• Member Since 14th Jul, 2012
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Georg


Nothing special here, move along, nothing to see, just ignore the lump under the sheet and the red stuff...

More Blog Posts479

  • 6 weeks
    Big Leather Egg Sunday

    A reminder (as John Cleese put it) that today is Big Leather Egg Sunday, and to celebrate, I'm linking the Best Football MLP story of all time by Kris Overstreet. Starring... Rarity?

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    3 comments · 328 views
  • 7 weeks
    Goodbye Toby Keith, American Legend

    Undoubtedly, if Toby Keith had ever done a tour in Equestria, Applejack would have been right there in the front row, whoopin' and a hollerin' as loud as possible. I think every high school in the US had a proud friendly guy like this, and we raise our red Solo cups in tribute to his last beer run. Salute!

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    9 comments · 419 views
  • 12 weeks
    New Year 2024- New Projects 1939

    Still working on everything else this year, but I've got a sequel/prequel to Equestria: 1940 in the works, both a series of short stories set in the 1940 world up to the Equestrian moon project, and a war story showing some behind the scenes details about the war. For a little country the size of Ohio in the northern Atlantic, it has a lot of potential. Explosive, mostly. Snippets after the

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    4 comments · 325 views
  • 13 weeks
    Merry 2023 Hearth's Warming greetings and fic recommendations

    Once again it's that time of year, when families gather around those we hold dear. Christmas is upon us, with words of good cheer, written below and organized here. I'm copying most of a previous blog of Hearth's Warming and recommended fics, so let's get started with a heart warming cartoon from Vivziepop, and the rest of recommendations below the break. (which I'm editing at the moment so it

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    2 comments · 242 views
  • 19 weeks
    Quick survey on Letters From a Little Princess Monster

    Summary: I have two more chapters done in Letters. Post them now or post them after I'm done with the arc in two more chapters or so? Upvote the comment that matches your opinion. Including a snippet just to let you know I'm not addicted to cliffhangers⁽*⁾. Oh, and I blame Estee for what happens to Green Grass. She's the one who came up with the idea of his special talent. It made me think.

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    11 comments · 428 views
Jun
12th
2022

Bridge Troll Fourth Sample Chapter and Character Introductions · 4:14am Jun 12th, 2022

There’s one problem you’re going to hit face-first with any story that doesn’t involve previously existing characters such as My Little Pony where the reader already knows who is who for the most part. How do you introduce characters individually so they don’t get lumped together in the reader’s mind?

The obvious answer is “not all at once, please.” From Tolkien to Harry Potter, authors usually bring out characters in a sequence. Generally, you want your primary character to be first and foremost with the most description and lines. (And ‘generally’ does not mean every single time. You have to know the rules to break them correctly in interesting ways) Admittedly, you can do some lumping-together with groups, such as the dwarves in The Hobbit who don’t really get split out into individuals until later in the story, or Harry Potter where the rest of the students are in the background unless needed for individual character bits.


Pacing means you don’t bring the characters out in a line. “Here’s Bob, and Fred, and Harold, and Martin, and why is the audience snoring?” In this case, the fourth chapter in Bridge Troll is some spacing between new revelations, getting the reader accustomed to the odd situation the main character is in before he plunges into a new experience. Here, it makes more sense if you read it.

The Young Knight, the Fey Maiden, and the Bridge Troll

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
And Chapter 4 below

Free Labor


Morning did not exactly turn Fetch’s troubled night into perfection. He was dusty from sleeping on the empty sacks in the small stable, thirsty and hungry, as well as taking a few moments upon waking to figure out just what exactly had happened.

“Wild pigs,” he muttered to himself, “a broom that walks by itself, and a house made out of a giant boulder. Got it. Doesn’t make much sense, but then again, I’m working for a troll.”

