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I'll post my other one just for the hell of it.
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Through the shattered veranda windows span another severed head: this time a woman’s – it rolled’n’bobbled through the flowery grass and came to rest near the others. What was he doing in there?
Shuffling to the strewn glass, I peered into the room beyond… Headless corpses lay all around. I believe I counted twelve in all. Gangrel was having a field day – he was in his element: a mansion full of toffy-nosed aristocrats… I should’ve known he'd go over the top.
As I climbed into the plush’n’spacious interior (drenched most lovely in the late afternoon rays), I could hear strangulated screams issuing from upstairs being pursued by thumping footfalls. Gangrel obviously hadn't finished his marauding slaughter, but I had a job to do, so I set about inspecting the decapitated bodies.
Fingers that had precious rings on were cut off; pockets were frisked for other valuables – like keys to safes and gem-filled purses: past plunders have taught me that these aristocratic types always keep gemstones on their person – call it a ‘quirk of the posh’ – distrustful braggarts, the lot of ‘em!
Once Gangrel had dispatched everyone present into the blankside of never, he thundered for the kitchen, grunting like triumphant rhino, where he filled his monstrous belly with all the nosh he could lay his greedy claws on. I, on the other hand, continued my looting spree, and my afternoon's pilfering reaped many worthwhile rewards.
I gathered countless gold coins and rings, several pouches of gems, a handful of rare books, the odd sparkly ornament, and a couple of small paintings… I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Gangrel was satisfied: the belching session that followed his wolfing of fodder was an emphatic testament; his axe was smeared with the juice of the idle rich and his mammoth gut was rammed to bursting. That's all that matters to Gangrel – he's a glutton for just two things: violence and food, usually in that order. Still, he serves a purpose. He's the brawn and I'm the brains. We're a team. A notorious double act wanted dead or alive throughout this godforsaken land. Tis true that I keep most of the booty and the profit procured from our riotous benders – but hey, I can't help it if Gangrel is oblivious to the economics of our fruitful thievery!
…So as usual we galloped into a blood-red sunset with the spoils of our pillage rattling in our deep pockets, and if I’m not mistaken, that very night a bounty hunter attempted to ambush us as we moseyed into the pearly mist of a forest. He failed. They always do. With Gangrel at my side, it ain’t surprising. He's got an axe the size of a young tree, and the bolts he fires from his crossbow can take a man's head clean off.
Gangrel can't be tamed. Ain’t no point trying. He only trusts me because I saved his life. He's wild, an outcast, a freak of nature, and he's as ugly as a shaven baboon… but I know one thing about Gangrel: I'm the only man alive who's ever shown him a modicum of esteem – like I said, I saved his life when it would’ve been far easier just to let him rot, and that is why he'll fight to the bitter end to protect my outlaw hide.
Long live Gangrel! my marauder… without him this no-good nomad would surely perish.
-------------
Through the shattered veranda windows span another severed head: this time a woman’s – it rolled’n’bobbled through the flowery grass and came to rest near the others. What was he doing in there?
Shuffling to the strewn glass, I peered into the room beyond… Headless corpses lay all around. I believe I counted twelve in all. Gangrel was having a field day – he was in his element: a mansion full of toffy-nosed aristocrats… I should’ve known he'd go over the top.
As I climbed into the plush’n’spacious interior (drenched most lovely in the late afternoon rays), I could hear strangulated screams issuing from upstairs being pursued by thumping footfalls. Gangrel obviously hadn't finished his marauding slaughter, but I had a job to do, so I set about inspecting the decapitated bodies.
Fingers that had precious rings on were cut off; pockets were frisked for other valuables – like keys to safes and gem-filled purses: past plunders have taught me that these aristocratic types always keep gemstones on their person – call it a ‘quirk of the posh’ – distrustful braggarts, the lot of ‘em!
Once Gangrel had dispatched everyone present into the blankside of never, he thundered for the kitchen, grunting like triumphant rhino, where he filled his monstrous belly with all the nosh he could lay his greedy claws on. I, on the other hand, continued my looting spree, and my afternoon's pilfering reaped many worthwhile rewards.
I gathered countless gold coins and rings, several pouches of gems, a handful of rare books, the odd sparkly ornament, and a couple of small paintings… I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Gangrel was satisfied: the belching session that followed his wolfing of fodder was an emphatic testament; his axe was smeared with the juice of the idle rich and his mammoth gut was rammed to bursting. That's all that matters to Gangrel – he's a glutton for just two things: violence and food, usually in that order. Still, he serves a purpose. He's the brawn and I'm the brains. We're a team. A notorious double act wanted dead or alive throughout this godforsaken land. Tis true that I keep most of the booty and the profit procured from our riotous benders – but hey, I can't help it if Gangrel is oblivious to the economics of our fruitful thievery!
