The Patchwork Warriors #2

Ok, the Prologue/ Commentary was actually the easy bit on account of them not being the actual narrative. Now here comes the story….. Like the first half 1/2 of Chapter One:


Translator Pastoral, Padragh ClnMyla stepped carefully but with a swiftness born of keeping the Good Lord God’s Wisdom alive in many a mucky urban setting. Although truth be known Yermetz presented quite a challenge in that particular ranking. The town with schemes to become a city, albeit a small one, was relying on its undercurrent of craftiness and willingness of the very poor to do anything for the next meal. So naturally, of all the places within his Supervisory this was the one which attracted his attention and thus required his residency, so many sorts of conflagrations or deluges could start from a kindling in the summer of discontent or in the winter of damp despair.

Someone loomed out of the shadows of an alley, a cudgel raised, ClnMyla sighed unto himself.

‘The soft fight will serve just as well and less messy to clean up,’ his old tutor had said, wise words made powerful from a man who had suffered much.

“Will you put that down son,” his voice was quiet, but nonetheless certain in its conviction, causing the fellow who had been expecting at least a flinch to pause “Even in this wicked place thumping a Translator Pastoral is not advisable, not good for the image of a town which would be a city,” the man leant forward and peered at his would be victim, a small slight man of thining brown hair , steady unruffled “Some local folks would be very angry at you, because an injured or missing Translator Pastoral attracts the attention of very unpleasant people who make careers out of ruining the worthies of small towns,”

“Uuh,” was the response and the cudgel lowered, but raised again, then a pause, a flicker of recognition, a shrug, the requisite obscenity and then slinking back into the shadows.

“Thank The Good Lord God for the gift of the tongue and brain being in communion,”

The value of presentation could not be underestimated.

And he went on his way.


The street had seen better days, once a place where folk who had done well for themselves had resided. Then as was the way, fortunes declined, new ones had other preferences and so the street was now one of decaying buildings, whose rooms had become collections of individual ragged homes, forlorn fragile businesses and location where folk who did not wish to be known went about their ways furtively.

The house on the corner was in a particularly sorry way. The windows of all three upper floors, a series of broken glassed, rotting window framed dead eyes. Only from the ground floor did the faint flickerings of candles indicate some measure of habitation. Translator Pastoral ClnMyla glanced up to the sagging roof, wondering if one hard knock at the door might cause a structural collapse. But the brief worry was dispelled as the door opened and a thick set form stepped out onto the muddied walkway.

“It’s a great relief to see you Mentor,” the man’s voice ruff by harsh urban life was low all the same, one firm scarred hand moving about the translator’s shoulder to usher him inside while the other quietly closed the door.

“Harrdel man, you should be investing in more candle light hereabouts. This gloom is not good for the soul, mind nor body,” he set one knowing eye on the man “Particularly with your employer’s vocation. Now I suppose, it would be hoping too much to assume he has seen the folly of his way is awaiting me to remit him of his transgressions and beg me to allow him to enter into a devout and sensible life,”

Harrdel shook his head, a grimace visible beneath his long rich moustache, one end of which he tugged nervously.

“Wish it was Mentor, but he’s really done it this time. Just like you warned. He did give way to curiosity and looked too deep for too long,”

“Oh Merciful Divinity! He’s not gone and hung himself now has he? Or is he rolled up in a ball in some corner drooling away?”

Harrdel shook his head again and threw his hands up in helplessness, gestured and the Translator Pastoral followed him down the damp hallway.

“I daresays you would be ready to do something about that, but I reckon this is worse. He’s took flight, and not out the door neither. I was across the hallway tying to work out what sort of meal I could make out of the scraps we’ve got. Firstly I heard a lot of crashing about, so was about to get set to go and see, when there came, well, just like a big hand slapping on wood; not the sort of sound he’s capable of, and then the few of the plates I’ve not had to sell fell off of the shelf, so I dashed over. Had to unlock the door. There was no one there, chair knocked over, his papers all about the place, as if he had finally decided to prise the wooden bars off of his window, no sign of him,” Harrdel stopped at one door “Well, see for yourself,”

One lamp and three resolute candles revealed a long bench upon and about which was a vista of debris; wood, metal, glass, and a scattering of minor gems of various hues. Cast aside from the scene was the instrument of destruction, a large, crude hammer. The translator whistled in low surprise.

“Bleymore did this? It looks more like the sort of thing one of my brothers-in-faith from The Custodian’s Office would have inclined to,”

“It was him,” Harrdel said and handed over a piece of paper, writing in a hasty and scribbled way, ClnMyla squinted in the gloom, tutted set down the lamp and paper on a clear part of the table.

          “The dwellers from the impossible lands of The Fourth Realm are making ready to take advantage of the folly of the incautious. But they have seen me, so there is no waiting, flight is all important, alarms must be raised. Burn down the building, lest they try and make this a pathway. Make common cause with everyone and anyone. The dwellers cannot be stopped, only fought,”

The translator pulled a face and tapped the note against his teeth.

“The poor fellow must have reckoned he’d seen something dire and if you heard no sound of running then he must have fled using one of those fearful devices his sort are always fooling about with. Though The Good Lord God knows what, or for that matter where?”

He had been hopeful Harrdel might have had a suggestion, but instead there was another shrug.

He’d had Harrdel keeping a close watch on this Bleymore ever since the servant had visited ClnMyla on a similar drizzle invested night, to give voice to his troubles and concerns over his employer’s activities. Harrdel’s past had been not uncommonly criminal, typical of this town’s poor but he had of recent times being trying to make recompense and thus an honest life; a certain determined widow being the cause.

