I recently found this website that does 10, 25, and 50+ (the maximum) iterations of translating English text into another language and back to English. I decided to put the first few sentences from my "Tales" into this translator.
First the input text:
"The rain began to form puddles around the men strewn among the trees. All dead, save the one woken violently by the water he inhaled. He lifted himself to his hands and knees, his lungs uncontrollably expelling the offending fluid, gasping for breath" (The website has a 250 character restriction)
10 iterations:
"Who is who participates in a group of trees in the rain. Oral sex is dead, only one, wake up and hard water. Shortness of breath, arm and knee, and the lungs expel the challenge to control fluid"
25 iterations:
"Forest, which is about a group of trees. Oral sex is dead, but awake, and hard water. Shortness of breath, his knees spread of weapons of lung water challenges"
Maximum iterations:
"Sometimes, groups of trees. That Shortness of breath, death, lack of a glass of water, feet, hands, lungs and other issues related to water often."
Apparently, oral sex is dead because of my story.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A very late entry
I do apologize for not keeping up with the writing, I shall endeavor to be much better. For your further pleasure, here I continue the story:
“This is all he’s said since you found him? Nothing more?” a woman asked as she leaned over the soldier, trying to look into his eyes.
“Aye, Matron, naught but how ‘e killed ‘is men, and how ‘is path was to be clear of them Tal folk. Lost to terror, I think he is.”
The woman pursed her lips in thought, then said to the men without turning, “Well, you’ve done well. I expect you’ve got business that needs tending. I’ll send word if I need you.”
As the two men left her tent, she listened carefully to the mumbling of the soldier. When he had been quiet for several moments, she decided to try to talk to him, “What is your name, soldier? I know your colors, you’re with Denel’s men, but I know none by name. You were attacked?”
The man remained silent, and didn’t seem to respond, except that his eyes widened very slightly, along with a sorrowful downturn of his mouth.
“I killed them. All dead,” he whispered. “Why were they there?” he keened.
“They? You mean the Tal? You didn’t know they were in the valley?”
He said nothing more, only seeming to sink further into despair.
“Well, you can answer me later, let me see what I can do,” the Matron said, reaching a hand to his temple. She lowered her head closer to his and whispered a chant he wouldn’t have understood if he’d been aware. The young man’s eyes slowly closed as the tension lifted from his body. Even after he seemed to have passed into sleep, the Matron continued her silent chant.
She had been sitting next to the resting soldier for a short while before she heard Pitt ask for entry. “Come,” she said. “I’ve done what I could for him. He seems to be resting easily now, but I don’t know if his fugue will return when he wakes up. I want you two to take him to Rample. His army’s gone too far south for you to return to us quickly enough, but they have dealings with Denel, someone there will likely be able to take him to his people.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Matron, but the Tal’d likely find us on the way.”
“Then he is destined to be a prisoner. We can do nothing more for him. Go in the morning and you’ll be back before evening. I’ll tend to him tonight.”
The Tales of Ahrdin
Second Entry:“This is all he’s said since you found him? Nothing more?” a woman asked as she leaned over the soldier, trying to look into his eyes.
“Aye, Matron, naught but how ‘e killed ‘is men, and how ‘is path was to be clear of them Tal folk. Lost to terror, I think he is.”
The woman pursed her lips in thought, then said to the men without turning, “Well, you’ve done well. I expect you’ve got business that needs tending. I’ll send word if I need you.”
As the two men left her tent, she listened carefully to the mumbling of the soldier. When he had been quiet for several moments, she decided to try to talk to him, “What is your name, soldier? I know your colors, you’re with Denel’s men, but I know none by name. You were attacked?”
The man remained silent, and didn’t seem to respond, except that his eyes widened very slightly, along with a sorrowful downturn of his mouth.
“I killed them. All dead,” he whispered. “Why were they there?” he keened.
“They? You mean the Tal? You didn’t know they were in the valley?”
He said nothing more, only seeming to sink further into despair.
