Thankie much, Redrobes, or in the words of Ole Horsehair "sweet. can we go there tomorrow"
Thankie much, Redrobes, or in the words of Ole Horsehair "sweet. can we go there tomorrow"
Meet ya for a pint of Black Rat or a Thatchers or is yours an Old Peculiar ?. Actually its real hot here right now. I could just glide one of those down right now...
I will do the Snapgallows hill as a higher res map yet. Bit late now tho. You could give me an idea of where the quarry is on that map as thats probably large enough that it should show up !
It were ole Hookie, actually, from Hook Norton Ales,I liked the best,,,don't even know if they are still brewing.
The quarry sets right about where the first black dot below and left of Snapgallows red dot is, but any where will work, as with sketch up we can, and do, move things about. Any old Bitter will do, after 10 years of tastless beer that actually is improved by being left in the sun, in can, under a dead dog, named Burt.
Edit, we popped the quarry there as we decided the stone cutters/polishers would need a bit oh water, and having the sheds in the center of town would cause a bit oh racket, that is until Ole Oboro discovered Yelping, and then it would cause a bangin lot of racket...Yelping, often compared to the sound an amourous boar makes, if he gets his bollies caught in the sty gate, used to cut, polish, harden, strenghten Snapgallow Limestone, and other things.. magick? blessing? invention of a 9 year old who smashed his thumb while cracking rocks for ammonites?, only the Scribe knows.
Yesss! The FHCO's finally decided on a look for their map, not the easiest thing to do...or to do.
It requires 2 renders in sketcup, one using the cool waterclor style and one using the natural papyrus style, and then some work in Photoshop to blend it all together, the girls wanted color, the boys wanted papyrus (because it has that Indiana Jones look, they said, and is way cool,,,???).
But at least they are happy, all I do is set the layer blend and type the labels, of which on this cropped picture there are only 2, but that decision for the font took forever,,,just cause WingDings sounds cool, doesn't mean it will look cool,,,
I haven't got them to do a straight orthographic render yet, may not ever, they like a bit of a birds eye view,,any way, here is a crop of just on bit of the map,downsized from 4k by 2k, and as you can see walls and towers are still being built by the Underfed Serf's Semi-Alliance of Unskilled Rock Movers, and a as yet unnamed guild of rather short folks is still building houses.
Six year old to adult. "How come your laptop is so much slower than mine"
Adult. "Cause it is older than you are, and old ones run slow, they think slow"
Six year old. "OH"....long pause..."is that why you never make a goal when we play soccer?"
Adult. "I think your mother is calling"
SeerBlue and the FOHC
I say Indiana Jones but colored... erm on Papyrus... um in 3D - yeah !
Very cool. Are these Ruby extensions then or normal sketchup ability ?
I have Snapgallows Peak now. It took half hour from start to finish with 3D and resizing etc. Getting the process slick now ! The hill is off center because, as you know, GTS works in tiles and it snaps the work area to the nearest tile boundary and since the hill is pretty small on the bigger map it snapped it well off center. I kinda got away with it a bit better on Fenridge but it sticks out on this one.
Put the town where you like and ill fix up the roads to it later when we know where they go. Can sketchup output a height map or a standard .obj / .3ds / .lwo etc kinda 3D model from which I can get a height map ? We could get Snapgallows with the terrain into DragonFlight - though I expect that it looks good in sketchup already.
Oh - should mention that the high res bit of the map or the 3D one is about 25 miles square.
Back from a good long jaunt out into the Black Hills National Forest with the kids, rock,fossil, and wildlife adventure. I snagged the pics above and we will plop Snapgallows down today, and modify our heightfield a bit to match the general terrain of where it ends up,,,,the FHCO's are being quite picky, as I have prattled on about villages needing water, tillage, protection, access to roads and such, so everything ends up being a "I think" discussion, though at 3, the discussion is more like jab a finger on the map and say "There, no there, THERE!".
