The Notorious Company of Minstrels

The last of Strumm's 3 surviving pieces of writing dating back to my Ultima Online addiction. This was to celebrate the creation of Strumm's own guild. It was neither notorious nor even really a company as such, it being mostly Strumm on his own with a few transitory members. But it was good fun to play the slightly eccentric British Bard (and maybe assassin too?) on the Pacific server in the USA.

The Notorious Company of Minstrels

This happy band of players has…
no reason to be gloomy.
For though much change is on the way...
Our Tower’s still awful roomy ;)

We have a healthy comradeship -
a sense of hope and honor.
And while the others fade away...
our guild will just get stronger.

Our aim is clear (our method's not!).
We don't yet have the skill.
To find first time an easy path…
that will not get us killed.

But watch this space my merry friends…
and do not get depressed.
For we shall go from strength to strength…
until we are the best.

We'll stare Old Evil in the face…
and dance around Good's table
And when we've earned the Land's renown..
we'll write our own damned fable!

The Assassination

During my addiction to Ultima Online, Strumm belonged to various groups of friends and adventurers and wrote epic poetry and tales of derring-do for many of them. They weren't really epic of course... but they were fun to write, they were part of my immersion in the character, and they jolly well FELT epic at the time I can tell you! Happily (or sadly, depending on your perspective) only 2 or 3 pieces of work remain. The Tavern, The Assassination, and The Notorious Company of Minstrels.

"The Assassination"

Written to spark off a role-playing war between WSK and MAR.
1st February 2000

Aware that communications had recently been received from the Marauding Orcs of Chaos, and having been trained to observe and record all that happens around me, I could not fail but to notice that three new runes had been locked to the floor of the Council Chambers. Of course, the surreptitious marking of runes is standard procedure before any official diplomatic business, but what was unusual on this occasion is the fact that rune-marking is my job - and I had had no part it in marking these!

Thus it was with these facts in mind, and having seen a diplomatic mission to 0RK announced on the WSK public scroll, I resolved to discover for myself what was going on...

Fully provisioned travelling packs are always available for instant re-equipping in times of emergency, and it was one of these I took for myself (along with a large bag of muffins from the kitchens) before settling into one shadowy corner of the Council chambers in order to watch - and perhaps to learn. No sooner had I slipped into a comfortable reverie when a faint rustle and almost imperceptible movement of air caused me to open one eye... just in time to see the familiar silhouette of Strumm materialise out of the gloom.

He padded purposely to his personal locker and removed an odd-shaped bundle wrapped in the coarse grey cloth of a death robe. Reverently, he placed the bundle on the pentagram and unwrapped it to reveal a full set of armour, each piece shimmering with a subtle magical aura. He gazed at it for a moment - as if somehow uncertain at what to do next - then with a nod and a distinct squaring of his shoulders Strumm threw off his battered and patched leather travelling armour and donned the shimmering metal suit. A faintly glowing shield and bright-bladed katana came next... but after the briefest of hesitations his official cape and boots were abandoned in an ugly heap upon the floor in favour of his now familiar dirty-golden garb. The words 'Kal Ort Por' were quietly whispered, and Strumm faded from view.

Startled by his sudden disappearance I ran to the Pentagram, and scanned the runes... 'MAR (inside west gate)', 'MAR (on west platform)', or 'MAR (walk due north from this road)' ? For Strumm to follow his own rules he must have taken the latter route, thereby allowing his hosts to hear and see him approach in peace. The remaining two locations HAD to be inside the 0rc Fort itself (how he had acquired them I didn't dare consider)... but I knew I would have to choose one (and fast) if I was to discover more. I growled the magic words as one might mutter a curse, pulling my hood over my head and equipping my wickedly sharpened poisoned dagger as I did so. Then, as I felt myself being pulled into the target location I crouched low and hid. Luck and the Virtues were with me and I disappeared from sight before I had fully materialised in the half light of a rough wooden platform within the fort.