“Well, you can answer me later, let me see what I can do,” the Matron said, reaching a hand to his temple. She lowered her head closer to his and whispered a chant he wouldn’t have understood if he’d been aware. The young man’s eyes slowly closed as the tension lifted from his body. Even after he seemed to have passed into sleep, the Matron continued her silent chant.
***
The Matron pulled back the flap of her tent and stepped outside. She called a young boy over, “Go and bring Pitt and his son here.” She watched him scramble off for a moment, sighed, nodded her head, slipped back inside her tent.She had been sitting next to the resting soldier for a short while before she heard Pitt ask for entry. “Come,” she said. “I’ve done what I could for him. He seems to be resting easily now, but I don’t know if his fugue will return when he wakes up. I want you two to take him to Rample. His army’s gone too far south for you to return to us quickly enough, but they have dealings with Denel, someone there will likely be able to take him to his people.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Matron, but the Tal’d likely find us on the way.”
“Then he is destined to be a prisoner. We can do nothing more for him. Go in the morning and you’ll be back before evening. I’ll tend to him tonight.”
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The beginning of Story the First
Today I begin in earnest with this blog by posting the beginning of one of the stories bouncing about in my head. I haven't settled on what the title will be, but I'll tag this storyline under Ahrdin. I hope you enjoy this journey, and please leave me feedback in the comments. Thanks, and now to. . .
He remembered the uncounted attackers bursting from the forest shadows, forces he knew shouldn’t have been there. With the oncoming memory, he wept over his complete defeat. This was the type of command that led to admission to the Gentry, an opportunity now utterly out of his reach. It was he, and his men, who were to have the surprise advantage, strike unexpectedly where the enemy was weak. But how could he have believed he could command these men, how could he have had the hubris to convince them he could lead them, protect them, bring them glory. He wept in deep sobs for the life he would never have, he wailed for the lives of the men that had trusted him.
Visions of each of the men he had commanded, had killed, came to him as his sobs calmed into shallow breaths. He moved to sit against a tree trunk, head bowed as the rain fell upon the nape of his neck. The phantoms of his dead men paraded before his closed eyes, all the while his breath shallowed. He slipped into the semi-consciousness of his own personal hell.
“Aye, he breathes, but naught’s in his head it seems. He didna even flinch at yer howlin,” a second dark figure responded. “An he’s one o’ the Red Legs. Must be near to a hundred count of them dead here. I ain’t seen mor’n four of another color here. They was done in good.”
“So, what ought we do with him? The Red Legs’ve all moved t’the south, cain’t send him back with them. Might as well take as we can from the dead, but what about him?” the first voice asked.
“Aye, tis best to recover what we can from the dead. I s’pose we ought ter take him back to Matron an see as what she can do.”
The two quietly busied themselves in finishing their search of the dead before bringing the cart around to the catatonic soldier to carry him away.
As they lead cart away from the dead bodies, one of the figures spoke, “This fightin couldn’t have been much more’n a day ago. Cain’t see this here soldier could last much longer with them wounds of his. Tis a wonder he’s alive at all.”
“Aye, but cain’t hurt nothing to have Matron take a look. A life’s a life, even if he’d a mind to throw his an his men’s away like this. Tis reckless officer’s as him as try for glory attackin where the enemy’s strong.”
“Why you think these men marched straight fer the Tal? The rest o’the Red Legs were goin’ south last night. Del says ain’t no Red Legs left in the valley, well, save fer them’s that’s dead back there.”
“Aye, who’s to know why these reckless officers run off insane fer glory as they do. Like to be he thought he could win a war all by hisself.”
“The valley was supposed to be clear of the Tal. No one was supposed to be there,” the soldier quietly whispered from the cart. “The Captain said all the scouts saw no sign of Tal for miles.”
The older of the two men turned to look at the soldier, “Is that so? What yer name, soldier?”
“The Tal were gone, Captain said. The Gentry, it was to be. . . Oh Gods! My men. . . all dead. . . dead.”