He stretched, gave a short look at where Nutmeg had settled down to nap in the weedy dirt of the hedge corral, then strolled over to the wooden outhouse. Sunlight made the inspection far easier, and since there did not seem to be any other activity pending, he took the lid off to peer at the hole, then gently tilted the wooden building over onto its back so the pit could be examined more closely. No snakes or forest creatures bolted for cover, only a few dark spiders which he removed with a broken twig and put back into the surrounding hedge to eat pests.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was dug yesterday.” He poked at the rich dark dirt a few times before tilting the outhouse back upright and putting things back the way he found them. Although he made one addition, since the outhouse was there and he needed to use it. Some wood ashes to throw down afterward would have been nice, if a bit dusty, but he tossed down a handful of used leaves instead and decided that was as good as it was going to get.

Well, trapped in a hedge corral by an animated broom was not that good, but it beat being eaten by pigs in the dark.

A close inspection of the imprisoning hedge left absolutely no doubt that magic was involved. The branches only went straight up or across, with a few twigs poking out into the interior. The thick intertwined hedge failed to bend when shook or pried at, and even refused to give up one of the smaller twigs no matter how much Fetch bent it back and forth. He poked and twisted and pushed all around the inside of the coral, or at least until a branch he was shoving on moved, and a whole section of hedge swung slowly away from him.

It was such an unexpected motion that Fetch nearly fell flat on his face. He hopped forward, holding tightly to the branch/doorknob until the hedge gate swung to the end of its wooden hinges. Even squinting into the bent area of the gate did not show any indication of a mechanism, just branches bent in a way they should not. Still, the gate swung open and closed without any real effort, and could even be opened from the outside once he figured out exactly what branch to grab.

“Magic,” he murmured to himself. “Maybe elves. No, even the elves we had at the village didn’t like to be stuck inside. I can’t picture any of them living in a rock, and I can’t imagine a dwarf making a gate like this.”

Leaving Nutmeg to his morning nap, Fetch walked over to the troll’s wagon and felt his heart sink lower with every step. Ruined food, spilled bags, and sharp hoofprints all over the tidy arrangement of wooden crates made it obvious who had visited last night, and the amount of damage the pigs had done in such a short time made Fetch develop a sudden desire for breakfast bacon. Still, he had avoided becoming pig food, and his actions had saved Nutmeg yet again, therefore…

There was no response to knocking on the boulder-house door, either the stone one in front or the more ordinary one at the back of the stable, so he could not thank the broom for saving his life or ask permission to use the wooden corral to protect Nutmeg from the wild pigs. The least he could do was clean up the corral before he left, since there was not much left to do with Quartz’s wagon other than tie the tarp down over the top and hope the pigs would leave it alone if they returned.

It was a long trip back and forth between the ravine and the corral, but cleaning takes water, and he only had the one bucket at the end of a long rope to reach the river far below. He filled the corral’s water trough with minnowless river water, then started by washing the debris off the top of the chicken cages and picking up the odd shingle or two which had fallen off the wooden stable half-roof. The old sacks were too fragile for their original purpose, but soaked with enough water they could be used to scrub the years worth of neglect and dirt out of the walls. There was even a metal-bladed shovel in a cabinet by the open doorway, which he used to level out the dirt floor of the small stable and scoop some fossilized horse apples out into what at one time had been some sort of compost pile before time ate away the boards.

It was hard work, much like Fetch had done for many years in his home village, and it helped him feel less worried about the villagers who had been a part of his life ever since he could first remember. Progress was measured in the level of water in the trough, both reduced by his cleaning efforts and the occasional visit by Nutmeg for a drink, although it rapidly became dirty enough that he was considering another trip to the river for a drink he did not have to share with a horse. Oatto had taught him to channel his emotions into useful action instead of wasted worry, and that intense focus on his job prevented Fetch from noticing he was being observed until it became quite obvious.

The inner door to the stables was open and the broom from last night was standing in the doorway with its wooden stick-like arms crossed and a look of… whatever a disapproving broom might look like. Honestly, Fetch had no idea why he kept thinking of the animated object as a her instead of a him, and why he was reading an expression into it.