As I raised a gloved hand to my mouth against the stench of orc, I could hear the lilting strains from a strummed lute approaching steadily from the South East. Momentarily dazzled by the flames and choked by the rancid smoke which curled skywards from a great campfire in the centre of the earthen yard, I squinted and took a moment to adjust my eyes to the shadowy recesses along each wall. Whilst two huge orcs wrestled in plain view beside the leaping flames, I began to pick out several pairs of pig-like eyes blinking from the shadows... and I knew fear for my comrade Strumm.

The hypnotic music grew louder still and as if seized by the same thought as I, the wrestlers clasped each other by the forearm and stalked towards the gate in the Eastern palisade. One by one the eyes watching from the shadows blinked shut so as not to reflect the firelight. The forest grew suddenly quiet, and the orcs glanced nervously at one another... and then a smiling Strumm strode into view, helm held loosely under one arm. A slight bow (his eyes holding theirs all the while) and then, drawing himself up to his full height, Strumm crashed his right hand
and forearm against his armoured chest - half in salute, half in challenge - causing the birds nesting in the trees above to flee in squawking panic.

"Hail - I am Strumm, servant of my Lord Dodd and the Knights of the Winter's Storm. I come in peace to meet with Olog, Chaos Shaman of Azkarath. Please announce me." Perhaps seeing whatever passes for hesitation on the Orcish faces before him, he grinned and continued in less resonant tones; "Quick as you like now lads. I am expected..."

The Orcs parted and gestured between them towards the gate from whence they had come. They barked and grunted all the while in the most threatening of tones (although I cannot myself ever remember hearing Orcish spoken politely), but if this affected Strumm in any way I could not tell for the flames cast flickering shadows across his face as he strode in my direction, his back to the orcs as they followed in step behind him. Each step seemed inordinately loud as his armoured feet trod heavily through the detritus strewn over the dusty yard. He entered the circle of light cast by the yellowing flames and stopped, his eyes searching the shadows as if for an answer to some private question.

As Strumm turned to face the orcs, I could see that his golden cloak no longer obscured the keen bladed katana which hung by his side. The taller of the orcs stepped forward and snarled.... "Whut yuz wunt wit da orcs dum hummie? Yuz come to loose yuz mal? Azkarath nub neeb to deal with yuz stinky humies. Yuz stand in da orc's way! Olog tell yuz to come hereso yuz can be da furst to die! Whereupon the sound of metal against metal flayed my already tattered nerves as more orcs shuffled out from the shadows, weapons drawn, their fangs dripping horribly in the unsteady light. With the whimpering and snarling of hungry orks all around Strumm managed nevertheless to resist the temptation to check behind him or to his sides. .

"Clomp..." growled Olog as he gazed disdainfully upon the lute hanging carelessly from the Bard's belt "...to da death"

"I regret Sir that that is out of the question..." Strumm replied "... as my oath to Dodd and the Knights insists that I fight with honour and fairness at all times". The snarling and derisive laughter whipped cruelly around him until, in a clear steel-edged voice, he continued "...but perhaps if I despatch all of your kind that I see before me now, I shall not be reprimanded too heavily". A deathly silence caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise, and the deadly poisoned dagger almost slipped from my unresponsive fingers as I watched (in what seemed to be slow motion) Olog raise his weapon and bring it down with killing force... into the place where Strumm had been standing a split second before.

Strumm danced behind that foulest of orcs, and laid his filthy shoulder open even unto the bone, then as Olog swung his mace back towards him, Strumm dropped to the ground, reversed his katana and hammered the hilt cruelly into the fetid and quivering belly before him. His blow had barely connected when a second mace came hissing from behind, and although he managed to turn his head at the last moment, it connected with enough force to send him spinning across that hateful ground. Although he sprang to his feet swiftly enough, the shaking of his head released bright rivulets of blood which escaped his helm and worked their hungry way down the shining metal on his chest. Then with a roar the surrounding orcs seethed in upon the disorientated Strumm, at first faltering as his flashing blade despatched two eager orcs in close succession, and then alas he was submerged beneath a boiling flood. Bloodied weapons rose and fell upon the stricken form for what seemed an eternity, until at last with a bloodcurdling cry a mailed and blood-drenched fist was raised triumphantly aloft clutching in it's grimy fingers the pale bald head of that gentlest of bards. With a satisfied grunt the murdering orc flung the coldly staring head to land with a thud at the feet of Olog who allowed a vicious smile to curl the corners of his slavering mouth before retrieving it and stuffing it carelessly into the discoloured sack hanging from his belt.

