Gary^The^Procrastinator
Go Where No One Else Will Go, Left Oblique
This photo was featured on Flickr Explore on November 15, 2013.
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My goals for this build, besides competing in Classic Castle Contest XI, were to show folding in the rock formations, avoid medium green, and try out my tree technique with dark red leaves for fall season. 100% Lego.
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Story:
Go Where No One Else Will Go
A story of resistance to tyranny, from the Lands of Classic Castle.
“Are we there yet?!?” Sir Caelan Munro demanded only have-jokingly.
Caelan, his captain Tavish and another Lenfel Scout Sniper named Teàrlach had been riding for many hours up into the twisting valleys and canyons of the Dragonscale Mountains with no end in sight. For the last mile they had followed and then actually rode into a shallow fast-flowing stream with a hard riverbed made of metamorphic rock. It was arduous, and with fall upon them the water was quite cold. “I should think we passed out of beloved Lenfald and into shivering Garheim ages ago,” he concluded his feigned tirade.
“Ach,” Tavish sighed, “how soon they grow spoiled once given titles.” He never missed a chance to give Caelan grief these days over his official title of Baron Munro. “Your orders were to locate and establish a secret hideout to strike the Queen’s army from, and we have found one even the Outlaws don’t know of, courtesy of Teàrlach here,” he nodded at their young Scout Sniper escort, who suddenly spoke up.
“Many years ago when I was wee lad,” Teàrlach noted, “me father used to have this here hideaway you see, knowns only to us. He used to say, ‘If you don’t want to be found, go where no one else will go.’”
Sir Caelan looked to him for an explanation; they were a very long way from any village. Teàrlach had not been with them long, and caution was survival these days in the Land of Roawia.
Teàrlach continued, somewhat cautious now himself, “Well, ah, me father wasn’t exactly into payin’ taxes ya see, he called himself an ‘unregistered cross-border merchant’…”
“A smuggler?” Sir Caelan vocalized what was obvious.
“No need to be rude about it,” Tavish grinned.
“...and this is where he used to store the goods until things cooled off ya see.” Teàrlach finished, somewhat embarrassed. He never knew a noble before now, much less a full Baron of Lenfald, and he had wanted to impress the commander of the Lenfel Scout Snipers. Volunteering up his family hideout was supposed to achieve this, instead it appeared to have compromised his family heritage.
“So,” Caelan fired at Tavish, “you’re putting us up into a smuggler’s den?!”
Tavish checked where he was, drew up his mount, spun in the river so that he was facing Sir Caelan, now stopped mid-stream, and called over the sound of rushing water around them, “Since you had the misfortune of not listening to me, attending the coronation of our not-so beloved queen, and then being taken prisoner at her coming out, and then escaped from her dungeon courtesy of meself...”
“Lady Kenzie and I had already escaped the dungeon…”
“...Rescued from the queen’s island by meself,” Tavish corrected himself, “we are all Outlaws now, me good baron.”
Caelan thought a second and agreed, “Actually you have a point…”
“So you’ll be right at home in a smuggler’s den.”
“Great. But we are getting nowhere while we jaw here, and I’d like to get moving if you don’t mind.”
Tavish gave a short laugh and slowly took out some beef jerky. He never made an attempt to move his mount. Finally he said, “We’re here, lad.”
Sir Caelan looked around while Tavish chewed his jerky. Both sides of the stream rose with steep dark rock formations, folded over time, and ugly thorn bushes were clustered everywhere. The only bright spots in the landscape were provided by two red maples which had turned, and even these would be ugly once those deep-red leaves fell. “This water we are standing in is going to be a bit cold in winter, don’t you think?”
Tavish laughed again, this time with a special “gotcha” element to it, and he gave a loud whistle like a Varied Thrush. Suddenly the wall of thorn bushes to Calean’s right opened up to reveal a ravine, previously hidden from sight by a clever ruse. Two Scouts stood there grinning while holding a giant wooden blind which was covered in branches of thorns.
Tavish noted, “Goes up there a ways and widens up a plenty. We already have twenty-five men and thirty horses in there right now, and room for supplies.”
Staring deeper into the ravine Caelan could see a shack with another Scout posted there, and marveled, “You could have shot me three times over and I would never have known. You’ve outdone yourself this time Tavish.” Not forgetting their generous escort, he turned to Teàrlach and stated, “I’m not sure your father would be proud of you, but I am. Thank you.”
Teàrlach straightened up with gratitude. He was beginning to worry.
Before riding into the ravine however Sir Caelan wasn’t done ribbing his archer friend. “Though it’s a good thing we dropped Lady Kenzie off at one of her father’s remote farms first. That shack is not fit for my lady.”
“What, you don’t like your palace? What a spoiled dandy you’ve become.”
“I shall call it the rat-shack.”
“I’m just joking you know. That’s the guard shack. We’re building real ones farther up.”
Caelan smiled while heading his horse into the ravine. “I just escaped from a dungeon. Right now a tent looks just fine.”
“We can arrange that!”
