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 Berichttitel: Trapped in Otherworld
Geplaatst: wo maart 19, 2014 3:51 pm 
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Geregistreerd: za feb 16, 2013 7:25 pm
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Dit is een verhaal dat ik geschreven heb voor een opdracht van Engels. We moesten een verhaal met queeste-structuur schrijven. Spijtig genoeg mocht het maar 2 A4'tjes lang zijn, wat een hele opgave was voor mij, aangezien ik altijd de neiging heb van veel meer te schrijven... Uiteindelijk is het me toch gelukt alles op 2 papiertjes te krijgen, weliswaar met lettergrootte 9, maar toch. :heks:


A rapid tapping of heels hitting the cold stone floor could be heard from around the corner, accompanied by the swishing of skirts and petticoats, and the hushed sound of voices mumbling anxiously. The members of court present in the room turned toward the hall, just as Queen Soibhán came running, hoisting her skirts up for added speed. Her ladies in waiting scurried behind her, all twelve of them panicking equally. Before the court had any time to curtsey, Queen Siobhán hurried through the room and threw the doors to king’s privy chambers open.
“My Lady Queen!” shouted the Duke of Galway. “My lady Queen! What seems to be the matter? You are running like a Bean Sidhe herself has announced your death!”
The Queen turned. “Where is King Cathal?” was all she said. The Duke of Galway frowned at that.
“I came across him when he was headed to the audience chamber. Did he not arrive there?”
“Would I be here if he did?!” Queen Siobhán snapped.
“My mistake, Your Grace.”
The Queen turned in the doorway, to address the courtiers, whom were silently watching the situation unfold.
“I would greatly appreciate it if none of you spoke of the matter at hand. You will not convey this crisis to friends or acquaintances alike, nor will you speak of this to your spouses and children. If word of the king’s disappearance were to spread, the whole of Ireland would be in an uproar. Any who violate this request of mine, will be prosecuted. All of you are granted leave until this crisis is resolved. Communicate this to your fellow courtiers. Now, go. You are excused. I have nothing more to say.”
The courtiers all curtsied simultaneously and left the room, one after the other. The Duke of Galway, however, was told to stay behind.
“Find me the bravest, most honourable man in the whole of my kingdom,” said Queen Siobhán. “He shall be the one who is to find my husband.”
With newfound composure, the Queen herself also left the room, her ladies trailing closely behind.

A mere hour later, the Duke hoisted himself in the sadle of his shining black mare. He departed, galloping until the horse was wet with sweat. He searched far and wide, but he could not find a man who was both the most honourable and the bravest of all. The thought occured to him that he could always apply for the mission himself, but he was neither brave nor honourable, for he had accepted his fair share of bribes in the past.
When at last he arrived at the single village he hadn’t visited yet, he had started to despair. Ballinskelligs was it’s name, according to a badly fashioned sign. The Duke spoke to the first person he met.
“I would like to speak to your Elder. I have urgent matters to discuss, by the Queen’s command.”
The man kept his eyes down and nodded.
“Please follow me, My Lord.”
After a short walk, they came to a rundown old hut. The Duke entered. From behind a crocheted curtain that divided the hut into two rooms, a woman, old but wise, came toward him.
“I have been expecting you,” she spoke. “Come.” She gestured for him to sit down on one of the rickety old chairs in next to the fire pit. The Duke started to explain why he was here, but after merely four words, he was stopped by the Elder.
“I know full well why you are here, and I also have the answer to your question. You think your king is somewhere in this country, and that a normal man, be it a brave and honourable one, should have no problem finding him. Well, bluntly speaking, you are wrong. Your king is neither in this country, nor is he in any other country of this realm. And no man, brave and honourable as he may be, will ever be able to find him.”
“Where is he, then? And how can he be brought back?”
“He is in Otherworld.”
“The realm of the Sidhe?”
“Ah, I see you are well informed on your countries tales. Yes, the realm of the Sidhe. He was lured there by Leanan Sidhe, the most beautiful of the Sidhe, but also the most dangerous one. If a man with a taste for poetry or music, both of which your king possesses, encounters her, he will immediately fall in love. She will then prey on his life until he is completely drained, leaving nothing but the poems and songs he wrote in a lovesick frenzy. Keeping this in mind, no man will be able to save him, for that man will most likely meet the same fate.”
“Then the king will die a certain death!”
“Are men the only people in this country? Look around you, are there not men and women? If your king is to be saved, only his true love, the Lady Siobhán, will be able to do it.”

With the information he received from the Elder, the Duke made his way back to the capital. When he told Queen Siobhán what she had to do, she was very shocked, and couldn’t utter a single word. But after a while, she swallowed her fear and called for her riding habit.
As quickly as her horse could carry her, she rode for the hill of Tara. There she approached the Lia Fáil, the Stone of Destiny, upon which Cathal had been crowned king. Siobhán placed both her hands on its cold surface and closed her eyes.
“I wish to enter the Otherworld. One of your citizens has taken something which does not belong to her, and her selfishness will plunge my country into chaos and despair.”
A sudden fog surrounded Siobhán, limiting her vision and making her hair stand on end. But as sudden as it had formed, it cleared away, revealing a great marble hall. A harp sounded somewhere in the distance. Siobhán scanned her surroundings, and before long, she caught sight of her husband on the other end of the hall. His hands were moving rapidly along the harp’s strings, playing the accompaniment to the song Leanan Sidhe was singing. Siobhán recognised the song. It was “Sí Do Mhaimeo I”, about a wealthy widow. Though her voice was the most beautiful Siobhán had ever heard, something was lacking. It sounded empty, and neither was this the kind of song you’d sing to a man to make him fall in love.
Siobhán called for her husband, but he didn’t react. She called again, louder this time, but she didn’t even receive as much as a single glance. She did notice, however, that every time she called his name, Leanan Sidhe sang louder, as if she had trouble keeping his attention to her. This gave Siobhán an idea. She would beat the Sidhe at her own game. And so she sang “Siúil a Rún”, “Walk, my love”, a song in which she called for her love to come to her, so they could flee together and be safe.

Cathal’s swift fingers faltered when a different voice reached his ears. Though this voice was less beautiful and inspiring, it was filled with intense love and craving. It was impossible to ignore, and so he stopped plucking the strings and turned his head toward the sound. There he saw his wife, Siobhán, singing his favourite love song, and suddenly he realised what had been going on. Leanan Sidhe was still singing, but her voice had adopted an angry tone now, distorting the beautiful sound from earlier. She tried to grab him by the arm, but he ran for his only love. When he reached her, he took her into his arms and clung onto her for dear life.
“NO!” shouted Leanan Sidhe, her voice a terrifying shriek. “You are in love with me! I am your muse! You shall stay here until you die!”
Cathal turned, keeping hold on Siobhán’s hand.
“No, I am not in love with you. I am in love with my wife, and will remain for ever by her side.”
With a gentle tug on her hand, Cathal indicated they should both start running. It was now or never. A shriek of protest could be heard behind them, but neither of them glanced over their shoulders. They fled the Otherworld as quickly as they could, and did not stop running when they reached the fog and later set foot on the grassy hill of Tara. Cathal put Siobhán in her sadle and then climbed up himself, before spurring the horse into a gallop.
Without looking back, they rode for the capital. Their home, where they would be safe.

The end.


How could someone love butterflies but hate moths? That's like appreciating the sun with no regards to the moon.

Having a low opinion of yourself is not modesty. It's self-destrution. - Bobby Sommer

 Berichttitel: Re: Trapped in Otherworld
Geplaatst: vr maart 21, 2014 11:55 am 
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Geregistreerd: do feb 27, 2014 3:35 pm
Berichten: 585
Leuk om te lezen! :)

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