…So as usual we galloped into a blood-red sunset with the spoils of our pillage rattling in our deep pockets, and if I’m not mistaken, that very night a bounty hunter attempted to ambush us as we moseyed into the pearly mist of a forest. He failed. They always do. With Gangrel at my side, it ain’t surprising. He's got an axe the size of a young tree, and the bolts he fires from his crossbow can take a man's head clean off.
Gangrel can't be tamed. Ain’t no point trying. He only trusts me because I saved his life. He's wild, an outcast, a freak of nature, and he's as ugly as a shaven baboon… but I know one thing about Gangrel: I'm the only man alive who's ever shown him a modicum of esteem – like I said, I saved his life when it would’ve been far easier just to let him rot, and that is why he'll fight to the bitter end to protect my outlaw hide.
Long live Gangrel! my marauder… without him this no-good nomad would surely perish.
Like many of your other pieces I've read, it has a very talkative style. As if you're an old lady sitting there telling me about her day.
:D
Entertaining, not boring, mind.
:D
Entertaining, not boring, mind.
Nice. :)
Better than t'other.
So, yes, still very good. I liked.
So, yes, still very good. I liked.
Paradox: wrote:
> That was superb, a lot better than the other attempt. Is Gangrel the
> name of a villian in a cartoon? The name really rings a bell.
I think he's a WWF wrestler...not that I'd know.
> Well written, and thanks for teaching me the word 'modicum', never
> heard it before!
Really? You dumb-bum. My mum always used to shout at me, "do you even have a modicum of sense?"
Apparently it's a rhetorical question, whatever that means.
> That was superb, a lot better than the other attempt. Is Gangrel the
> name of a villian in a cartoon? The name really rings a bell.
I think he's a WWF wrestler...not that I'd know.
> Well written, and thanks for teaching me the word 'modicum', never
> heard it before!
Really? You dumb-bum. My mum always used to shout at me, "do you even have a modicum of sense?"
Apparently it's a rhetorical question, whatever that means.
That was very good!
Me liked, thankee :D
Aha, that's quite fitting, then.
I google image searched it and found Gangrel was on old WWF wrestler who looks something like a vampire, and lots of wolf-men.
I imagined something of an bulging ogre when I red the story, not disimilar to a Cave Troll from LOTR.
I google image searched it and found Gangrel was on old WWF wrestler who looks something like a vampire, and lots of wolf-men.
I imagined something of an bulging ogre when I red the story, not disimilar to a Cave Troll from LOTR.
Not sure whether Gangrel is a cartoon character, but according to my 19th century dictionary (it has loads of defunct words in it) Gangrel is both a noun and an adjective meaning 'vagrant' or 'like a vagrant' - so it fits with the nomad theme.
That was superb, a lot better than the other attempt. Is Gangrel the name of a villian in a cartoon? The name really rings a bell.
Well written, and thanks for teaching me the word 'modicum', never heard it before!
Well written, and thanks for teaching me the word 'modicum', never heard it before!
I'll post my other one just for the hell of it.
-------------
Through the shattered veranda windows span another severed head: this time a woman’s – it rolled’n’bobbled through the flowery grass and came to rest near the others. What was he doing in there?
Shuffling to the strewn glass, I peered into the room beyond… Headless corpses lay all around. I believe I counted twelve in all. Gangrel was having a field day – he was in his element: a mansion full of toffy-nosed aristocrats… I should’ve known he'd go over the top.
As I climbed into the plush’n’spacious interior (drenched most lovely in the late afternoon rays), I could hear strangulated screams issuing from upstairs being pursued by thumping footfalls. Gangrel obviously hadn't finished his marauding slaughter, but I had a job to do, so I set about inspecting the decapitated bodies.
Fingers that had precious rings on were cut off; pockets were frisked for other valuables – like keys to safes and gem-filled purses: past plunders have taught me that these aristocratic types always keep gemstones on their person – call it a ‘quirk of the posh’ – distrustful braggarts, the lot of ‘em!
Once Gangrel had dispatched everyone present into the blankside of never, he thundered for the kitchen, grunting like triumphant rhino, where he filled his monstrous belly with all the nosh he could lay his greedy claws on. I, on the other hand, continued my looting spree, and my afternoon's pilfering reaped many worthwhile rewards.