Sounds like the Kings of old and 3 year olds have a lot in common!Quote:
the discussion is more like jab a finger on the map and say "There, no there, THERE!".
Been bit of a hectic day or two, the Four Happy Carpet Orcs now have a baby sister, born about 12:30 pm today, Kimi Kay,(two days late) so they are more than a bit distracted and excited.
Before we confuse any more folks, we confuse a lot of people as we are always seen together, I am just the child minder, storyteller, tour guide, for the younger three, so I won't be passing out cigars.
So it may take a few days for them to get back into the project, but it should give me time to do a few renders and edit/clean up a story or two to post.
SeerBlue and the FHCO's + 1
I had some time to put a bit of our mish mash of notes together with a bit of what the FHCO's have been learning in PS (they can PS at home, as they have it), so here is just a morsel of what I think will become consumed by the FHCO's PDF for Snapgallows. Introducing Gimphor Lope, Vanner. oh, and a bit of Threeways and Nab....
Gimphor Lope be a Vanner by trade, one who carries goods across Thrubmorton Fen strapped to his back in a Vanner's pack, from Thrub in the North, through Threeways, and on Southing to Fort Braven.
Vanners are a hardy lot, in general, as passage on foot in Thrubmorton Fen is deadly at best, and down right carnivorous at worst. Most have some degree of skill with simple weapons for defense, any vanner who can not swing a short sword or heft a buckler will likely as not never make a second trip: but their best defense is in numbers, they band together in large caravans as far along their route as possible, only traveling in small groups or singly to the more remote destinations. The speed at which they can travel whilst tumping a heavy load is well known, and has saved the life of many a vanner.
“Legs like trees, and nearly half as smart.” is a common jibe at the vanners expense, paying respect to their physical prowess while demeaning the seeming stupidity of any man who would repeatedly traverse the most dangerous routes in Thrubmorton Fen for a pittance, which he can only collect if he returns to the original consignor with a chit, perhaps years later.
The majority of vanner routes follow the high ground, well away from the lowland fens and river bottoms, home to a wide variety of Fennish nasties, some of which prey on vanners for their cargo, and others which find the flesh of a fit vanner a right tasty morsel.
Most all are employed, as needed, by members of the Caravaner's Guild, signing on to “tump” a load of cargo from the Guild Marshaling Yard to it's destination, where ever that may be, and then signing on again to tump a load back, if possible, as “an empty pack is twice as heavy as a full one”, vanners say.
Guild rules require individual vanners to sign a bond, known as “Pledging the Hand”for each load they carry. Tradition holds that in the early days any vanner who failed to deliver his full consignment or returned without a chit for his load, lost a hand, and any vanner who failed to return at all, doomed whomever he had pledged as his bond, to the same fate. The Caravaner's Guild soon discovered that a lack of “handed” vanners, or kin willing to be bonded, cut into their profits, so it began accepting coin or property as bond, equal to the value of the goods at it's delivery destination, or twice that if rare.
This new policy quickly put coin back in their satches, as only the most experienced and skilled vanners could afford to Pledge the Hand for valuable cargo and receive the higher pay, needless to say most of those had two hands, as did their children, and were easily recognized.
It is said that in some of the less seemly parts of Thrubmorton Fen one can still stumble upon claves in which two hands is an oddity.
Vanners are easily identified by their Vanner's Cap, a brimless cloth hat blazoned on top with their Vanner's number,unique to each Vanner, and their sigil,which is passed down through family lines , the cap is also stitched profusely about the sides with the Rambling Man's Prayer, for luck and godly intervention on the routes.
“Ooick, though I tump through the valleys and fens of the eaters of death, I will fear naught of scaled evil : for thou are with me; thy shadow and thy roar, they comfort me.” Rambling Man's Prayer, verse 1
Gimphor tumped for a variety of Guild members for much of his life, keeping both hands, and earning the trust of all who employed him. After a frightful experience on the Black Holler trail Gimphor resigned his independent vanners cap and took up with Nab, the proprietor of the ThreeWays Inn, situated in Threeways, West Fentor, Thrubmorton Fens, as Nab's head vanner, due to the fact that the guards Nab employed out of Snapgallows tended to make off with more than the Fennish nasties.
Nab's inn is renowned for its fine drink, tasty platters, well stocked leaf room and comfortable accommodations.
It sets in the middle of the junction for the roads connecting points east of West Wickham, west of Fort Roundtop, and south of Snapgallows.
Gimphor is well versed in the trails and tracks of West Fentor, and often looking for reliable guards, carters and vanners, only the two handed need apply.
Nab suffers from the old malady common to many who keep an Inn and Topboard, a wealth of information and few guests or customers worth sharing it with. Nabs three large sons keep the peace beyond the topboard of the Inn, and act as guards for Gimphor and Nab's caravans when needed.
Gimphor sees a Stumbler
Threeways Inn, Threeways, West Fentor, Thrubmorton Fen, Ansium
“And oim telling ye I did” the stocky vanner spat back, Gimphor by proper calling, Gimp to most due to his odd gate, “It were two of 'em, stumbling up Black Holler trail, and they was dead.”
“Dead don't stumble, Gimp, they shuffle.” shouted a sotted voice from the back of the common room to a chorus of loud laughs and hoots.
“Shuffled then, ya idget,” Gimphor retorted, “makes now nevermind to me”...
“OR TO THEM” yelled another voice, followed by a loud belch and an even louder thud, as his head hit the topboard in front of him, witless. This drew even louder guffaws from the drunken caravaners and carters who had taken shelter from the cold drizzle that had plagued their footsteps for two days of travel. The unconscious man soon lost his satch and one shoe to the greedy hands of his fellows.
“Your a roight lot of fools you are” Gimphor hissed, heard only by those who stood near, “ I done saw two corpses, I did, and they was dead as old man Keel, stum,,,SHUFFLING, off toward Snapgallow, and I for one ain't following in THEM steps.”
Gimphor thunked his empty clay cup down on the topboard, drawing a stern look from the keep who stood behind it, “nother tatershine here, keep,” Gimphor said sheepishly, it would not be good to break a cup and find himself rousted out the door into the rain, what with stumbling, or shuffling, corpses about.
Gimphor pulled a large, outland silver piece from his pocket, cupped it in his palm, and slid it across to Tab's bony hand unnoticed, instantly returning to the good graces of Tab, the keep. “This be for a room above, if ye have one spare, and as much drink as it will get me til I can catch a van going North.”
Tab quickly slid the outland coin from the topboard and judged its heft, fine silver it were, and near the full width of his palm, certainly worth more than any room in the place and twice the drink this old vanner could drink in a season, or two.
Tab pocketed the coin and sent one of the bottle boys off to set the best room to rights; a man who has one outland coin, in his pocket, likely has three in his satch, he figured, and one of those could well be his own, if Gimphor was treated proper.
Tab pulled a full bottle of Tatershine from under the topboard and Gimphor's eyes went wide at the site of “ Morton's Castellar” scribed on a small tag which hung from the cork. “Oi!, I'll not have me coin going all in one night, pour me a bit of Snapper, and I'll be foine.”, the words rushed from Gimphor's mouth, high pitched, trying to get out before he changed his mind and spent himself into bed under a hay mow outside the village.
“Gimphor” Tab said as he unwrapped the tag from the cork and handed it to Gimphor, with the care a Chanter bestows upon a holy relic, “you can drink the finest of “Morton's Castellar until you sprout 12 eyes”, a reference to a potatoes many eyes, “ and still have a big enough chunk of that coin left to buy a horse.”
Gimphor's caressed the tag slowly, never had he held one, from a bottle which would soon be chalked with his name, in his life. “12 eyes then” he whispered.
