The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
I'm tired and I just wrote this.
------------
It was time to live a new life. A romantic life. Balance would come from that, it had to.
Grix, who had gained a taste for dust after experimenting with the ground, had been licking the marble floor for what seemed like a few hours, but was nowhere near that. It had turned from simple 'trying to find stronger tastes' to a curled up lazy fox sleeping on the cold floor.
When he woke unable to remember where he was, Grix jumped up, his heart beating like a drumming monkey, and clamboured out of the room and into the hallway. He looked at himself. A fox in a duffle coat and a homemade belt for blue trousers.
He looked around.
He was in a mansion. Or a castle. Maybe it was a castle. It was old, whatever it was. Carved and stained wooden stairways winded down to the floor below, with a red and black swirl marking the hall floor below. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the gaps in the boards over the windows.
It was also windy. There seemed to be a gust of wind coming from somewhere, sending Grix's fur to ripples every other moment. An awful amount of dust for a distinct lack of people, Grix thought. He remembered back to falling asleep on the ground... maybe it wasn't really dust but some other dry tasting material. He'd have to research it. Maybe the castle had a library.
The source of the wind seemed to be coming from a large passageway on the other side of the top of the hall. An investigation seemed prominent.
The door led to a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase (with lanterns ready to be lit if he was ever to host a party) led up to stronger winds.
And in turn, to a small corridor. At the end of the corridor lay what was obviously meant to be a wall. Where the wall was meant to be, lay the remains of a wall.
Grix wondered what had happened. It was almost as if someone had charged full pelt at it with determination to knock it down.
It led to a wooden platform surrounded by the large stone outer walls, seemingly built after the inner wall was knocked down. Who knew. Grix stepped out onto it.
The view was of the forest. Trees and trees, some trees and lots of trees and sky. There was civilisation between the trees and the sky somewhere. He'd visit one day.
Grix looked at the platform he stood on. He needed a desk, definitely.
Furniture lay around the castle, still there from it's previous owner. I guess if you're going to abandon a castle, then you're not going to bother bringing your furniture with you.
Fortunately, one of the rooms just down the corridor contained a small writing desk. It was full of paper, and a little ink well and cobwebbed pen sat upon it. The room seemed red, very red. The carpet looked unlickable.
Grix dragged the writing desk out of the office, dragged it down the corridor to the sound of wood rubbing against carpet.
He lifted it up over the rubble of the remains of the wall, and pushed it against the large stone wall outside, near the edge of the platform. He admired it for a moment, then stepped back inside to return to the office.
Grix discovered ink supplies, then dragged a wooden chair with a little red cushioned seat out to the wooden platform. He placed it next to the desk, then sat to it.
He looked to his left, out over the forest and the sun.
Grix took the pen, found paper in the drawers of the desk. He wrote, with the ink, "Does this castle belong to anyone?"
He then folded the page into a paper aeroplane, stood up, and threw it out of the platform. He peered over the edge as it half glided and half plummeted towards the forest.
Grix chewed his lip, then ventured back into the corridor.
------------
It was time to live a new life. A romantic life. Balance would come from that, it had to.
Grix, who had gained a taste for dust after experimenting with the ground, had been licking the marble floor for what seemed like a few hours, but was nowhere near that. It had turned from simple 'trying to find stronger tastes' to a curled up lazy fox sleeping on the cold floor.
When he woke unable to remember where he was, Grix jumped up, his heart beating like a drumming monkey, and clamboured out of the room and into the hallway. He looked at himself. A fox in a duffle coat and a homemade belt for blue trousers.
He looked around.
He was in a mansion. Or a castle. Maybe it was a castle. It was old, whatever it was. Carved and stained wooden stairways winded down to the floor below, with a red and black swirl marking the hall floor below. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the gaps in the boards over the windows.
It was also windy. There seemed to be a gust of wind coming from somewhere, sending Grix's fur to ripples every other moment. An awful amount of dust for a distinct lack of people, Grix thought. He remembered back to falling asleep on the ground... maybe it wasn't really dust but some other dry tasting material. He'd have to research it. Maybe the castle had a library.
