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by Reverend Norv » Sun Nov 23, 2014 7:39 pm
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647
A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
by Reverend Norv » Mon Nov 24, 2014 10:57 am
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647
A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
by Reverend Norv » Mon Nov 24, 2014 11:47 am
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647
A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
by Reverend Norv » Mon Nov 24, 2014 12:19 pm
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647
A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
by Cylarn » Mon Nov 24, 2014 1:44 pm
by Aurinsula » Mon Nov 24, 2014 10:08 pm
by Evraim » Wed Nov 26, 2014 12:22 am
by Occupied Deutschland » Thu Nov 27, 2014 1:51 am
Reverend Norv wrote:[edited for time & space]...
The man turned, and vanished once more into the night. Behind the Elliots, the crash of galloping hooves and howling of dogs was almost deafening. Fight, flee, or hide - they had but seconds to decide.
by Nature-Spirits » Thu Nov 27, 2014 10:26 pm
by Reverend Norv » Fri Nov 28, 2014 7:46 am
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647
A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
by Nationstatelandsville » Wed Dec 31, 2014 3:25 pm
Reverend Norv wrote:The old Elliot and the young fled together into the night, their wounds poorly stitched and bleeding. The dark closed in around them, lit neither by candle nor by torch nor by distant hearth-fire. Scudding clouds veiled the stars and moon. A man could scarce see his hand before his eyes, and the Elliots' horses snorted and whickered uncomfortably as they found their footing in the dark. Several times, Rory's gelding - blown by his long galloping fight near the fringes of the battle - stumbled and almost fell.
Neither man could say what time it was, or how long it had been night, or how many more hours might yet remain before the dawn. Unable to see the stars, the Elliots could not be sure even that they were bound for safety; how could a man navigate unless he could behold the heavens? The wind blew slow and biting out of the north, and chilled the wounded reivers to the bone. And somewhere in the blinding dark, very close, the wolves snarled still, and made the Elliots' horses start with fear.
The hours passed. As the two men rode on, they became aware of an odor of rotten eggs, sulfurous and nauseating, that hung upon the night air. Step by step, the smell grew stronger, cloying at the nostrils, adding one more color to the palette of suffering: torn flesh, exhausted muscles, bitter souls, and now this stench.
But after an eternity of struggling onward over hill and dale, the character of the night changed: a faint, pale glow suffused the darkness, heralding the immanence of dawn. It was not light, not quite, but in the grey dimness lay the promise of the far-off winter sun hidden somewhere just over the horizon. And in the distance, the two men could just begin to make out a faint shadow in the night - a pillar of deeper darkness, a shadow against the veiled stars. A tower. Harelaw.
Then the left front hoof of Rory's horse sank into the earth with a wet squelch. A moment later, the other front hoof of Rory's horse went in as well, and then one of the hooves of Kenneth's gelding. The latter gave a dismayed whinny. And then, not a dozen yards in front of the two men, a plume of greenish fire exploded upward in the night, racing heavenward from the earth itself, blinding the Elliots with its sickly brilliance.
The smell of rotten eggs was unbearable. And for a Borderer, that stench - together with the suddenly shifting earth and the burst of spontaneous fire - could mean only one thing.
Rory and Kenneth were stuck in a peat bog. And behind them, growling softly in the darkness, paws treading invisibly upon the trail of the two wounded Elliots' blood - the wolves were closing in.
by Rupudska » Tue Jan 06, 2015 3:25 pm
Reverend Norv wrote:Bluebell Laurie fell to the ground with a cry of pain, hands clasped to her cheek, staring at Isobel with the shock and confusion of an injured child. Young Harry ran to her side, and got there at about the same time as Elspeth. The old widow quieted Laurie, but left her sniffling with pain and humiliation. Young Harry gingerly patted her on the shoulder. Blind Hamish, head cocked as he listened to the sequence of events, shook his head and snorted mockingly.
Meanwhile, Thomas Dacre gazed back and forth between the three faces that had appeared at the windows of Harelaw, and shook his head with a weary smile. He turned to one of his men. "Women," the Dacre observed. "They canna e'en agree on how ta answer a plain questioun." A ripple of rough laughter rose from the Dacre reivers.
Their leader turned back to the tower, and clasped his hands upon his saddle-pommel. "My message was naw fair Clever Duff. Twas fair ye." The Dacre nodded, with only a heartbeat of superstitious hesitation, at the bloodstained and soot-streaked figure of Elspeth. "If ye wald speak fair yowr Name, then ye must answer for whether ye shall gie me this murtherer or nae." The big nobleman's turned his eyes upon Fiona, and his voice softened. "For though I ha nae wish for ta bring mair death tae yowr kin, lass, nor can I let the deith o mine ain son gaw unavenged. There's naw atonement fair bluid but by bluid."