“Aye” replied Tab, “12 eyes and a horse.”
“Name it “Gimphor”, Gimphor breathed, “ pull that cork, and grab your self a glass, keep, I think we are getting drunk”.
Gimphor leaned back, and banged smack into a wall of carters and caravaners, all looking intently at the bottle which Tab gripped in his skinny hand, working the cork out with the other, twisting a cork hook back and forth gently so no corking would foul the Castellar. The bottle, fine translucent green glass, was just light enough for all eyes to see the large stick of castellar which bobbed about in the tatershine.
“Hoick”, a man behind Gimphor exclaimed, “tain't never seen a stick of castel that thick in me loif, gonna spread that bottle about a bit are ya, Gimp, ahh, Gimphor, carter's way and all?”
Gimphor swung around best he could against the press of bodies, “Not loikely, I'm no a VANNER anymore”, Gimphor reached up and pulled the dark brimless cloth cap from his head and threw it on the floor at his feet, “No Cap, No Vanner, I thinks I be a,,” Gimphor paused and search about his Tatershined brain for a thing to be, “I think I be a guest of Tab, the top keep, in the Threeways Inn.” Gimphor's refusal to follow carter's way, and his pitching of the vanner's cap, a sign of pride to many, onto the rushed floor, brought forth a volley of angered voices. Tab clucked his tongue, once, and his three large sons stepped from the shadows behind the topboard and stood behind their father, thick stone cudgels resting lightly in their muscled hands. The crowd went quiet.
“Now, Gimphor, as you have so kindly offered to share a glass with me, and just one mind you, I've a topboard to mind” said Tab, as if nothing were amiss, “I will ask you to join me for a piping in the leaf room, I have a good bit of Wessel just in that I have not yet unwrapped, and a glass of Morton's finest deserves a pipe of Monkton's smoothest”. The cork came free of the green glass bottle with a loud pop, and the scent of Ansie and Rasp berry filled the room.
“Hoick,” a voice from the back corner of the common room whispered, “I can smell it from here!”
Tab's largest son cleared a path through the sullen crowd, from the topboard to the leaf room. The sound of the stone cudgel thumping in his huge palm deterring even the drunkest sopp from wheedling up to Gimphor.
“Well now, Gimphor, my guest,” Tab began as they both settled into comfortable chairs of woven willow and large soft cushions. “ I have sold just three bottles of Morton's in my lifetime, and never, not once, has the man who bought it invited me to drink it with him, so I thank you, sincerely. In truth I have never more than licked the cork, to make sure it had not gone off, so this is a pleasure most unexpected. A whole glass, and a small one I assure you, a good piping of Wessel, and then I must be back to the topboard.”
“Nay, Tab” Gimphor objected as he watched the smoky black and red liquid swirl into his glass as Tab poured. “Stay and drink until we each have four eyes, and perhaps a goat, I beg you. Surely your sons can mind the topboard!”
“Well enough, they can, I guess” murmured Tab, the heady scent of the Morton's whittling his resolve to return to his spot behind to board, away, slowly. “Moike, the eldest, who stands outside the door now, if I know him well, has a fine head on his shoulders, handles the tallies for me now, as my eyes are getting dim.”
Tab handed Gimphor his glass, “Spin it like this, Gimphor” he said as he twisted the glass slowly about before his face, “mixes the flavors from the castellar stick well and good.”
Gimphor followed Tabs directions and twisted his glass, the liquid spun slowly, black and red, Ansie and Rasp berry, merging as he watched.
“Now a sip, Gimphor, before it separates out again.” said Tab as he raised the glass to his lips and took the lightest of sips, a look of pure bliss growing on his face.
Gimphor touch his lips to his own glass and sipped slowly, a bit more than Tab, he was sure, and savored the flavors that crept across his tongue. “Holy Heret's Shadow ,” Gimphor sighed, “ I ain't never tasted the loike, why, it's got more flavors than a brood cats got nipples.”
