Post by Elizabeth on Apr 7, 2011 7:59:11 GMT -5
(I believe this requires brief explanation. I was inspired while reading Shakespeare's Macbeth for school, to write a Redwall version of Macbeth. Basically I'm re-writing Macbeth with Scottish animals, new names, reworded speech, and story-format. I don't believe I am infringing any copywrights... ha ha. Anyway, feel free to enter feedback. I should be adding more. Enjoy.)
CHAPTER ONE: Enter, Witches![/center]
It is a dark stormy night in September. Thunder rends the ominous sky with shattering crashes. The eerie heartrending wail of the cold black air lets out a scream that could freeze your very soul. The surroundings not only appear dark and foreboding, but nerve-wracking and extraordinary also.
And what is the location of this menacing clime? A deserted mountaintop, towering high above, and far away from any who would be foolish enough to transverse it. For conditions are always the same here, unpleasant, strange, and sinister, yet a landscape throbbing with power and the strength of nature. Still, an odd altered nature it must seem to be. What a contradiction of words, and yet so perfect for the three creatures now to appear from nowhere as if they were ghastly daemons emerging, shrouded in the mist.
Three hooded crows, Kerr, Innes, & Greer. Spawn of darkness and sisters of drear.
If even women they can be called. Shadowy wings blanketing all.
They close in on each other a cold black shimmer in their conniving beady eyes. One cackles and another follows suit. They are all three identical in their despicable appearance. Bedraggled, disfigured, and unnatural are they. They are the witches. Their very beings suggest magic and wizardry.
The open skies cry protest to their very presence. There is something no less than weird that lurks on the faces of these three. Yet their countenances speak mischief, not death nor horror. They are unlike to any other sorceresses before recounted. Their ways are mysterious.
Kerr the first of the witches tilts her head to the side. “Sisters...” She croaks in a strange voice. “When will we next greet each other? The best conditions in which to meet are in this clime. We are alone in the open. Lightning, thunder, and rain, they all greet us well. They are our omens.”
The second witch nods her head attentively in agreement. “But mark ye sister,” says Innes in a similar voice, “We meet aft’ the battle has been fought and lost. Yet in the same token after the battle has been won, eh?”
The third witch laughs loudly in a horse painful tone. Greer remarks, “And that will be not till sundown sisters. We must have patience.”
A lightning streak illuminates the sky above vividly, at the same time letting out a loud crash that drowns out the last of Greer’s words.
The first witch casts a weary glance at the third as she speaks. “But tell me sisters…” she continues. “Where do we next meet? Have we not yet set a location for our arrangements?”
“Ha!” The second witch cackles. “We will congregate upon that heath.”
“There to meet with him we seek. Macaulay.” A gleam livens up the eyes of the Greer as she chimes in.
“I come, Graymalkin! Oh ye attending spirit cat. Ye supernatural gray fiend!” the first says arbitrarily with a chuckle.
“Oh sister, Paddock calls!” Innes mentions, a queer smile playing upon her face.
“At once, At once, ye to your tasks!” Screeches Greer with a wave of her raven black wing.
The sisters chime together in an eerie chant-like tone. “The tainted and unclean will be lovely and pristine. Yet the fair ones will be squalid.” They crow in unison. “We disembark! Through that smoggy mist..!”
Each of the sisters stops speaking, abruptly, and vanishes into thin air, the air that reeks of witchcraft.
Macaulay
The Tragic Tale
By Regan Elizabeth
The Tragic Tale
By Regan Elizabeth
CHAPTER ONE: Enter, Witches![/center]
It is a dark stormy night in September. Thunder rends the ominous sky with shattering crashes. The eerie heartrending wail of the cold black air lets out a scream that could freeze your very soul. The surroundings not only appear dark and foreboding, but nerve-wracking and extraordinary also.
And what is the location of this menacing clime? A deserted mountaintop, towering high above, and far away from any who would be foolish enough to transverse it. For conditions are always the same here, unpleasant, strange, and sinister, yet a landscape throbbing with power and the strength of nature. Still, an odd altered nature it must seem to be. What a contradiction of words, and yet so perfect for the three creatures now to appear from nowhere as if they were ghastly daemons emerging, shrouded in the mist.
Three hooded crows, Kerr, Innes, & Greer. Spawn of darkness and sisters of drear.
If even women they can be called. Shadowy wings blanketing all.
They close in on each other a cold black shimmer in their conniving beady eyes. One cackles and another follows suit. They are all three identical in their despicable appearance. Bedraggled, disfigured, and unnatural are they. They are the witches. Their very beings suggest magic and wizardry.
The open skies cry protest to their very presence. There is something no less than weird that lurks on the faces of these three. Yet their countenances speak mischief, not death nor horror. They are unlike to any other sorceresses before recounted. Their ways are mysterious.
Kerr the first of the witches tilts her head to the side. “Sisters...” She croaks in a strange voice. “When will we next greet each other? The best conditions in which to meet are in this clime. We are alone in the open. Lightning, thunder, and rain, they all greet us well. They are our omens.”
The second witch nods her head attentively in agreement. “But mark ye sister,” says Innes in a similar voice, “We meet aft’ the battle has been fought and lost. Yet in the same token after the battle has been won, eh?”
The third witch laughs loudly in a horse painful tone. Greer remarks, “And that will be not till sundown sisters. We must have patience.”
A lightning streak illuminates the sky above vividly, at the same time letting out a loud crash that drowns out the last of Greer’s words.
The first witch casts a weary glance at the third as she speaks. “But tell me sisters…” she continues. “Where do we next meet? Have we not yet set a location for our arrangements?”
“Ha!” The second witch cackles. “We will congregate upon that heath.”
“There to meet with him we seek. Macaulay.” A gleam livens up the eyes of the Greer as she chimes in.
“I come, Graymalkin! Oh ye attending spirit cat. Ye supernatural gray fiend!” the first says arbitrarily with a chuckle.
“Oh sister, Paddock calls!” Innes mentions, a queer smile playing upon her face.
“At once, At once, ye to your tasks!” Screeches Greer with a wave of her raven black wing.
The sisters chime together in an eerie chant-like tone. “The tainted and unclean will be lovely and pristine. Yet the fair ones will be squalid.” They crow in unison. “We disembark! Through that smoggy mist..!”
Each of the sisters stops speaking, abruptly, and vanishes into thin air, the air that reeks of witchcraft.
---