The man turned back to his companion, “Aaah, if’n this soldier lives, it’ll be a struggle to save his mind. One way or t’other, Matron’ll sort it out.”
The Tales of Ahrdin
The rain began to form puddles around the men strewn among the trees. All dead, save the one woken violently by the water he inhaled. He lifted himself to his hands and knees, his lungs uncontrollably expelling the offending fluid, gasping for breath between spasms. His coughing lasted for many long moments before he began to slowly control his breathing. Once he had begun to control his breathing he looked about him and saw the bodies all around, and he remembered. He remembered the uncounted attackers bursting from the forest shadows, forces he knew shouldn’t have been there. With the oncoming memory, he wept over his complete defeat. This was the type of command that led to admission to the Gentry, an opportunity now utterly out of his reach. It was he, and his men, who were to have the surprise advantage, strike unexpectedly where the enemy was weak. But how could he have believed he could command these men, how could he have had the hubris to convince them he could lead them, protect them, bring them glory. He wept in deep sobs for the life he would never have, he wailed for the lives of the men that had trusted him.
Visions of each of the men he had commanded, had killed, came to him as his sobs calmed into shallow breaths. He moved to sit against a tree trunk, head bowed as the rain fell upon the nape of his neck. The phantoms of his dead men paraded before his closed eyes, all the while his breath shallowed. He slipped into the semi-consciousness of his own personal hell.
***
“OI! This’un here’s not dead!” the stout figure shouted as it staggered back from the man slumped against the tree.“Aye, he breathes, but naught’s in his head it seems. He didna even flinch at yer howlin,” a second dark figure responded. “An he’s one o’ the Red Legs. Must be near to a hundred count of them dead here. I ain’t seen mor’n four of another color here. They was done in good.”
“So, what ought we do with him? The Red Legs’ve all moved t’the south, cain’t send him back with them. Might as well take as we can from the dead, but what about him?” the first voice asked.
“Aye, tis best to recover what we can from the dead. I s’pose we ought ter take him back to Matron an see as what she can do.”
The two quietly busied themselves in finishing their search of the dead before bringing the cart around to the catatonic soldier to carry him away.
As they lead cart away from the dead bodies, one of the figures spoke, “This fightin couldn’t have been much more’n a day ago. Cain’t see this here soldier could last much longer with them wounds of his. Tis a wonder he’s alive at all.”
“Aye, but cain’t hurt nothing to have Matron take a look. A life’s a life, even if he’d a mind to throw his an his men’s away like this. Tis reckless officer’s as him as try for glory attackin where the enemy’s strong.”
“Why you think these men marched straight fer the Tal? The rest o’the Red Legs were goin’ south last night. Del says ain’t no Red Legs left in the valley, well, save fer them’s that’s dead back there.”
“Aye, who’s to know why these reckless officers run off insane fer glory as they do. Like to be he thought he could win a war all by hisself.”
“The valley was supposed to be clear of the Tal. No one was supposed to be there,” the soldier quietly whispered from the cart. “The Captain said all the scouts saw no sign of Tal for miles.”
The older of the two men turned to look at the soldier, “Is that so? What yer name, soldier?”
“The Tal were gone, Captain said. The Gentry, it was to be. . . Oh Gods! My men. . . all dead. . . dead.”
The man turned back to his companion, “Aaah, if’n this soldier lives, it’ll be a struggle to save his mind. One way or t’other, Matron’ll sort it out.”
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Post the First
Coming soon:
In a world where one man struggles with the pictures in his head, he proposes to write about them.
Some posts will be stories (or episodes of stories), and some will be posts concerning the SF/F genre(s?).
At the moment I make no promises for the regularity of posts. Hopefully I will apprehend the discipline to create a schedule.
Good Luck, me.
In a world where one man struggles with the pictures in his head, he proposes to write about them.
Some posts will be stories (or episodes of stories), and some will be posts concerning the SF/F genre(s?).
At the moment I make no promises for the regularity of posts. Hopefully I will apprehend the discipline to create a schedule.
Good Luck, me.
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