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Previous Caelan stories:
Go Where No One Else Will Go, Left Oblique
This photo was featured on Flickr Explore on November 15, 2013.
--------
My goals for this build, besides competing in Classic Castle Contest XI, were to show folding in the rock formations, avoid medium green, and try out my tree technique with dark red leaves for fall season. 100% Lego.
--------
Story:
Go Where No One Else Will Go
A story of resistance to tyranny, from the Lands of Classic Castle.
“Are we there yet?!?” Sir Caelan Munro demanded only have-jokingly.
Caelan, his captain Tavish and another Lenfel Scout Sniper named Teàrlach had been riding for many hours up into the twisting valleys and canyons of the Dragonscale Mountains with no end in sight. For the last mile they had followed and then actually rode into a shallow fast-flowing stream with a hard riverbed made of metamorphic rock. It was arduous, and with fall upon them the water was quite cold. “I should think we passed out of beloved Lenfald and into shivering Garheim ages ago,” he concluded his feigned tirade.
“Ach,” Tavish sighed, “how soon they grow spoiled once given titles.” He never missed a chance to give Caelan grief these days over his official title of Baron Munro. “Your orders were to locate and establish a secret hideout to strike the Queen’s army from, and we have found one even the Outlaws don’t know of, courtesy of Teàrlach here,” he nodded at their young Scout Sniper escort, who suddenly spoke up.
“Many years ago when I was wee lad,” Teàrlach noted, “me father used to have this here hideaway you see, knowns only to us. He used to say, ‘If you don’t want to be found, go where no one else will go.’”
Sir Caelan looked to him for an explanation; they were a very long way from any village. Teàrlach had not been with them long, and caution was survival these days in the Land of Roawia.
Teàrlach continued, somewhat cautious now himself, “Well, ah, me father wasn’t exactly into payin’ taxes ya see, he called himself an ‘unregistered cross-border merchant’…”
“A smuggler?” Sir Caelan vocalized what was obvious.
“No need to be rude about it,” Tavish grinned.
“...and this is where he used to store the goods until things cooled off ya see.” Teàrlach finished, somewhat embarrassed. He never knew a noble before now, much less a full Baron of Lenfald, and he had wanted to impress the commander of the Lenfel Scout Snipers. Volunteering up his family hideout was supposed to achieve this, instead it appeared to have compromised his family heritage.
“So,” Caelan fired at Tavish, “you’re putting us up into a smuggler’s den?!”
Tavish checked where he was, drew up his mount, spun in the river so that he was facing Sir Caelan, now stopped mid-stream, and called over the sound of rushing water around them, “Since you had the misfortune of not listening to me, attending the coronation of our not-so beloved queen, and then being taken prisoner at her coming out, and then escaped from her dungeon courtesy of meself...”
“Lady Kenzie and I had already escaped the dungeon…”
“...Rescued from the queen’s island by meself,” Tavish corrected himself, “we are all Outlaws now, me good baron.”
Caelan thought a second and agreed, “Actually you have a point…”
“So you’ll be right at home in a smuggler’s den.”
“Great. But we are getting nowhere while we jaw here, and I’d like to get moving if you don’t mind.”
Tavish gave a short laugh and slowly took out some beef jerky. He never made an attempt to move his mount. Finally he said, “We’re here, lad.”
Sir Caelan looked around while Tavish chewed his jerky. Both sides of the stream rose with steep dark rock formations, folded over time, and ugly thorn bushes were clustered everywhere. The only bright spots in the landscape were provided by two red maples which had turned, and even these would be ugly once those deep-red leaves fell. “This water we are standing in is going to be a bit cold in winter, don’t you think?”
Tavish laughed again, this time with a special “gotcha” element to it, and he gave a loud whistle like a Varied Thrush. Suddenly the wall of thorn bushes to Calean’s right opened up to reveal a ravine, previously hidden from sight by a clever ruse. Two Scouts stood there grinning while holding a giant wooden blind which was covered in branches of thorns.
Tavish noted, “Goes up there a ways and widens up a plenty. We already have twenty-five men and thirty horses in there right now, and room for supplies.”
Staring deeper into the ravine Caelan could see a shack with another Scout posted there, and marveled, “You could have shot me three times over and I would never have known. You’ve outdone yourself this time Tavish.” Not forgetting their generous escort, he turned to Teàrlach and stated, “I’m not sure your father would be proud of you, but I am. Thank you.”
Teàrlach straightened up with gratitude. He was beginning to worry.
Before riding into the ravine however Sir Caelan wasn’t done ribbing his archer friend. “Though it’s a good thing we dropped Lady Kenzie off at one of her father’s remote farms first. That shack is not fit for my lady.”
“What, you don’t like your palace? What a spoiled dandy you’ve become.”
“I shall call it the rat-shack.”
“I’m just joking you know. That’s the guard shack. We’re building real ones farther up.”
Caelan smiled while heading his horse into the ravine. “I just escaped from a dungeon. Right now a tent looks just fine.”
“We can arrange that!”
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Previous Caelan stories: