Poetry: The strongest’s right.

The strongest’s right.
The moon rose up to illuminate the trees, Little did the small birds know.
That they were about to be killed, by just one killing blow.
When the moon was on the peak of its course on the cloudless sky.
The birds were all dead, but had got no time to dread, or not even to wonder why.

But why would someone want to kill, some birds that had done nothing wrong.
The wrongdoer must be weird? Or maybe even feared? Perhaps seen in a human throng?
The wrongdoer was not weird and never feared, but in his eyes his actions were his right.
The strongest’s right was what he callled it, he would have the king to be the best to fight.

The inventer of this, discussed little thing, called the strongest’s right.
He was not even large, not close to strong and far from what is called bright.
But one thing he did, though stupid it was, he invented “the strongest’s right”.
So watch your mouth then, and lock all your doors, and seal your windows tight.
Noone will be safe, from chastise or chafe, as long as the followers won’t “see the light”.
And remember, lock your doors right, seal your windows tight, or they’ll come for you, in the middle of the night.
©Copyright 2006, Ragnar the owner of this blog.


Trivia:

What was the moral of the poem?
(The ones who get it right will get buttons in my right sidebar so remember to leave an url to your blog together with your answer.. :D) (Need to my right sidebar with something so feel free to answer correctly.)

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"The ‘Retired’ Assasin" Part 5.

I realize that the spaces of time between my posts has been increasing lately and I’m going to put this straight..
I like blogging, I won’t stop if i can help it, at least not for a while, but somehow the free time needed for blogging has eluded me.
Either I’ve been to tired or to busy or to sick to get myself to sit down in front of my computer and concentrate on writing a post.
I’ve noticed another upside to keeping my blog alive, even when I don’t bother putting any effort into an english assignment I never get grades worse than B+ so needless to say I am quite satisfied by that.
And now (*insert “To the moment you’ve all been waiting for” in a ‘TV voice’ here*) “The ‘Retired’ Assasin Part 5” Will unfold below.

The so called “Beast” vas sitting at a small wooden table in a large tent, the fire in the middle of it was burning low, and because of the retreating darkness it was easy to tell that it was nearing dawn.
The walls of the tent were made of thick special treated leather and bands of color spiraled upwards to the top of the tent, where smoke flew slowly into the air through a medium sized whole.
“The Beast” smashed his gloved fist into the wooden table so hard that the ground trembled, “We have to press on, or our men will loose faith, you heard them didn’t you? They are practically begging for more blood, more land, more coin to spend, more of everything!”
He said loudly, to the woman sitting on the far side of the table.
He sat in a chair, weakly built at first sight, but when you looked closer you could see muscles bulging under the clothes that covered the slim body.
He was young, had short ruffled brown hair, blue eyes and a slim face and thin nose.
His jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth aced, and the two spots where his muscles where bulging formed an irregullarity in his otherwise almost perfectly formed face.
The woman sitting in the only other chair in the tent, at the far side of the table, was also quite young, a bit older than the man she was now staring intently at, and was slimly built.
She had long ravenblack hair, perfectly green eyes, a bulky nose, looking as if it had been broken a couple of times, numerous scars covering her face, and a set of slightly irregular and pointed teeth.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then frowned and said.
“It’s okay for them to press on, they see you as an unstoppable beast invurnerable to harm, even though the losses have been minimal men have still died, but they don’t seem to notice.”
She paused as if considering what to say next, slowly opened her mouth and said “Its a mob being led behind the light, and I’m sorry but its your fault, I mean, they’ve seen nothing but victories since we’ve come into the lands of the thieves, and we both know, most men get overly bold after such events.”
The face of the woman took on a smug look, just as she looked down into the table to hide a smile.
She had won this discussion she knew, oh he might argue a bit more but with that one devastating argument she had crushed his in one verbal blow. “This is getting harder and harder.. ” She thought, “Maybe next time I won’t be able to talk him out of the stupidity.”
“But… Eh.” The young man said, with a frustrated look covering his face, No not again. He thought, he was on the verge of yelling “Words, come to me!” but as ever, he did not.
“Oh come on Rendal..” The woman said calmly, her voice cool, with the hint of something else, somethign soft hidden within, her face the perfect picture of serenity, “Obviously you can see the sense in what I’m saying here, and of course, you didn’t make me your second in command for nothing did you? The council said we should stop here and defend what we’ve allready conquered. And not only that, until now the king of these thieves has until now considered us nothing but a minor band of raiders, if we press on, we are destined to meet an army we cannot defeat, and what will your men do then, surrender? We both know the answer to that….”
“A death in battle is an honorable death.” The young man called Rendal said stubbornly.
“What good does honor do you, when you’re dead?” The woman asked.
Rendal had no answer so he kept his mouth shut eyes down in embarrasment.
The woman thought he looked childlike when he was embarassed but got no time to consider it more because just then, faint horns could be heard in the distance, even the louder of the drums could be heard faintly.
As they both knew, these were the sounds of war.
“It appears you were wrong Sarize, the king has allready noticed us for what we are..” Rendal said, his face had already set in stony look, as if he had no human emotion.
“Always have a back-up plan, always..” Rendal thought as he strode out of the tent.