The source of the wind seemed to be coming from a large passageway on the other side of the top of the hall. An investigation seemed prominent.
The door led to a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase (with lanterns ready to be lit if he was ever to host a party) led up to stronger winds.
And in turn, to a small corridor. At the end of the corridor lay what was obviously meant to be a wall. Where the wall was meant to be, lay the remains of a wall.
Grix wondered what had happened. It was almost as if someone had charged full pelt at it with determination to knock it down.
It led to a wooden platform surrounded by the large stone outer walls, seemingly built after the inner wall was knocked down. Who knew. Grix stepped out onto it.
The view was of the forest. Trees and trees, some trees and lots of trees and sky. There was civilisation between the trees and the sky somewhere. He'd visit one day.
Grix looked at the platform he stood on. He needed a desk, definitely.
Furniture lay around the castle, still there from it's previous owner. I guess if you're going to abandon a castle, then you're not going to bother bringing your furniture with you.
Fortunately, one of the rooms just down the corridor contained a small writing desk. It was full of paper, and a little ink well and cobwebbed pen sat upon it. The room seemed red, very red. The carpet looked unlickable.
Grix dragged the writing desk out of the office, dragged it down the corridor to the sound of wood rubbing against carpet.
He lifted it up over the rubble of the remains of the wall, and pushed it against the large stone wall outside, near the edge of the platform. He admired it for a moment, then stepped back inside to return to the office.
Grix discovered ink supplies, then dragged a wooden chair with a little red cushioned seat out to the wooden platform. He placed it next to the desk, then sat to it.
He looked to his left, out over the forest and the sun.
Grix took the pen, found paper in the drawers of the desk. He wrote, with the ink, "Does this castle belong to anyone?"
He then folded the page into a paper aeroplane, stood up, and threw it out of the platform. He peered over the edge as it half glided and half plummeted towards the forest.
Grix chewed his lip, then ventured back into the corridor.
Page:
There have been no replies to this thread yet.
I'm tired and I just wrote this.
------------
It was time to live a new life. A romantic life. Balance would come from that, it had to.
Grix, who had gained a taste for dust after experimenting with the ground, had been licking the marble floor for what seemed like a few hours, but was nowhere near that. It had turned from simple 'trying to find stronger tastes' to a curled up lazy fox sleeping on the cold floor.
When he woke unable to remember where he was, Grix jumped up, his heart beating like a drumming monkey, and clamboured out of the room and into the hallway. He looked at himself. A fox in a duffle coat and a homemade belt for blue trousers.
He looked around.
He was in a mansion. Or a castle. Maybe it was a castle. It was old, whatever it was. Carved and stained wooden stairways winded down to the floor below, with a red and black swirl marking the hall floor below. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the gaps in the boards over the windows.
It was also windy. There seemed to be a gust of wind coming from somewhere, sending Grix's fur to ripples every other moment. An awful amount of dust for a distinct lack of people, Grix thought. He remembered back to falling asleep on the ground... maybe it wasn't really dust but some other dry tasting material. He'd have to research it. Maybe the castle had a library.
The source of the wind seemed to be coming from a large passageway on the other side of the top of the hall. An investigation seemed prominent.
The door led to a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase (with lanterns ready to be lit if he was ever to host a party) led up to stronger winds.
And in turn, to a small corridor. At the end of the corridor lay what was obviously meant to be a wall. Where the wall was meant to be, lay the remains of a wall.
Grix wondered what had happened. It was almost as if someone had charged full pelt at it with determination to knock it down.
It led to a wooden platform surrounded by the large stone outer walls, seemingly built after the inner wall was knocked down. Who knew. Grix stepped out onto it.
The view was of the forest. Trees and trees, some trees and lots of trees and sky. There was civilisation between the trees and the sky somewhere. He'd visit one day.
Grix looked at the platform he stood on. He needed a desk, definitely.
Furniture lay around the castle, still there from it's previous owner. I guess if you're going to abandon a castle, then you're not going to bother bringing your furniture with you.
