(Hassus' eventyrserie) Cold Mountain

Skrevet 09-01-2011 18:39 - Redigeret 05-10-2012 09:06

[i]Hey N-clubbers

Jeg skriver en eventyrserie for sjov som jeg tænkte jeg lige så godt også kunne smide herind. Den hedder Cold Mountain og består af en række meget små kapitler. Jeg startede med at skrive den på dansk for så at oversætte til engelsk for en ven og nu er jeg i stedet gået over til kun at fokusere på den engelske. Derfor vil der være en række danske kapitler i starten af tråden og ikke senere hen.
God fornøjelse
- Hassus[/i]

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For overblikkets skyld er her en lille opsamling af trådens indhold:

- Samtlige kapitler af Cold Mountain kan findes samlet på linket, HER.
Alle kapitlerne i linket er på engelsk. De danske udgaver af kapitlerne 1-12 kan findes i begyndelsen af tråden.

- Min Flipnote teaser til serien:
<object data="http://flipnote.hatena.com/js/flipplayer_s.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="279" height="240"><param name="movie" value="http://flipnote.hatena.com/js/flipplayer_s.swf"></param><param name="FlashVars" value="did=9994990031C8DBED&amp;file=C8DBED_0B1794EF3162D_000"></param></object>

- MdM's musikalske fortolkning af kapitel 6:


- Oni Nick's komiske videofortolkning af kapitel 10:

#16 - Skrevet 31-08-2011 05:42

XVI
Strange little detour

There is one more chapter before we contact our broken hero. Answers to his wherabouts and what happened in the missing chapter are soon to come. Until then our focus will be on someone else.

Yes, in a strange little house we find a man who is yet unbroken. We know him as the wolf, the oddball of the town and a black and sleepless god, but more importantly he is the strange little man who greeted us blindly to this story: Kornelius Helios.


Most people do not know what it takes to be like Kornelius. As he sits there by the books with his list and his notes he is constantly under attack. People's advice and his inner contradictions constantly are being held back by an inner shield and blade. In his inner convictions it is not only a matter of plans and hope, but of life and death. Sure he will not die if the item he so desires is not in his possession as the flower by his doorstep blooms - his intentional illusion would instead give him the strength to heal his wounds and leave him with experience - but should he lose the intentional illusion which drives him it will mean the starvation of his very identity. No longer would he be a strange little man, but in fact he would be just a man with as little a purpose as he had before he let the fateful snowball roll in the direction he is today.
Are many innocent possibilities ignored and killed by this blade and shield? Yes, but to be a black and sleepless god that is a price to pay.

Fear of failure: Slice it with your blade of optimism.
Rolling eyes from the other villagers: Push them back with your shield of indifference.
Desire to sleep: Slice it with your blade of pride.
Longing for old friends and family: Push it back with a shield of coldness.

In this way Kornelius is always at war with himself for better and for worse. This has been the case for every chapter whether he has been in it or not and it will be the case for all chapters to come, unless of course "the strange little man" should die and become "just a man".

Back in the fogs our broken hero has now been given the time to grieve but has he also come to his senses?

Read the next chapter..

#17 - Skrevet 31-08-2011 05:42

XVII
Tales of Mount Trauma

Lying on his back with blood on his sleeve. His jackets are in a pile next to him, one of them smelling like burnt cloth. He is crawled up like a baby in a womb fully dependent on his safe surroundings. Silent like a dead body.

What... exactly... happened?

Did he leave this realm? Well, someone did. Someone very close to him.

His eyes tell of the loss of something important. The world to this one individual has changed for good yet inside him the complete and honest story is still hidden. It's pages are scattered around in an inner room void of light.

Trying to express is like a trying to run without legs. The focus needed to collect the missing pages lies dead on the ground below.

Lying on his back on an island in a sea of clouds he hasn't even payed attention to the sword stuck in the ground next to him.

Will the events of the third meeting remain untold?

Read the next chapter..

#18 - Skrevet 31-08-2011 15:16

Denne serie forekommer mig meget kryptisk.

#19 - Skrevet 31-08-2011 17:02 - Redigeret 31-08-2011 18:23

Det kan der være flere årsager til:
1) Det er den første længere historie jeg har skrevet og jeg har en ret eksperimentel tilgang, så der er med stor sandsynlighed diverse begynderfejl som sikkert forvirrer.
2) Historien ér ment til at være kryptisk(ikke for kryptisk håber jeg). Mit forsøg har været at skrive noget der kan tygges på flere gange. Jeg har nemlig prøvet at skrive noget der appellerer til mig selv og jeg er ikke selv så meget til lange ensartede kapitler.