I gathered countless gold coins and rings, several pouches of gems, a handful of rare books, the odd sparkly ornament, and a couple of small paintings… I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Gangrel was satisfied: the belching session that followed his wolfing of fodder was an emphatic testament; his axe was smeared with the juice of the idle rich and his mammoth gut was rammed to bursting. That's all that matters to Gangrel – he's a glutton for just two things: violence and food, usually in that order. Still, he serves a purpose. He's the brawn and I'm the brains. We're a team. A notorious double act wanted dead or alive throughout this godforsaken land. Tis true that I keep most of the booty and the profit procured from our riotous benders – but hey, I can't help it if Gangrel is oblivious to the economics of our fruitful thievery!
…So as usual we galloped into a blood-red sunset with the spoils of our pillage rattling in our deep pockets, and if I’m not mistaken, that very night a bounty hunter attempted to ambush us as we moseyed into the pearly mist of a forest. He failed. They always do. With Gangrel at my side, it ain’t surprising. He's got an axe the size of a young tree, and the bolts he fires from his crossbow can take a man's head clean off.
Gangrel can't be tamed. Ain’t no point trying. He only trusts me because I saved his life. He's wild, an outcast, a freak of nature, and he's as ugly as a shaven baboon… but I know one thing about Gangrel: I'm the only man alive who's ever shown him a modicum of esteem – like I said, I saved his life when it would’ve been far easier just to let him rot, and that is why he'll fight to the bitter end to protect my outlaw hide.
Long live Gangrel! my marauder… without him this no-good nomad would surely perish.
-------------
Through the shattered veranda windows span another severed head: this time a woman’s – it rolled’n’bobbled through the flowery grass and came to rest near the others. What was he doing in there?
Shuffling to the strewn glass, I peered into the room beyond… Headless corpses lay all around. I believe I counted twelve in all. Gangrel was having a field day – he was in his element: a mansion full of toffy-nosed aristocrats… I should’ve known he'd go over the top.
As I climbed into the plush’n’spacious interior (drenched most lovely in the late afternoon rays), I could hear strangulated screams issuing from upstairs being pursued by thumping footfalls. Gangrel obviously hadn't finished his marauding slaughter, but I had a job to do, so I set about inspecting the decapitated bodies.
Fingers that had precious rings on were cut off; pockets were frisked for other valuables – like keys to safes and gem-filled purses: past plunders have taught me that these aristocratic types always keep gemstones on their person – call it a ‘quirk of the posh’ – distrustful braggarts, the lot of ‘em!
Once Gangrel had dispatched everyone present into the blankside of never, he thundered for the kitchen, grunting like triumphant rhino, where he filled his monstrous belly with all the nosh he could lay his greedy claws on. I, on the other hand, continued my looting spree, and my afternoon's pilfering reaped many worthwhile rewards.
I gathered countless gold coins and rings, several pouches of gems, a handful of rare books, the odd sparkly ornament, and a couple of small paintings… I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Gangrel was satisfied: the belching session that followed his wolfing of fodder was an emphatic testament; his axe was smeared with the juice of the idle rich and his mammoth gut was rammed to bursting. That's all that matters to Gangrel – he's a glutton for just two things: violence and food, usually in that order. Still, he serves a purpose. He's the brawn and I'm the brains. We're a team. A notorious double act wanted dead or alive throughout this godforsaken land. Tis true that I keep most of the booty and the profit procured from our riotous benders – but hey, I can't help it if Gangrel is oblivious to the economics of our fruitful thievery!
…So as usual we galloped into a blood-red sunset with the spoils of our pillage rattling in our deep pockets, and if I’m not mistaken, that very night a bounty hunter attempted to ambush us as we moseyed into the pearly mist of a forest. He failed. They always do. With Gangrel at my side, it ain’t surprising. He's got an axe the size of a young tree, and the bolts he fires from his crossbow can take a man's head clean off.
Gangrel can't be tamed. Ain’t no point trying. He only trusts me because I saved his life. He's wild, an outcast, a freak of nature, and he's as ugly as a shaven baboon… but I know one thing about Gangrel: I'm the only man alive who's ever shown him a modicum of esteem – like I said, I saved his life when it would’ve been far easier just to let him rot, and that is why he'll fight to the bitter end to protect my outlaw hide.
Long live Gangrel! my marauder… without him this no-good nomad would surely perish.