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 |  All the GoT stuff, 2024. |
| Apparently this is going to be a load of writing of various types - stories, poems, reviews and, no doubt, just about anything else you can think of. I'll probably update this when I know more. |
| Door # 9 One morning I woke up and was stranded somewhere on a deserted island. Which I found to be a strange position to be in, particularly as I’d just walked through a door. I knew, of course that this course of action could result in certain unspecified demands of me, but I’d not expected a complete and unprecedented change of locale. I decided that the situation was best met by using my imagination. Beginning at the beginning, I should state that I am still Beholden and, well you may ask, Beholden to whom? That would be you, of course, since the admonition is clearly addressed to everyone. No responsibility attached, however. Then I must deal with the question of how I ended up here. That would be easily dealt with by pointing out that walking through a door has already been mentioned. But I shall go further and explain that I am compelled by, let us call them, “The Powers That Be,” to go through a series of doors to assist my team. Not that it’s my team, as such, but I do own to be a member and to be subject to the wishes of my capting, therefore. I could go into a lot of detail about the team but it would not really be relevant to this particular story, would it? Let us keep moving. Well may you ask whether I am alone! Now that I’ve had a chance to look around, it seems that I am indeed so. And, though you haven’t asked, I feel led to describe the island as standard fantasy tropical, with white sandy beaches, coconut palms towering over lush vegetation, and sun beating down from the inevitable cloudless blue sky. Even up here, on the highest spot of the island, I can hear the surf whispering upon those sandy beaches This vantage point also allows me a perfect view of an unknown ship approaching what I am beginning to regard as my island. What, there’s going to be none of that Robinson Crusoe thing with appropriate digging for clams, building of makeshift houses, and chasing wild pigs through the undergrowth? It’s a sad day when a cliché proves insufficient for the task. But caution must be the order of the moment - there is no reason to assume that these ship owners will be the cause of my rescue. Why, they might be pirates or cannibals or even lost themselves. My best plan is to get down to the beach that they seem to be aiming for, stay hidden, and watch their actions until their nature is more obviously revealed. So that’s what I do. From my carefully chosen hiding place, I can see that the ship is a three masted sailing ship of late 18th Century design. That does increase the chance of the crew being pirates but it does, also, give us a vague date for these events. It also means that the door must have been a portal into the past, which is interesting. Time travel as well as teleportation in space - amazing. The ship is anchored in the bay now and, as I watch, I see that a boat is being lowered into the clear and aquamarine waters. Then the crew pile into the boat and begin to row toward the shore. There is a large object stowed in the middle of the boat which the crew unload once they have reached the shore. It is, just as I had surmised, a trunk, wooden and bound with stout metal bands. It seems I have stumbled upon a group of pirates about to bury their treasure on this very island. The odd thing is that the pirates seem in no hurry to get on with digging a hole for their ill gotten gains (there, slipped a cliché in at last). Some of them are walking along the beach (and coming uncomfortably close to my hiding place at times) while others have taken off their shoes and are wading around in the water. And no one seems to be the captain, although there is one guy sitting on the trunk as though loth to leave it unattended. But the crew seem to have had their fun now, for they are assembling around the trunk again. To my surprise, they open it and, instead of gold and jewels, they produce from it a large blanket which they proceed to spread upon the sand. Then they begin to empty the contents of the trunk on to the blanket. It’s all sorts of food and drink and very soon they are all sitting around, filling their faces with the most appetising stuff I’ve seen in a long time. It dawns on me. I am watching a picnic! So much for buried treasure and all that. But it does raise the question of whether pirates have picnics or not. And, having considered the matter, I am inclined to think not. So my initial impression may have been a little hasty. Perhaps I should just risk it and saunter out there to join the fun (I am feeling a bit peckish, after all). I might even be able to persuade these fellows to give me a lift back to civilisation. Hopefully, the time travel thing would fix itself at some point along the way. In fact, it seems I don’t really have an option since you’re insisting that a bargain be struck. Throwing fate to the rather pleasant tropical breeze, I step out into the open and walk along the beach toward the picnic. There is a chorus of surprise and questions as they rise to greet me, and I feel a little foolish claiming to be a castaway, dressed not in rags and unbearded as I am. But they accept my story without demur (perhaps they’re working to a script too) and in very short order, I’m sitting with them and tucking into the fare. You’ll just have to take my word for it that it was very tasty and welcome. I’ll not deny that there may have been a percentage of alcohol in the drink so that the party became increasingly jolly as time went on. We spent the afternoon sleeping off the effects in the shade of the coconut trees. As the sun was going down behind the very height on which I’d first set foot on the island, a fellow who I had identified as most likely to be the leader approached me. “I was thinking we might make a deal,” says he. “Fire away,” says I. “We’re prepared to rescue you and return you to civilisation on one condition.” “Which is?” I asked. “That you sign this slip of paper as proof that we really did find a castaway on a desert island and help him to get back home.” He handed me the paper and a pen that looked suspiciously modern. I mean, a ballpoint in the 18th Century? Doesn’t seem at all possible. I gave him a knowing look. “What, you too? Some sort of challenge and a task to do, a bit like my doors?” “Got it in one,” he replied. I signed and that was that. The funny thing was that, the moment my foot left the sand as I stepped into the boat, I found myself tumbling out through Door 9, back into the real world. It seems that all I had to do to leave the island was step off it. House Martell Word count: 1,245 For "Game of Thrones"  House of Black & White, Door # 9Task: 1. Use your imagination Who are you? How did you end up there? Are you alone? 2. An unknown ship approaches the island Who is on it? Do you stay to meet the crew or run? What are they bringing ashore? 3. A bargain is struck! Who made the deal? What kind of deal? Do you get off the island or stay? Or something completely different? |
| Potion # 10 I choose Potion # 10 and I name it “Reality.” Comprised mainly of a clear eagle eye and a bagfull of sense (the common kind - rare won’t do), Reality is able to bring things sharply into focus within seconds, dispelling idle dreams and contradictory thoughts as though they had never existed. Whoever takes this potion, nay elixir, will be as witty, sharp and accurate a critic as ever trod the boards at WdC. Be careful how you use it for the bottle contains only enough for 24 hours. |
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