#20 - Skrevet 31-08-2011 19:32

Jeg kan godt lide at analysere tekster, men denne serie forekommer mig bare lidt for, måske, for fokuseret på at være fyldt med symbolsprog, at det er det kun er forfatteren, der kan gennemskue tingene.

#21 - Skrevet 31-08-2011 20:22 - Redigeret 31-08-2011 20:46

Jeg tager det i hvert fald til mig Måske skriver jeg noget mere lige til på et senere tidspunkt.

#22 - Skrevet 23-10-2011 01:10

Jeg satte en Cold Mountain flipnote teaser sammen her til aften

#23 - Skrevet 19-01-2012 15:04 - Redigeret 06-11-2012 14:29

XVIII
Maps of Mount Memory

Stunned on an island way up high. It is the only one visible in the vast sea of clouds around it. The clouds look soft and beautiful with no breach between them.
On an island way up high he is lying - covered in blood and desperate for clarity.

W-h-a-t h-a-p-p-e-n-e-d ?

He must no longer walk through snow and cold but through the challenges and dangers of his own mind. A solution is needed...

...X...

"...I was walking. I had crossed the bridge. And then... then I saw... Covered in snow was a body with its arm stretched out frozen into position and behind it a wolf was lying down facing away from me. It had torn off one of the arms and was now breaking it apart and eating it. The arm was frozen and hard to chew. The wolf did not immediately hear, see or smell me. I probably could have just walked away..."

The castaway presses his hands in the grass below him to lift his back up from the ground. In spite of shaking elbows he manages to sit up. He gazes at the clear sky and pushes his mind onwards...

"...I...
I could have walked away... but then I noticed something... the jacket...
...
...the jacket looked like my brother's...
...
...It was... It was my brother. Dead frozen with a wolf tearing apart his frozen limbs... There he was, my one and only brother. My main motivation... Frozen into an awkward position in the middle of nowhere with a wolf tearing up his severed arm. I lost it..."

With a foot on the ground he manages to force himself up. Like an infant he can hardly stand. His face is blank and lifeless...

"...V...
...Very abruptly... before I could grieve... the situation turned into something else. The wolf spotted me... Maybe I made a sound when I noticed the jacket... I can't remember. From shock to survival... The wolf looked at me as if it had been planning to eat me all along. I did the only thing I could... run. The sharp teeth were right behind me. I wanted to to get higher up as running would leave me dead in a moment. I then climbed a nearby mountainside... a steep mountain side... at least steep enough to keep me safe for a moment. I was stuck. I could not get any higher... Without thinking I managed to kick down the wolf... it tried to bite me, but all it caught on to was the layers of jackets I had on. It lef a spot of my brother's blood... However, when I kicked the wolf the snow beneath me began to slide. Before I could even think I was lying on the top of a pile with the wolf covered underneath me. Had I gotten up the wolf would have eaten me. If I kept lying on top of it it would force its way out eventually. My mind was empty yet my hand grabbed a bottle I had hanging from my belt. Before leaving home Kornelius had given it to me. He called it Flaming Truth. The liquid was glowing red. I drank it and immediately felt a warmth spread inside of me... then a heat... then a flaming glow of fire around me... my energy level increased enormously. The snow started melting so I got up and started running up the steep mountain infront of me. I got higher... higher... like a shooting star. The fire roared in the wind as I bounced my way up. It must have gone fast... suddenly I was facing a layer of clouds. With one last jump I busted through the white ceiling. The clouds were so cold they put out the fire. I was suspended in the air above the clouds and the mountain top and Flaming Truth had lost its effect. Then I landed on this grass surface..."

The clouds are parting further out revealing snow-covered mountains below. His dear brother had died in the most brutal way possible and here his younger brother is - on the only mountain top high enough to pierce through the cloudy carpet.
On an island way up high he is -
...blinking...
...breathing...
...collapsed in the grass crying.

Read the next chapter..

#24 - Skrevet 27-04-2012 23:46

XIX
Quest for Purpose Peak

"I haad a dream last night
A dream of a homeless young soul
Who was living without any goal
He had gone through a drought of the souul"
…so sounded the singing of an old banjo player from the day before.