"Now da battle wit da hummies begins! Azkarath's promise of da blood is here!"

The ensuing silence seemed deafening, despite the clearly audible rasping of foul orcish breath rising as steam into the cool evening air. An orc with a bleeding face kicked angrily at the corpse of the fallen Strumm, as another hawked loudly and spat the bloody mess upon the ground. Suddenly, a horse whinnied nearby, and the tiredness appeared to drop from their orcish forms as they held their faces to the sky and howled "GRRRUB!!!!!" before scrambling over each other to be outside the fort and first to the kill.

© Strumm 2000

The Tavern

When I was 8, my older brother introduced me to Dungeons and Dragons. We were both at different boarding schools at the time so for most of the year we lived away from home. The holidays, when they did come around, seemed long and friendless.

My parents had enough money to send us away to private school, but not enough to compete with the other rich-kids who went home to posh pads in London where they did 'Town' and socialised and rode ponies and stuff (or so I imagined). We didn't live anywhere near these perceived hives of quality holiday activity so when we went home we didn't know the other kids our age. They wouldn't have wanted to hang around with us anyway because to them WE were the posh ones. Apart from Vincent. He was ok. Bit strange with a big nose and perpetually scruffy hair. He used to hang about with me sometimes, but that was probably because he didn't seem to have other friends either. I saw him recently (saw - not met). 25 years on. Looks the same as he did when he was a kid. But I digress.

So holidays were filled by days (often weeks) on end of 10-sided dice and hand-painted lead figures. It's a wonderful thing a child's imagination and those were happy days. I even remember the name of my favorite (and most successful) character: Grub, a dwarf. In time we progressed onto war games: Avalon Hill's Squad Leader and the like. But we always came back, and even after we'd left school we'd drag my wife (who survived) and his girlfriend (who didn't) along to whole Dungeons and Dragons days, played with a small select group of acquaintances. We ate beans on toast (always).

My brother and I eventually fell out, and Dungeons and Dragons Days faded away... to be replaced (in my case at least) by MUD's! Multi User Dungeons. These were online worlds which required greater reserves of imagination even than books and lead figures. Sat there late at night (because the servers were all in the USA) glued to a mono VDU (orange or white text on black, no graphics at all except pictures made-up of cleverly arranged letters), reading off line after line of text like "You are in a strange room. 14 feet by 18 feet. Door south, closed. Door north, open. You hear nothing. You smell rotting aspidestra. There is a table. And a chair. You have 72 health."... and marvelling at the technology which made such things possible.

And from there, eight years ago (September 1998 to be precise), when I was old enough to know better but too young to have grown out of it, I started playing Ultima Online. This was (and still is) Dungeons and Dragons writ large. A graphical online game that kept me addicted for a couple of years, during which time my character Strumm (for it is he) became an accomplished assassin and musician - a Bard - with his own virtual Tower (Large) bought from the proceeds of slightly dodgy virtual property deals. But at the start he made his first friends at a player-run tavern called The Gathered Spirits. The player who ran it was Juffa Archui, and Strumm's finest Bardic triumph was a poem he wrote in celebration of his new found home.

This was featured on the Ultima Online homepage at one stage, and I was astonished today to find that it's still there. Isn't the internet amazing? For those unfamiliar with the world of Ultima Online, 'reds' were characters who had been classed as murderers for slaughtering innocent player-characters and who could be attacked on sight, 'blues' were innocent player-characters the murderers of whom were penalised (by being turned red), and greys were player-characters who had committed minor misdemeanors (like theft) and could temporarily be attacked by other players without penalty.