Initially the newcomer’s activities involving the Stommigheid had appeared to be relatively passive. Just a simple observer, inquisitive; of course even these acts were not officially tolerated; hence the typical reclusive and furtive habits. Just why Bleymore trusted Harrdel to be around was a bit of a mystery, ClnMyla put it down to the ‘Ways of Folk’.

The Translator Pastoral had initially seen no need to intrude. Learn more about the fellow first.

And now hindsight was having its usual judgemental time. Just what had the poor soul seen, or worse done.

Now was that his imagination that scuttling which seemed a bit too heavy for rats? Or maybe just a very large rat??

“We’d best get out of here. It looks like your tenure of employment would be over, but don’t you go fretting. The way things seem I’m going to be needing my own set of strong shoulders at the Pastoral Residence, so you can be off to that dependable Widow Darroe and tell her you have a most upright job and a good home for her, and we’ll get poor old translator Goodbee to marry you up; be giving him something placid to do,”

Harrdel didn’t have much chance to voice an immediate opinion, it was ClnMyla’s turn to usher him.

Out and straight away.

This house would be best not occupied. You couldn’t truly be sure if anything had crept through and was now making a nest in the place. Thus there was no way out of it, this was now Custodians’ business and he was the one to be breaking the news.

“Oh you’re in for a stern lecture my lad,” the Translator Pastoral said to himself.

A Writer’s Gotta Do What A Writer’s Gotta Do

The Patchwork Warriors # 1

The Patchwork Warriors#3

The Patchwork Warriors # 4

The Patchwork Warriors # 5


(Footnote: Don’t you hate it when you think you’ve done with editing, and things crop up when you are reading it on the blog, and you have to edit again and make sure those edits are recorded in the main body of work….or is that just me??)



17 thoughts on “The Patchwork Warriors #2

    1. Thanks Ron.
      This is a new experience for me.
      (a) I am kitten-nervous about posting each ‘issue’
      (b) Enthusiastic about doing so
      (c) Getting a buzz over writing the rest of the book in a structured way (not my usual style).
      Writers eh?
      Thanks again for your support; it means a great deal
      Best wishes

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Well, this is intriguing. The character types are sort of familiar, but in an unfamiliar world. The Translator Pastoral seems like a good sort and Bleymore’s exit note hints at momentous events that will require fortitude. I feel at this point I should go back and read the Prologue and Commentary to get a better feel of how they fit with this half-chapter.
    Yes, I know exactly what you mean about finding things you want to change when relaying a text on to readers. And the more versions of a text you have, the more complicated making those changes becomes. It’s one of the small but irritating hazards of writing.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks so much for the input Audrey; this is my version of a high-wire act and as I was ‘saying’ to Ron, conflicting too (but I’m having fun, so can’t be too bad)
      Actually this is the first time in my writing career that I’ve ever paid attention to those hazards, so I must be learning something from all the helpful posts read on WordPress.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. This is brilliant stuff Roger. You’re a natural at expression. Looking forward to much more. Thanks for sharing my friend. Hope you are good. Going to do some gardening with my son today. He’s snowed under with work. Should say ‘sunned under.’ Big Hugs X

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much Tiffany.
      All comments, criticisms, enquires and ‘uhhs?’ are welcome. As this progresses if anything looks freaky or wayward to you, let me know.
      Happy gardening to you both!!
      (I did my stint Sunday & yesterday- todays is my darling wife’s birthday & mine tomorrow- so two days off of chores for both of us!)

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Happy belated birthday my friend–to you and your wife. I am finally getting caught up! I agree with one of the other commenters, it may have been my dear Ron, your writing pulls the reader in.
    I also noticed that you mentioned that you are having fun; that’s really important!
    I should be caught up within a day or two.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Gwin
      I’m glad to hear your enjoying this tale. Ron has been a great support; I was kitten- nervous starting out. Now it is a lot of crazy fun. What with the writing, re-writing of other bits to fit the way the narrative is going; re-re-writing sections going in as ‘episodes’ AND re-re-re-writing following suggestions; it’s all pretty far-out cool man!
      (And there’s the three posts I have buzzing in my head- one being the music one you suggested!)
      What I need is a 28 hour day. (lol)
      Take care & best wishes

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I really do enjoy reading your work. You are a VERY talented writer. The way you turn a phrase is so delightful!
        I’ll keep reading along Roger; you just keep writing!

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Love this beginning! What a way to set a story, Roger!…

    Hints, interesting characters, and just enough mystery to make me need to read on. I’m almost glad I’m so late in starting this, so I can immediately jump into the next episode…

    This episode definitely needs editing, though, as the punctuation is quite confusing. In some cases, I was unsure of your intent, whether you were creating new phrases or simply missing commas. I had to re-read several passages to eke out your intention. Also, there were several questionable word choices, which may be attributable to cultural differences in English, or not.

    Example: “so many sorts of conflagrations or deluges could start from a kindling in the summer of discontent or in the winter of damp despair.” I found your use of kindling here difficult, jarring, and throwing off the balance of the metaphor you had so richly set. I read it multiple times, but still couldn’t make peace with it.

    (Too picky? Not sure how detailed you want our critiques to be…?)

    Also, when you edit, look for tense related shifts; it seemed to me you slipped accidentally between past and present sometimes, which threw off the flow somewhat, as past and present are critical to the story line…

    But the story itself is captivating! I am eager to continue… 😀

    Liked by 1 person

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