“Hello, ma’am,” said Fetch politely, even though he felt oddly underdressed since he had taken his shirt off while working, and it was hanging from a nail by the door. “I was wondering— No, wait.”

The broom vanished into the stone house, only to emerge with a bucket of water a few moments later. It poured most of the water into the nearly empty horse trough, then vanished back inside the building again, taking his threadbare shirt with it this time.

“Where did Broom get the water?” mused Fetch. He picked up the broom’s bucket, which still had a good drink or two at the bottom despite some small leaks from the aged wood having shrunk around the metal reinforcing bands. The water it contained was cold, fresh, and most certainly free of minnows, although it did not sate Fetches curiosity.

He did not see the broom for some time, during which he got the stable looking good and proper. There was some congealed dry grease in the wooden cabinet, which he used to polish the thin red rust fuzz off the metal shovel blade and the other dwarf-made tools. After all, they were expensive and deserved to be cared for while the stone home owner was away. He even put a sharper edge on the worn hoe and took it out in the corral to test it against some well-gnawed weeds.

“The owner must have really liked to garden.” Fetch hoed up a section of rich dark dirt and considered it. “A few melon seeds, maybe a row of radishes. We’re going to be here for a while, so a garden would be handy. That is if the broom would allow it and if I can keep Nutmeg from eating everything.”

There was a quiet noise from the stable door and the broom scurried out into the afternoon sunlight. To Fetch’s surprise, it was carrying his tattered shirt, only with all of the holes neatly sewn up and the worst of the dirt washed out. Putting it down on the nearby rail, the broom picked up the empty bucket and vanished back into the house before Fetch could say anything.

He was still filthy from cleaning so he did not dare put on the clean shirt, but it was a good sign, even moreso when the broom came out with a full bucket of water again. Or at least he thought so until the broom dumped half of it on him.

“Hey,” he spluttered.

The broom pointed to his pants and lifted the bucket again.

“Not… Well…” As much as Fetch needed a bath, or at least some scrubbing, he did not want to give up his pants in front of what he had somehow been thinking of as a female broom. Or at least until the broom lifted the bucket again, in somewhat of a menacing fashion.

“All right, all right.” Fetch turned around and took off his filthy pants, holding them behind him when he was done. The broom whisked them out of his hands and once again was gone before Fetch could ask when or if he was going to get them back.

“If Quartz finds me half-naked, claiming that a broom inside that giant boulder took my pants, he…”

Well, he would probably laugh for starters. And from what Quartz seemed like, he would follow up by offering any spare pair of trousers that were packed in the wagon. The mental image left him chuckling while washing up, more when the broom reappeared in the doorway and threw him a rough cloth towel.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he managed before the broom vanished inside again.

* * *

It was a very tired and dirty troll who pulled himself up out of the ravine while Fetch was busy chopping saplings into stakes. He still looked happy, so Fetch stopped his current activity and waved. “I put a couple of rabbits in to stew earlier with wild onions and lemon grass. They’re probably a little overdone since I expected you back earlier in the day.”

“That’s fine. I had fish on the way here and where is my wagon?” Quite redundantly, Quartz pointed at the empty spot next to the boulder where his wagon had been.

“Long story. Actually, short story with a lot of ‘I don’t know’ in the middle of it. Why don’t I show you instead of trying to describe something I don’t understand either?”

“Long as I get my tools back,” grumbled the troll with all of his good humor gone for the moment. He followed behind Fetch, only hesitating for a moment when the corral hedge swung open and revealed the open area of bare dirt. The troll was at a loss for words. Nutmeg strolled past them both and up to the water trough, where he started to drink.

“There are wild pigs out in the forest,” explained Fetch, deciding to start with the easiest revelation and work his way up. “If we weren’t able to hide out in here, Nutmeg would have gotten eaten and the rest of your stuff pigged. We put everything into the stable one box at a time, and moved the cart once it was empty. Still blasted heavy.”

The troll pointed and stated the obvious. “There’s a stable in here. There’s a stable in this rock. Is somebody livin’ here?”

“Err. Kinda-sorta,” said Fetch. “The owner doesn’t seem to be home, but—”

The stable door abruptly opened and the broom looked out, paused for a moment at the sight of the huge troll nearby, then vanished back inside.

“That’s not the owner,” said Fetch. “Or at least I don’t think so. More like a servant, I think.”

“This is a wizard’s house!” Quartz took several steps backward. “You don’t mess with wizards!”

The broom took that moment to pop back out of the door, only carrying a second broom like before. It walked straight up to Quartz and brandished its domestic weapon like it was shooing away a curious dog, moving to put its wooden body between Fetch and his employer.

“No, no.” Fetch reached out and put one hand on the broom’s ‘shoulder’ area. “This is Quartz. he’s friendly. The wagon and boxes are his. He’s going to be making the bridge across the river that I tried to tell you about but you ignored me just like you’re doing now. You know, this would be a lot easier if you talked.”

Fetch could have sworn the broom sniffed, although it stopped swinging the smaller broom at Quartz. Troll and Broom faced each other silently for a few moments, then the broom turned around and went back inside.

“I think it likes you,” said Fetch carefully. “It encouraged me to move your stuff into the corral after I was picking through the pig damage and… um… complaining. It doesn’t seem to like profanity, and it’s stronger than it looks. It helped carry some of the boxes inside here and chased off a bunch of wild pigs with that other broom, so don’t underestimate it.”

“Pigs,” said Quartz flatly and with much the same expressed sense of disbelief that Fetch had gradually overcome over the last day. “I didn’t think there’d be any of’m around for a bit or I wouldn’t have left you without a bolthole.”

“They would have eaten Nutmeg,” said Fetch again.

The troll gave a noncommittal grunt, but kept an eye on the stable door. It was a worthwhile precaution, because the broom came back out with a bucket of water and headed straight for Quartz.

“I think she wants you to take a bath,” said Fetch as the troll retreated out of the corral. “You’ve been hiking around the riverbed for three days after all.”

“Point taken.” Quartz stopped outside of soaking range and straightened back up, trying to look more like he had intended on leaving and less like he had just been chased out by a bucket-toting broom. “I’ll go bathe in the river and wash my clothes,” he added when the broom took one step forward, still holding the bucket. “I should be back before it gets dark.”

* * *

Quartz’s second visit was much more subdued, mostly because he stopped at the campfire to deal with the evening rabbit stew, although it got off to a rapid start when he held up the wooden bowl and scowled at it.

“This ain’t mine neither.”

“Broom loaned some bowls to me. At least I think it was a loan,” corrected Fetch. “I was trying to make a campfire inside the corral and she came out with a bucket of water. Made it quite clear that fire was not welcome in the vicinity.”

Quartz examined the metal spoon that came with the bowl, then placed it to one side and drank his portion of stew directly before returning to his inspection.

“Yes, it’s silver,” said Fetch. “Elf-made if I’m guessing correctly. The inn had a few pewter spoons for important guests and Miss Triana had a silver place setting she kept in her room, all polished up. Some soldier probably has it now,” he could not help but add.

“Ya’ don’t mess with wizards,” muttered Quartz once he had finished the bowl of rabbit stew and crunched away the bones.

“I’m not messing with him… or her,” added Fetch as he reconsidered. “Think there’s a witch in Three Rivers, although she’s a little old and has been in the town for a very long time. One of the ferrymen threatened to get ‘the old witch’ when I managed to swim the river with Nutmeg, but he acted like he was more afraid of her than anything.”

“It’s the reputation.” Quartz splashed some water from the bucket into his empty bowl and rinsed it out, then gave a close examination of the house’s bucket, which had been full of fresh, clean, cold water as opposed to the other troll bucket sitting next to it. “Reputation’s important, after all. We trolls gotta rep for building quality construction, so if’n we find a troll’s bridge that ain’t up to snuff, tearin’ it down is practically a requirement. That’s why you don’t see no shabby troll bridges. Same for wizards. They let anybody run around in a robe and makin’ huffy threats an’ there’d be trouble for them. I hear tell that frogs make the best kind of example for some bigmouth pretender.”

