Tuesday, November 04, 2003
Words : 0
Total : 2,808/50,000
Evaluation : CRAP, utter crap
265 words left in storage. Going to kick self soon.
Made some small changes :
1.2 : changed duration of trip to "four to five" instead of "five to six"
1.3 : changed date from 132 NE to 2136. "NE" stood for New Era, by the way. This does not mean that The War happened in 2004, by the way. (For those who like to calculate stuff.)
Total : 2,808/50,000
Evaluation : CRAP, utter crap
265 words left in storage. Going to kick self soon.
Made some small changes :
1.2 : changed duration of trip to "four to five" instead of "five to six"
1.3 : changed date from 132 NE to 2136. "NE" stood for New Era, by the way. This does not mean that The War happened in 2004, by the way. (For those who like to calculate stuff.)
Monday, November 03, 2003
Words : 601
Total : 2,809/50,000
Evaluation : 181 extra words left in storage. BAD DAY. Very bad. But tired. // still sick. Also : New character overload. Whoops.
2.2
The sun was starting to set. Kyle Brock was walking again. Had been, since the afternoon break. He wasn’t sure if he was all there again, but at least most of himself was. He looked around. To his left was still the cart. Just up ahead Ralph and Bobby were still walking side by side, rifles on their back. Silent, this time. A little further up front was another cart, and so was one behind him. Three carts, ten pieces of cattle, six of them pulling the carts at any one time. The others packed as beasts of burden. Seven men, one woman. A fairly regular sized caravan. Small enough to move fast and not attract too much attention, yet big enough to stand it’s own in a possible attack. That’s how the basic formula went for his brother’s shipping company. It didn’t always work, ofcourse. The wastes were hazardous anyhow. No amount of planning or preparation could stand up to some of the forces it could throw at an unfortunate traveller.
"Okay folks ! Let’s pack her up. We’re running out of daylight, and we made a good distance today. Had enough for one day.", shouted Ol’ Hatchet Flinn from up front.
About half an hour later it was all set down. Carts huddled together, cattle freed and feeding. Kyle stood leaned to the side of one of the carts, watching the sun disappear beneath the horizon, darkness blanketing the earth. Looking upwards, he could see stars slowly but steadily piercing the ever darkening blue.
Some time later that evening, sitting around the campfire, eight humans had gathered. They'd had their meals, and the company was now warming themselves by the fire and through conversation. Kyle looked around the circle. Some familiar faces. Some new ones. To his left sat Bobby, a little pudgy. Short, but with thick black, greasy hair. Inseperatable next to him sat Ralph, his brown hair turning thin and grey. A bit of a crooked nose. Kyle had seen the two before, every now and then. Though not together, they had worked for this brother before on occasion. Hired Guns, selling themselves out to protect traders making their travels from town to town. It seemed they had taken quite the liking to each other. To Kyle's right sat a boy. Leonard, better known as Lenny. Bright blond hair, equally bright blue eyes. 14 years old, still a mere kid. Lived on the other side of town. Next to the kid sat the woman. Kyle had never seen her before, she was of medium posture, with short cut red hair, and fierce brown eyes. Kyle estimated her to be in her mid to late twenties. He hadn't caught her name yet. Then there was Hatchet Flinn. Caravan Leader, well trusted employee of his brother, veteran traveller. His beard as white as the rest of his hair on the top of his head. Old, but in good health, which was remarkable. Jonesy. Second man. Sly grin and shifty eyes, appointed cook. Didn't speak much, like Kyle. On the force since last autumn, but they'd never really gotten to know each other. Not that Kyle truly cared, since from what little he did know about Jonesy, he felt he could not like, nor trust him. Kyle's gaze moved to the last member of the circle, another new face. He appeared to be well off, this man. Which made Kyle wonder why he was travelling with this caravan, and why he didn't have his own guards. People didn't get rich and stay rich without protection, not in this world.
Total : 2,809/50,000
Evaluation : 181 extra words left in storage. BAD DAY. Very bad. But tired. // still sick. Also : New character overload. Whoops.
2.2
The sun was starting to set. Kyle Brock was walking again. Had been, since the afternoon break. He wasn’t sure if he was all there again, but at least most of himself was. He looked around. To his left was still the cart. Just up ahead Ralph and Bobby were still walking side by side, rifles on their back. Silent, this time. A little further up front was another cart, and so was one behind him. Three carts, ten pieces of cattle, six of them pulling the carts at any one time. The others packed as beasts of burden. Seven men, one woman. A fairly regular sized caravan. Small enough to move fast and not attract too much attention, yet big enough to stand it’s own in a possible attack. That’s how the basic formula went for his brother’s shipping company. It didn’t always work, ofcourse. The wastes were hazardous anyhow. No amount of planning or preparation could stand up to some of the forces it could throw at an unfortunate traveller.
"Okay folks ! Let’s pack her up. We’re running out of daylight, and we made a good distance today. Had enough for one day.", shouted Ol’ Hatchet Flinn from up front.
About half an hour later it was all set down. Carts huddled together, cattle freed and feeding. Kyle stood leaned to the side of one of the carts, watching the sun disappear beneath the horizon, darkness blanketing the earth. Looking upwards, he could see stars slowly but steadily piercing the ever darkening blue.
Some time later that evening, sitting around the campfire, eight humans had gathered. They'd had their meals, and the company was now warming themselves by the fire and through conversation. Kyle looked around the circle. Some familiar faces. Some new ones. To his left sat Bobby, a little pudgy. Short, but with thick black, greasy hair. Inseperatable next to him sat Ralph, his brown hair turning thin and grey. A bit of a crooked nose. Kyle had seen the two before, every now and then. Though not together, they had worked for this brother before on occasion. Hired Guns, selling themselves out to protect traders making their travels from town to town. It seemed they had taken quite the liking to each other. To Kyle's right sat a boy. Leonard, better known as Lenny. Bright blond hair, equally bright blue eyes. 14 years old, still a mere kid. Lived on the other side of town. Next to the kid sat the woman. Kyle had never seen her before, she was of medium posture, with short cut red hair, and fierce brown eyes. Kyle estimated her to be in her mid to late twenties. He hadn't caught her name yet. Then there was Hatchet Flinn. Caravan Leader, well trusted employee of his brother, veteran traveller. His beard as white as the rest of his hair on the top of his head. Old, but in good health, which was remarkable. Jonesy. Second man. Sly grin and shifty eyes, appointed cook. Didn't speak much, like Kyle. On the force since last autumn, but they'd never really gotten to know each other. Not that Kyle truly cared, since from what little he did know about Jonesy, he felt he could not like, nor trust him. Kyle's gaze moved to the last member of the circle, another new face. He appeared to be well off, this man. Which made Kyle wonder why he was travelling with this caravan, and why he didn't have his own guards. People didn't get rich and stay rich without protection, not in this world.