Life can be messy. Old ideals are not always right ideals. Trust is not always rewarded. Disaster can cut through a life in an instance. Everything passes by like a stream even when minds are like heavy immovable rocks underwater. Time is always. Change is everywhere - all the time. To eat a fruit one must first plant a tree. For a tree to grow it demands life. Meanwhile people are haunted by themselves. They may disregard the stream and neglect the tree as they cover themselves in dirt beneath the moving waters. They may forget the movement around them as they bury themselves deeper and deeper into the dirt like a grave. The stream does not compromise. It does not fall for rhetorical grace. It can not be bribed. It can only flow. Throw it a speech and a drop of honey and see it altered. Watch it bend and stretch as you please. Watch it kiss your feet and wash your clothes. Then awaken to realize that your vision is blocked by dirt and that you are sinking deeper and deeper for every passing drop of water you ignore. Nothing disappears when you look away except your sense of vision.

A white blob falls through the sky glistening in the evening sun. It falls alone and undisturbed through the clear and open sky above the white pillars below and splashes right onto his forehead. His tears are stopped and his face is changed. With a hand he wipes it off and looks at it mysteriously. He lifts it to his nose, inhales and is still as struck with curiosity as he was before. High above a brown bird has passed by his lonely mountain top. His grief is interrupted and he cleans his hand in the grass as he watches the bird fade away in the distance.

Underneath the clouds somewhere Ian Senior is in bed awaiting his return. Junior might be dead but Senior is still alive, if only barely. He sees the sword in the ground next to him and realizes that this is the famous sword he was sent to bring home. The key to curing his father is right there.

He gets up, grabs his burnt jackets and puts them on. He then pulls out the sword from the ground and walks steadily towards the edge of the shore of clouds.

"Amabana minolialus" or "Heavenly presence"
…so sounded the words of a preoccupied ArtTrotter from the night before.

What has changed?
Read the next chapter..

#25 - Skrevet 25-05-2012 18:04 - Redigeret 25-05-2012 18:29

Et par opdateringer med spin-offs/sideprojekter:

Her er N's(Oni Nick) humoristisk videofortolkning af Kapitel X, hehe...:
<iframe width="400" height="225" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1A4X6Eq4Edo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>


...og her er den tidligere nævnte trailer fra Flipnote Studio i lettere tilgængelig tilstand:
<object data="http://flipnote.hatena.com/js/flipplayer_s.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="279" height="240"><param name="movie" value="http://flipnote.hatena.com/js/flipplayer_s.swf"></param><param name="FlashVars" value="did=9994990031C8DBED&amp;file=C8DBED_0B1794EF3162D_000"></param></object>

Edit:
Her er en mindre tekst jeg skrev tilbage i efteråret om seriens natur og fremtid.

#26 - Skrevet 25-05-2012 19:23 - Redigeret 25-05-2012 19:27

"Ung mand" ligner Eagle?

EDIT: Fed Flipnote, det er du da god til... Jeg burde selv eksperimentere mere med programmet; har kun brugt det som notesblok i mangel på bedre.

#27 - Skrevet 25-05-2012 19:56

Eagle er jo indbegrebet af en ung mand.

#28 - Skrevet 25-05-2012 19:57

Tak Jeg er ingen mesteranimator eller -tegner, men jeg er heldigvis rimelig god til andre ting.
Det er et simpelt program og lege lidt med og hvis man synes om hvad man har fået præsteret kan man vælge at uploade det til Hatena-hjemmesiden.

#29 - Skrevet 25-05-2012 20:50

Men øh, jeg kunne rent faktisk godt tænke mig at vide, hvad din historie egentlig går ud på? Det har altid været et mysterie for mig.

#30 - Skrevet 25-05-2012 21:59 - Redigeret 26-05-2012 08:45

Det er en udfordring for mig at sætte ord på min historie, da jeg selv oplever den ret flydende som den er skrevet. Her er et forsøg på en ligetil opsummering af historien indtil videre:

Kornelius er en sær lille mand, hvis største ønske er at få fat på et særligt sværd han har læst myter om. Det er alt han lever og ånder for og han ved ca. hvor sværdet befinder sig ude i de kolde ødemarker uden for landsbyen. Han udlover en dusør til den person, der kan give ham sværdet, hvilket Ian Junior reagerer på uden videre ved at tage chancen da hans far, Ian Senior, er dødeligt syg og de mangler penge til medicin. Ian Junior tilmelder også sin lillebror, som er historiens navnløse helt. De har imidlertid ingen idé om hvor farligt det iskolde miljø uden for landsbyen er. Storebror, Ian Junior, fryser ihjel og imidlertid bliver lillebror informeret om opgaven og gør sig klar til at tage afsted uvidende om sin brors skæbne. Kornelius går tydeligt på kompromis med moral og etik for at komme nærmere sværdet og er folk nødt til at dø før at han kan få det, er det sådan det må være.
Historiens hovedkarakter bevæger sig uden for landsbyen, hvor hans færd er skæbnebestemt til at skulle indeholde 3 møder:
1. møde er med en tilsyneladende gal man, der går til angreb på ham. Uden videre kommer helten til at skubbe manden ned i en iskold å, hvor han drukner eller fryser ihjel. Det er en chokerende hændelse.
2. møde er med "KunstTrotterne". En gruppe utopister, der har valgt at flygte ud i ødemarken, hvor de bor i klippehuler. De er besatte af kunst og æstetik og har ikke meget tilovers for typisk arbejde. Med deres tanker er de i stand til at skabe levende billeder, der svæver frit i luften. Prisen de betaler ved at leve gennem syner og illusioner er nedbrudte og skrøbelige kroppe og det går op for hovedkarakteren at de lever en selvdestruktiv tilværelse, hvorefter han flygter videre ud i ødemarken.
3. møde er med en ulv, der er i færd med at tygge sig igennem hans storebrors frosne lig. Han mister næsten besindelsen ved synet, men må handle hurtigt for ikke at ende som sin bror. Kornelius gav ham en særlig flaske med på rejsen som han drikker. Herefter opstår der et lag af flammer omkring ham og han er i stand til at løbe op ad et stejlt nærtliggende bjerg i flugt fra ulven.
Før han ved af det ligger han på toppen af bjerget, der er over skyerne, varmt, snefrit og med blå himmel. Han ligger først handlingslammet i sorg over sin storebrors død og i chok over alt han selv har været igennem.

(Kapitel XV opsamler de 3 møder:
[i]"Three faces he was bound to meet
Urine, blood and purple meat:

Glowing trails within the night
Covered under snowy vails
Ripped apart by teeth so white
Glistening from yellow trails
Purple piece of painless bliss
In a place that noone sees
All except for one who is
Painting with a purple piece
Finally a drop of red
Resting in a frozen cup
Crafted from a recent dead
Serving as the final drop

Destiny has sucked him dry
Calling for the best in him
Now he is resting in the sky
Sucking dry his destiny"[/i])

Endelig får han samlet sig igen og opdager sværdet han blev sendt afsted efter er plantet i jorden lige ved siden af ham. Han hiver sværdet op og bevæger sig mod kanten af bjergtoppen for at bevæge sig hjemad så han i det mindste vil kunne redde sin syge far.

Kortere sagt handler det indtil videre om en ung mand, der må bevæge sig udenfor sit barndomshjem og gå igennem mange tragedier for at skaffe et sværd, der vil give ham penge til at kunne kurere sin syge far.

Jeg kan forestille mig at skrivemåden er lige så mystisk som plottet og det er en helt anden historie i sig selv. Det har været mit forsøg at gøre fantasiverdenen til et ekspressionistisk sted for mig og ikke så meget en verden bundet af regler. Metaforer lever på en måde frit i naturen i historiens verden og kapitlerne kan til tider have form som en slags interessante udsnit af verden, som hjælper med at udtrykke det jeg vil udtrykke. Der er brudt med mange regler, såsom Kapitel XIV(3. møde - mødet med hans døde bror og den hektiske flugt fra ulven), der er udeladt fra historien af ren respekt for alt det hovedkarakteren har været igennem og for først at give ham "ro til at fordøje det hele". Mit forsøg var mere eller mindre at gøre hændelsen så klimatisk at historien ikke kunne rumme den. På samme måde er der kapitler i digtform, sangform, kapitler med metaforer, stemninger, beskrivelser og eksperimenter som kapitel X. Det giver fortællingen en speciel ramme, der i en eller anden forstand har form som nogle brikker man kan forsøge at samle som man vil for at skabe sig en større forståelse for verden og karaktererne.

Det er ikke et manifest jeg som sådan følger. En dag fik jeg bare lyst til at skrive et kapitel i den form og så har det ellers fortsat siden...