Fortunately, one of the rooms just down the corridor contained a small writing desk. It was full of paper, and a little ink well and cobwebbed pen sat upon it. The room seemed red, very red. The carpet looked unlickable.
Grix dragged the writing desk out of the office, dragged it down the corridor to the sound of wood rubbing against carpet.
He lifted it up over the rubble of the remains of the wall, and pushed it against the large stone wall outside, near the edge of the platform. He admired it for a moment, then stepped back inside to return to the office.
Grix discovered ink supplies, then dragged a wooden chair with a little red cushioned seat out to the wooden platform. He placed it next to the desk, then sat to it.
He looked to his left, out over the forest and the sun.
Grix took the pen, found paper in the drawers of the desk. He wrote, with the ink, "Does this castle belong to anyone?"
He then folded the page into a paper aeroplane, stood up, and threw it out of the platform. He peered over the edge as it half glided and half plummeted towards the forest.
Grix chewed his lip, then ventured back into the corridor.
------------
It was time to live a new life. A romantic life. Balance would come from that, it had to.
Grix, who had gained a taste for dust after experimenting with the ground, had been licking the marble floor for what seemed like a few hours, but was nowhere near that. It had turned from simple 'trying to find stronger tastes' to a curled up lazy fox sleeping on the cold floor.
When he woke unable to remember where he was, Grix jumped up, his heart beating like a drumming monkey, and clamboured out of the room and into the hallway. He looked at himself. A fox in a duffle coat and a homemade belt for blue trousers.
He looked around.
He was in a mansion. Or a castle. Maybe it was a castle. It was old, whatever it was. Carved and stained wooden stairways winded down to the floor below, with a red and black swirl marking the hall floor below. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the gaps in the boards over the windows.
It was also windy. There seemed to be a gust of wind coming from somewhere, sending Grix's fur to ripples every other moment. An awful amount of dust for a distinct lack of people, Grix thought. He remembered back to falling asleep on the ground... maybe it wasn't really dust but some other dry tasting material. He'd have to research it. Maybe the castle had a library.
The source of the wind seemed to be coming from a large passageway on the other side of the top of the hall. An investigation seemed prominent.
The door led to a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase (with lanterns ready to be lit if he was ever to host a party) led up to stronger winds.
And in turn, to a small corridor. At the end of the corridor lay what was obviously meant to be a wall. Where the wall was meant to be, lay the remains of a wall.
Grix wondered what had happened. It was almost as if someone had charged full pelt at it with determination to knock it down.
It led to a wooden platform surrounded by the large stone outer walls, seemingly built after the inner wall was knocked down. Who knew. Grix stepped out onto it.
The view was of the forest. Trees and trees, some trees and lots of trees and sky. There was civilisation between the trees and the sky somewhere. He'd visit one day.
Grix looked at the platform he stood on. He needed a desk, definitely.
Furniture lay around the castle, still there from it's previous owner. I guess if you're going to abandon a castle, then you're not going to bother bringing your furniture with you.
Fortunately, one of the rooms just down the corridor contained a small writing desk. It was full of paper, and a little ink well and cobwebbed pen sat upon it. The room seemed red, very red. The carpet looked unlickable.
Grix dragged the writing desk out of the office, dragged it down the corridor to the sound of wood rubbing against carpet.
He lifted it up over the rubble of the remains of the wall, and pushed it against the large stone wall outside, near the edge of the platform. He admired it for a moment, then stepped back inside to return to the office.
Grix discovered ink supplies, then dragged a wooden chair with a little red cushioned seat out to the wooden platform. He placed it next to the desk, then sat to it.
He looked to his left, out over the forest and the sun.
Grix took the pen, found paper in the drawers of the desk. He wrote, with the ink, "Does this castle belong to anyone?"
He then folded the page into a paper aeroplane, stood up, and threw it out of the platform. He peered over the edge as it half glided and half plummeted towards the forest.
Grix chewed his lip, then ventured back into the corridor.
Page: