*cough*
Tern is trying to rewrite this story to sound Wodehousian.
Fortunately, this story IS coming together (Shadows, the 'second' story alluded to in the previous posting).
It is astonishing how quickly these stories like to fall apart, contradict each other, or just plain not work when prodded with a sharp stick. Almost as if I weren't worried about continuity when I wrote each of them. (perish the thought, I'm SO good at plotting...)
Anyhow, dreadfully behind schedule. Compounding it by blogging.
A bit:
"It was no use appealing to the man’s humanitarian concern or sympathy for the royal condition: he was Oppalic. Oppalic concerns ranged from battling the mixture of swamp creatures and sea monsters that regularly invaded their island nation, to sending ships over with valuable skin-based accessories. Fighting and selling. Dull. It was little wonder that their initial meeting had consisted of Father saying nothing more than "here's Murk, he's mute, he's your bodyguard'. A little research revealed that he was someone Tern couldn’t possibly identify with, even though Murk had bothered to learn Iriritamagonian and crossed a lively sea to be his bodyguard. There had to be a reason for that."