Abruptly, the Dacre drew rein and walked his horse back, away from the tower. "But as my prey lies not wi'in yon walls, I sall naw tarry. If ye would avert mair bluidshed, and keep yowr kin safe from the Queen's wrath, then ye know what ye must do. Bring Clever Duff Elliot to Carlisle, and all will be well. Do it naw, and yowr fate lies in yowr ain twa hands."
With that, Thomas Dacre gave a sharp nod to his men and pointed north, the direction in which most of the Kinmont's men had fled. The sleuth hounds bayed wildly, and the Hot Trod thundered off once more in a cloud of dust of and blaze of torches. In minutes, the last of the riders had vanished over the crest of the moors, and the Elliots were alone in their smoldering tower in the pale pre-dawn light.
Nationstatelandsville wrote:"Rory, lad," Kenneth said, his voice low and dark, "I need ye to pull me over onto your horse. Either that, or leave me ta die. I can't get across on this damned thing."
Kenneth frowned, "The wolves ought ta sort themselves. Either they follow us into the bog and die, or leave us be at its edge."
Unless they really are the Devil's, Kenneth thought to himself, but then there's no escaping at all. Five, four, three, two, one. Best not share that theory with Rory.
Hladgos wrote:Scantly clad women, more like tanks
seem to be blowing up everyones banks
with airstrikes from girls with wings to their knees
which show a bit more than just their panties
by Nationstatelandsville » Sun Jan 25, 2015 1:26 pm
Rupudska wrote:Reverend Norv wrote:Bluebell Laurie fell to the ground with a cry of pain, hands clasped to her cheek, staring at Isobel with the shock and confusion of an injured child. Young Harry ran to her side, and got there at about the same time as Elspeth. The old widow quieted Laurie, but left her sniffling with pain and humiliation. Young Harry gingerly patted her on the shoulder. Blind Hamish, head cocked as he listened to the sequence of events, shook his head and snorted mockingly.
Meanwhile, Thomas Dacre gazed back and forth between the three faces that had appeared at the windows of Harelaw, and shook his head with a weary smile. He turned to one of his men. "Women," the Dacre observed. "They canna e'en agree on how ta answer a plain questioun." A ripple of rough laughter rose from the Dacre reivers.
Their leader turned back to the tower, and clasped his hands upon his saddle-pommel. "My message was naw fair Clever Duff. Twas fair ye." The Dacre nodded, with only a heartbeat of superstitious hesitation, at the bloodstained and soot-streaked figure of Elspeth. "If ye wald speak fair yowr Name, then ye must answer for whether ye shall gie me this murtherer or nae." The big nobleman's turned his eyes upon Fiona, and his voice softened. "For though I ha nae wish for ta bring mair death tae yowr kin, lass, nor can I let the deith o mine ain son gaw unavenged. There's naw atonement fair bluid but by bluid."
Abruptly, the Dacre drew rein and walked his horse back, away from the tower. "But as my prey lies not wi'in yon walls, I sall naw tarry. If ye would avert mair bluidshed, and keep yowr kin safe from the Queen's wrath, then ye know what ye must do. Bring Clever Duff Elliot to Carlisle, and all will be well. Do it naw, and yowr fate lies in yowr ain twa hands."
With that, Thomas Dacre gave a sharp nod to his men and pointed north, the direction in which most of the Kinmont's men had fled. The sleuth hounds bayed wildly, and the Hot Trod thundered off once more in a cloud of dust of and blaze of torches. In minutes, the last of the riders had vanished over the crest of the moors, and the Elliots were alone in their smoldering tower in the pale pre-dawn light.
For a very long time, it seemed like Moira would unleash the wrathful words of God Himself upon the Dacre. And for a very long time, she thought about doing it. She even stuck her head out the tower window to look down upon the Dacre and his kin. In the end, and much to the surprise of the others, she declined to say a word. No, she had seen enough bloodshed and rage for one night, and she was in no mood to provoke more.
"Mey yowr horses get stuck in a bog," she muttered to nobody in particular. An mey that green wolf catch ye therein.Nationstatelandsville wrote:"Rory, lad," Kenneth said, his voice low and dark, "I need ye to pull me over onto your horse. Either that, or leave me ta die. I can't get across on this damned thing."
Kenneth frowned, "The wolves ought ta sort themselves. Either they follow us into the bog and die, or leave us be at its edge."
Unless they really are the Devil's, Kenneth thought to himself, but then there's no escaping at all. Five, four, three, two, one. Best not share that theory with Rory.
"Erm... aye," Rory said, a bit unsure if his own horse could handle the weight of Kenneth. Sure, it was young and strong, but it wasn't strong enough for the two of them, probably. He wasn't sure one way or the other.
He slid himself as far forward as he could in order to make room for Kenneth, then moved his horse over and offered a hand to the elder Elliot.
I just hope we don't end up sinking, too.
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