Poetry: The Mountains in the west.

The sun went down
And sat a golden crown
Upon the mountains in the west.

The jagged spires,
Looked like fires,
Upon the mountains in the west.

The creatures saw,
And gaped in awe,
Upon the mountains in the west.

The free man saw,
And noticed a flaw,
Upon the mountains in the west.

As snow did melt,
The sun was felt,
Upon the mountains in the west.

The water found a way,
To avoid the mountain stay,
Upon the mountains in the west.

As the water rushed down,
To escape the golden crown,
The mountains they fell,
Almost creating hell,
Oh yes they fell,
They crashed down I can tell.

The mountains in the west.

"The ‘Retired’ Assasin" Part 4.

This is Part four of the story I have chosen to temporarily call “The ‘Retired’ Assasin”, ultimately that will be the name of the first chapter, but until I find another title for the story, it will remain named “The ‘Retired’ assasin”.
“The ‘retired’ assasin” Part 1 link.
“The ‘retired’ assasin” Part 2 link.

“The ‘retired’ assasin” Part 3 link.

At this time the so called “Beast” was ravaging large parts of Rolega, one of the “Civilized States”, it was rumoured that this was one of the huge barbarians that were living north of the border, and given the fact that Rolega was indeed the Civilized state placed north of all the others, that he drank blood and dressed in skin from the creatures he slay, be it man or bear or wolf.
The facts in this matter was of course incredibly different from what the rumours would have told as true, and as the “Beast ” progressed further and further south, the word got out that he was little more than a boy, and a fair one at that.
When people learned that “The beast” was youn, fair and seemingly unstoppable in battle, somehow the word spread that he was a lost prince, fighting his way to his rightful throne.
Matters only turned worse when the king forbid even speaking of “This little youngster who calls himself ‘the beast’ “.
The word spread to every little city or town in all of Rolega, and discussions about him were to be found in every tavern or inn.
Little did the king know at the time, that only his enemies called him “the beast” due to his wild ferocity in battle, that he wore only a chainmail chestguard and a bearskin cloak with the head left intact and that the loosing side of a battle always needed some kind of excuse for their loss, espescially when the odds had been on their side.
Allthough “the beast” was ferocious in battle, he was also rightful so that he always helped the wounded, treated the prisoners well, and avoided killing, capturing or harming unarmed women and harmless children if possible.

©Copyright 2006 Ragnar, The owner of This blog.

Latest news.

For those who have turned reading my blog into a daily or semi-daily/weekly habit, it may seem that I have deliberately eluded posting anything to my blog due to not being interested in it at all.
This however is not the case, I have been away from “cyber space” because I was visiting some relatives that does not have a computer with internet connection, so I have simply been unable to post something or fix anything on my blog.
But even before I left, a lot of time passed betweend the posting of each post , due to my striving to make my blog better.
Sadly I have to say that this was a bucketful of wasted effort as I used my time to think of a new slogan or background or minor details about my blog’s design instead of filling up my blog with content.
As it is I’m planning to post at least another part of “the ‘retired’ assasin” series and fix the contents of the the first three parts of it.

Sincerely,
The president of the UPD
(United Posts of Dust on a dusty road)