Robert chuckled. He hobbled around the table, his greying beard swayed a little at the effort, “anyway, I want you to know… your it.”

Maryian frowned, and tensed a little bit, having no concept at all for once what he was telling her, “I’m... what?”

“You’re it,” Robert told her again, “You’re all we’ve got and all we ever will. You’re mother’s gone hot.” Maryian gapped, she knew what he meant and wasn’t sure how to feel. She knew that they were trying for a son, for years they had been trying, she felt a sudden rush of sympathy for her mother… revulsion at the phrase ‘gone hot’, and a great deal more confused feelings besides. “So you see… she really doesn’t mean it, your mother’s just angry. So am I… don’t change nothing.”

“I am… sorry,” Maryian curtsied, “I know how hard you tried…”

“Eh!” Robert waved off her concern and turned quite serious, “anyway I’m here to command you, and speak no word of this to your mother, that you are to spit at every offer for your hand, as bluntly and doggedly as you may.”

Maryian shock came in a slow rise at this command. Her mouth moved soundlessly for a few before she managed to sputter, “You… but.. What!?”

“This is Wood Manor!” Robert growled with such ferocity she took a step back, “Always has been, and by God it shall be for as long as I can keep it so!” His own fist balled in the same sort of suppressed rage she herself often felt, “So I give you permission, my sole heir,” he drew up his sword and, with a motion just gentle enough not to be threatening tapped it against each of her shoulders, “to sit in my chair after I am gone, and take as few offers to suitors as you may until your old and gray and no Woods will ever again sit there… and I’ll be damned if I give it over to some other lords damned pup instead of my own flesh and blood!”

He fell silent, Maryian waited long enough to be sure there was no more before a she allowed a creeping smile to spread over her features, “You truly mean it… I am… to take charge of all Knottingham?”

“Unless someone can come take it from you than aye,” he nodded, and although she could see the distaste and disappointment he had over the whole situation in his entire being, she did not care… this was wonderful news for her.

“They can try,” she said, and she grinned. This caused Robert to boom with laughter… not all of it ironic.

“Oh little one,” he sighed, “Had I a son I doubt he ever would have been all as fierce as you anyhow… who knows,” he shrugged, “Off with you.”

Maryian did not need to be told twice, she burst from the conference room full of joy and jogged off, somehow she refrained from raucous laughter all the way up to slamming the door to her chambers behind her where she leaned back against it, then hugged herself as she laughed. She felt relieved and free, and for the first time without a mask…

Still there would be a great deal of time before she could take her father’s place and forego such masks… To that end she took a few deep breaths to dampen her laughter then hurried to her armoire. Shunted all the clothing aside and opened the hidden compartment in the back revealing in all its glory the magnificent silky sheened outfit and armor of none other than Robyn Hood! It was time to shed her disguise!

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______________________________________________________________________________

Robyn Hood, all suited up, waited at the usual space in the far back corner of the Robin’s Wing Inn stables where it was impossible for passers by to see into where she waited for Sheriff John to turn up for their weekly meeting. Her heart was still all aflutter after the meeting with her parents earlier but the rest of her was swagger and confidence. She sat up atop a pile of boxes, leaned back up against the wall, one leg dangling over the side of the box while the other was bent up so her foot was planted on the boxes as well.

She did not know that she could tell John of her good fortune… nor even how she might even hint to him that it was likely sometime in the future their lives would all be much easier… yet, for reasons she herself feared, she truly wished that she could. Sometimes it was hard enough just to think that the man she had fought against for so long had actually finally accepted her, even understood her, enough that she didn’t need to run from him. It was stranger still to find that beneath all of that country induced ‘honor and duty’ was an uncommonly good man after all.

The sound of shuffling feet approaching, which moved more quickly than usual, tugged at her ears and caused her to sit up. With lightning quick reflexes Robyn swung herself off her perch, rolled to reduce the impact and rose up into a fighting stance... but it turned out to be unnecessary as John appeared, haggard and out of breath, into the little hiding place with her. The usual smile she had for him was nowhere to be seen, instead she rushed to his side and set a hand on his shoulder, “John? What is it?”

He was so winded he wrapped an arm around her for support. It rested first against her tights over the outer thigh causing a vague tickling sensation, but as he took in more air and regained his stamina enough to stand, it slid up and over her wide hips against the corset. “There's… a problem…” he wheezed, “Trouble! You’re… in danger.”

Robyn frowned, and slid an arm around his waist in turn to further help him regain some stability, he leaned into the gesture but otherwise continued gasping, “I am going to need a bit more than that John?” she queried him.