Tab laughed out loud at this, “I would have to agree, Gimphor. Licking the cork, which I thought bliss before, is a guttering candle to this.” Tab sat his glass down on the table. “Well now, I think I owe you more than a piping of Wessel after that, so lets set to a good smoke, I am sure Moike and me boys have the room in hand out there, and then we shall work on that good and drunk you spoke of.”
“That's more loike it, Tab, but I've got no pipe, on of me fellows snicked it ages ago, and I've not bought another.”
“Hmmm,” said Tab, “ no pipe in a leaf room, now thats not proper, good thing the room you've let, until you sprout 12 eyes and buy a horse, comes with a whole case of them, right there on the table aside you.”
Soon the leaf room was redolent with the scent of Wessel and Castellar, Tab and Gimphor well passed relaxed, and still a half glass each sat before them from the first pouring.
“Gimphor” spoke Tab, his voice mellow and melodic.
“Yes, Tab” replied Gimphor shortly.
“Who is, or was this “Old Man Keel you spoke of earlier, in the common.”
“Ahh,” came Gimphor's voice, drawling those three letters out a good bit further than he meant. “Keel were our vans Tallier, for as long as I can remember. Sat up on his little perch afore the gates to the marshaling yard. A right stickle for counts he was.” Gimphor raised his glass and twirled it slowly. “He climbed up there well afore any vanner entered the yard and stayed til well after the van had rounded the first corner on the road out. His right hand held up high above his head, bobbing up and down as his left ticked off carters and vanners names . It were always the same, no matter the weather, him up there counting and us down below trudging in or out the gate. Paying him no never mind really, didn't even have to look up at him, as he knew who was who by the number and sign stitched on the top of our vanner's cap, and what you carried, from the list afore him.” Gimphor inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the heady Wessel.
“One day, we marched out just as it done begin to snow, and the wind were dreadfully biting. Mind you, most of us wanted to turn tail and hike right back out of the marshaling yard for our digs, but we had already put our name to what we carried, and so were bound to deliver it or pay out of our wages, or bond, for its worth, and not it's worth tallied were we was at, but for its worth totaled where we were humping it too on or backs , or more!.”
Gimphor rapped his pipe, a fine bone and silver piece, gently against his palm and then drew a deeper draft of Wessel.
“ A few hundred vanners,” He began again. “ and a hand of carters, all headed out at once, trying to beat the storm before it really set to. Course we weren't all going to the same place, but being that there was only one Tallier, Keel, we had to all leave by the same gate and pick our course from there.”
“Loike I said, I think,,,,it were bitterly cold, and it took a good half a day for alls to get clear of the gate and Keel do his counting.”
Tab slid the packet of fresh Wessel across the the table to Gimphor, as his pipe seemed to need a fresh tamp.
“ Put our heads down and slog we did, all the way to where we was bound, delivered our goods, had our numbers ticked on a tally sheet for a load to hump on the leg back, and tumped on back. Me, I was a full month out of the yard and away from my digs, afore I crossed below Keel again, setting up on his perch with his raised hand a bobbing. Didn't pay him no mind, just made sure me cap was right ways 'bout so he could take my number and send my count off to the owners.”
“See, my boss, he be smarter than most, he figures a good way to make sure every vanner humps the trail, and carter drives the teams, as quick as he can, is he pays a bit of a bonus for the number of loads a man carries each season, handed over after the last van. For days on the trail is days he waits for coin to hit his coffer ”
“Some bosses pay by the worth of the load you hump, but, you see, our disburser, the one who assigns us a load, divvies them up so each man carries about the same worth of goods if they be bound the same route, lose one man and his load and you don't lose the purse, so to speak. You may get lucky and carry your pack with just a small sack of coin in it, or you may be damned and carry your weight in pelly seed. Best to stay on the disburser's good side it is.”