“So don’t catch any frogs around here to make frog’s legs?” asked Fetch.

“That an’ closin’ that corral gate and leavin’ it alone is probably the best think we could do. The smartest thing, that is. Not all wizards is kind old geezers, after all. There’s a couple here and there who went off their nut. One of them comes back here and finds us… Well, bein’ a frog is probably the best thing that could happen.”

“Don’t evil wizards put threatening signs up and posts with skulls on them?” asked Fetch. “The worst we have is a broom, and she’s kinda nice if you treat her with respect. Thank you, ma’am.”

Quartz practically jumped straight up when the broom took the bowls and silverware that Fetch passed it, then took the empty iron pot in the other thin wooden arm. It ‘looked’ at the half-empty bucket, but left it alone when Fetch waved it off. “Ma’am, we’re not quite done with the water yet, but I’ll leave the bucket on the back doorstep when we’re through. Thank you.”

With a swish of bristles, the broom scurried back into the darkness, carrying their evening dishes. Quartz watched it go, then grumbled, “Still ain’t right.”

“Were you wanting to wash the dishes?” asked Fetch.

“Didn’t say it weren’t appreciated and awfully polite,” said Quartz. “Just said it ain’t right.”

Report Georg · 544 views · #BridgeTroll #Writing
Comments ( 10 )

Manners Maketh Man. Um... And Brooms.

I think I shall call her Sybil.

Cos her husband, Basil Brush, isnt available due to being a bit.

:Sunglasses:

Fawlty.

What an interesting broom. She positively bristles with character.

"He filled the water trough, then started by washing the debris off the top of the chicken cages and picking up the odd shingle or two which had fallen off the wooden stable half-roof."
"It poured most of the water into the nearly empty horse trough"
Were both of those supposed to be in this draft like that?

"This is Quartz. he’s"
"This is Quartz. He’s"?

And I've been enjoying these, by the way; thanks for writing. :)

5664551 Hm. Second one should probably be 'water trough' too, and the first one should get an indication that Nutmeg is drinking out of it (therefore assigning 'horse' to the item). The long of it is he's making several trips to get the water trough full before he starts cleaning. Hm... Another weakness I should fix.

5664668
Ahh, so he did fill it, but then Nutmeg drank enough to drop it back to nearly empty? Thanks!
And good luck with the writing.

5665218 Ok, hopefully I cleared it up a bit. I have a bad tendency to write past something *I* know but didn't get down on paper so the reader looks and scratches their head when they hit it.

5665387
Ah, that seems much clearer regarding the sequence of events; thanks.
Though one thing has me a bit puzzled; sorry if it's not actually new, and I missed it last time (though I suppose I might just have folded it into the rest): the broom pours "most of the water into the nearly empty horse trough". Why most of the water? Even if the broom's bucket is big enough to fill the trough from nearly empty in one go, vs. Fetch's multiple trips (though, checking the text, it looks like it might have only been two) with the bucket he used to fill it from empty, is it really so big that it can fill the trough not just approximately but to the maximum water level from nearly empty in one go and still have water left over?

Oh, also, noticed this while looking around for bucket-related stuff:
"although it did not sate Fetches curiosity"
"although it did not sate Fetch's curiosity"?

5666504 In short, it was a literary shortcut to let Fetch get a drink of *clean* water from the bucket instead of the dirty trough that has been used as a scrubby area and a horse drinking spot. I grew up on a farm and I can't even think of drinking right out of the river, let alone a horse trough.

5676047
(Been a bit and I'm currently tired, but hopefully I remember the conversation well enough. Sorry if the quality of my comment's a bit lower, though.)
Ah, so, in-universe, the broom anticipated him wanting a drink and left some water in the bucket for that?

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