He nodded and held up a finger pleading for her to wait as he spent a few minutes gathering himself. When he could finally stand on his own she slipped out of his hold and walked around to lean up against the wall opposite him while she motioned her head for him to continue.

“The Capitol isn’t happy with the state of things here in Knottingham,” he told her, it hardly a shocking revelation, “They’ve sent new agents to ‘deal’ with the vigilante situation.”

“Understandable,” Robyn nodded consideringly, “I am not overly surprised, I have expected something like this for some time now. We always knew that eventually they would send somebody?”

He shook his head, “It is worse than we feared, the sent people from the church.”

“The church?” Robyn did find that a little alarming. Were her efforts actually starting to affect the Church’s revenue stream? Robyn couldn’t imagine that could be? She pushed off the wall, “Who are these… agents?”

“Two men, big guys… huge guys,” he held his arms out wide, “and… some woman in charge. Called herself High Preistess…”

Robyn’s smirked, rather than expressing surprise instead showed something of a mix between admiration and maybe even a little smugness, “A woman huh?”

John glanced at her, frowned and than sighed and said, “Really Robyn?”

“What?” she asked back at him, “I cannot help admire the struggle it must have been for a woman to ascend to such a place of authority.”

“She killed Leftenant Williamson Robyn!” He told her.

Robyn’s smirk immediately died and was replaced with horror, “No… oh no!” She put her hand to her mouth. A woman of the Church? Kill a man? “I… why?”

“She announced herself as in charge here, dubbed herself ‘Sheriff Anne’ without showing any evidence. Williamson he… he just meant to get to the bottom of things I’m sure. I took her arm and then she just… she…” he shook his head, an expression of grief overcame him. Robyn strode forward and pulled him into an embrace. He held tight and she felt his body wrack with a few silent sobs before he pulled himself away, he was still shivering, and tears were rolling down his cheek but he did not let the tears into his voice, nevertheless Robyn guided him over toward the boxes, sat him down and then sat beside him, holding him close. “She’s dangerous Robyn, I’ve… I’ve seen you fight, skill, bravery, beautiful even…” the way he said that final word, she felt a flutter in her chest and she almost reached up to cup his cheek… but she refrained, “but I’ve never seen anything so violent. Not ever from you.”

“Causing harm is not the point of what I do,” Robyn expressed by way of answer, while it seemed this… Anne, did not hold such lofty ideals, “It is over John…” she told him, “We shall get to the bottom of this, I will find a way to keep us safe. You know I will.”

John’s small smile of gratitude warmed her heart a little, it was terrible to see him so wounded. “I admit… if I did not know you better I would be more frightened,” she took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly before she finally let him go and stood up. He looked up to her, “Whatever you do, be careful Robyn, she seems… just be careful… she’s taken charge here… I’ve been demoted to Captain.”

Robyn made a dismissive sound, “I always take care. T’is why you never caught me.”

“I almost did once,” he told her. She remembered the incident he was referring to… she remembered his powerful arms wrapped around her as he wrestled her to the ground… not actually an unpleasant memory these days... she also starkly remembered not at all being afraid.

“Oh John,” she smiled at him lovingly, “you only thought you nearly had me,” she leaned down took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Never fear, I could handle you, I can handle her. Be safe, keep an eye on her for me, and do not do anything that might bring you to harm…” She then stood up and began walking away. Her powerful thighs pumped with their usual swagger, John couldn’t help but watch… then he called out her name. She paused and looked back to him mildly uncertainty as she’d thought the conversation was over.

“There is… one other thing,” he said stammeringly, and by way of his flustering, the sudden brightness of his complexion and stuttered speech caused her to fear she knew what he was going to say, “I wou… would like it if…”

“No John,” she cut him off. Her expression was not cruel or stern. The words were sharp and commanding yet with a minor and unmistakable tremble, she shook her head at him silently pleading for him not to finish, “not… not now.”

His features turned long and he nodded solemnly, “Maybe… another time.”

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged and hurried away before she might turn any more flustered herself.
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tallyho
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Femina wrote:
5 years ago
tallyho wrote:
5 years ago
The opening paragraph is a bit confusing - if its a period piece they wouldn't have desks and offices, just tables and rooms

I like what I have read so far though (not read it all yet)
It's a fantasy story with historical (Read legendary since Robin Hood wasn't actually a real person) inspirations......

buuuuuut

Of course they had offices and desks in medieval times. They were just called other things and didn't look or operate exactly the same, but I'm writing it in modern English. I mean... I guess I could say 'in his chancery he idled his time away' but like.... one in thirty people are going to know what I'm writing about xD.
They didnt have offices as they had scribes to do the work :giggle: :whistle: lol. My point being you could have said "He sat at a table in his rooms at the garrison" and there is no issue as to whether its modern day, future retro or past fantasy. I'm pretty sure most readers here have heard of rooms and tables :D
How strange are the ways of the gods ...........and how cruel.

I am here to help one and all enjoy this site, so if you have any questions or feel you are being trolled please contact me (Hit the 'CONTACT' little speech bubble below my Avatar).
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Femina
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tallyho wrote:
5 years ago
Femina wrote:
5 years ago
tallyho wrote:
5 years ago
The opening paragraph is a bit confusing - if its a period piece they wouldn't have desks and offices, just tables and rooms

I like what I have read so far though (not read it all yet)
It's a fantasy story with historical (Read legendary since Robin Hood wasn't actually a real person) inspirations......

buuuuuut

Of course they had offices and desks in medieval times. They were just called other things and didn't look or operate exactly the same, but I'm writing it in modern English. I mean... I guess I could say 'in his chancery he idled his time away' but like.... one in thirty people are going to know what I'm writing about xD.
They didnt have offices as they had scribes to do the work :giggle: :whistle: lol. My point being you could have said "He sat at a table in his rooms at the garrison" and there is no issue as to whether its modern day, future retro or past fantasy. I'm pretty sure most readers here have heard of rooms and tables :D
Except the leader of the garrison would have more than just 'his room' for soldiers to turn up and report to him in. Sure, I suppose he'd probably have a scribe if he couldn't write himself (Which while maybe not common wasn't always the case since some matters were to delicate to trust a scribe or secondhand source) Again its fantasy... but I think you're underestimating what kinds of rooms existed back in the day. And they DID have offices. They were called Chanceries, often including a few scribes in it which included desks that looked like the sort of thing you'd find in an artists workspace today... maybe not an average desk, but still desks. A table that is a workspace can be described as a desk... it just can. Even so, I don't feel any need to include any fewer cabinets, desktops counters or cushy chairs and chandeliers in my fantasy super heroine story than I'd find in the average game of Skyrim?
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tallyho
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It was tongue in cheek, thats all ( and I have a 12th century Norman castle at the bottom of my garden so believe me I know what they had and didnt have.) BUT if you are writing a period piece , even a fantasy one, selling the period is everything. You use the word 'office', people think of VDUs, phones, pcs, secretaries, - you have him pondering over some scrolls in his room and its instantly more akin to the period. Personally I would use the term chancellery as the role of a writer is to inform, educate and entertain and if people didnt know the word they can look it up and learn something, and it helps give the piece a period feel, but as I say, 'room' is a better option for me than 'office', but its your work and if you are happy creating a suspension of belief in your story in the reader then that's your call. And they didnt have desks as they are tables with drawers, they had lecterns and tables and things were stored in chests. Desks dont appear until late 16th century. All I can say is the mismatched terminology confused me at first thats all. Most lords/commanders had their private chambers but would do business in the great hall.
Last edited by tallyho 5 years ago, edited 4 times in total.
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tallyho
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None of these semantics should detract from the fact that although I haven't finished your first post I DO like what you are doing and respect it.
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Femina
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Well now I have to write a chapter that's a huge hollywood blockbuster fight that takes place in an office that manufactures desks. All the desks shattering, as people get thrown into desks. Desks drawers falling out, some with mirrors, ones got a cell phone on top. I've been dared now!
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tallyho
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Get on with it ye varlet
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Desk can be synonymous with lecterns or writing tables or general work surfaces/tables. It's a more modern word, sure, but its meaning can work to get the affect of 'table-like object that the sheriff is using' just fine. The story is written in modern English, so I don't mind too much reading a modern word. It's not like the sheriff was sat at his desktop computer, reading his latest email. I'm also fine with the use of 'office' - it's probably not the best word you could use, but it conveys where we are expediently enough. The setting is indeed fantasy and not historical, and the fantasy genre often depicts the head dudes sitting in what is essentially their office. If it's good enough for Skyrim then... Damn, wasn't Skyrim great? They even had really in-depth adult mods for that with sexual peril and everything... Wait, what was I saying?

Ahem. I've enjoyed this so far. Semantics aside, the writing really is good and I like what I've seen of the characters so far. I liked how you injected a really strong accent into the dialogue - that's something I'm always really scared of doing, and I wish I was braver. The story is building well and I'm invested in seeing the clash of these characters, and the potential peril that could follow. Robyn seems like a brilliant heroine to write about, and I'd love to see what you have in store for her.
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Blx
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I really liked these two parts. Looking forward to more
Ricky89
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Sounds great! Can’t wait for the next chapter
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