Ahem

I said to the man as we passed on the road,
"Pray where are you headed with that heavy load?"
He replied with a wave of his rough calloused hand,"
This ale's on it's way to t'best pub in the Land."

"Surely not on your own Sire?" with a chuckle I said,
(for t'was less than hour since I'd run from a red!).
But he laughed with a gust of breath laden with beer,
And declared "My young Minstrel you're in no danger here"

"For though quite accustomed to steel at my side,
To not have to draw it is a matter of pride.
We are neutral you see an' it don't matter to us
if you're red, blue or grey boy, long as none make a fuss"

"Fair enough" I replied, and thrust out a hand,
And made my first friend in this dangerous land.
"I would see for myself of this place you describe...
for I'm parched and quite starving (only barely alive)"

With a smile shining bright from his ruddy complexion,
He assured me of warmth and a friendly reception.
And he made me so welcome as he led the way
That I became a 'Gathered Spirit' and remain so today.

© Strumm, 2000
A minstrel who nearly wandered past.

I thank you. *bows*

I've been Spooked

I'm 37. I spent the first 12 years of my life believing in the unviolable authority of the state. Soldiers and Policemen were people to be admired. Politicians were important and 'in charge', and this meant that they must somehow also be 'good people'... to be looked up to. Criminals were sent briskly off to jail where they'd wear suits with arrows on. Nice people couldn't be. In fact, policemen probably knuckled their foreheads to nice people.

From 13 and 18 I thought I was a rebel. Anti Vivisection marches, membership of Red Wedge, and a stern warning from the Police for receiving stolen goods (I was too young to be arrested and besides... I was at a very good private boarding school). Cushioned as I was by the safety-net of what it meant to be British and free I thought I was pretty cool and cutting-edge by rebelling against 'authority'.

Then I left school, turned my back on an offer to go to university, and got a job... followed in my early 20's by a wife and (later) by three kids. There was too little time or money to be worrying about politics or rebellion. I can remember slowly drifting away from my fake silver-spoon Socialism and reactionary views at around the same sort of pace as New Labour drifted into the centre. By the late 1990's, when I had enough time and money to think about more than just day-to-day survival, I was right back where I started. The State was quite rightly in charge and, judging from the spotty teenage boys spitting and swearing on street corners all around the country, quite frankly people probably had too much freedom.

It made perfect sense to intervene militarily in the Middle East, and our police and security services were doing a super job in a difficult world. Politicians who proposed legislation to tighten this law, or close that loophole, or trim that civil liberty were just right-thinking, progressive and courageous. After all, what is the point of a civil liberty that no-one cares about if it let's in bad sorts who want bomb us and poison us? If the police feel they need to hold onto some clearly rather dodgy characters for a few weeks, why not let them? And does everyone really need trial by jury? For goodness sake! I admit it. I've been becoming an old codger. On the one hand I've never really felt that I was a proper grown-up, but on the other my opinions (in some areas at least) have clearly becoming old and conservative and a bit grumpy.

Now I'm not a big TV watcher. I do like the news (BBC 24, not ITN - I don't like being told what my opinions are before I've seen the facts). I'll also sometimes watch the early heats of Xfactor. Have I got News for You and Little Britain of course, and anything with Stephen Fry in it (ever seen QI?). And I like Spooks. Spooks is a BBC drama series about MI5 and jolly good it is too. Rip-roaring stuff with spys and guns and wire-taps and and dangerous foreigners and plucky women putting themselves in peril in the name of protecting us British citizens.

I watched episodes 1 and 2 of Spooks Series 5 on Sunday and it scared me into re-evaluating my perspective on the whole Civil Liberties thing. I kid you not. I actually sat there and thought "Oh My God..." (I'm not a believer by the way - it's just an expression) "...how thin the line is between where we are now and the day when I could be locked-up for expressing the wrong opinion!". I suddenly understand why bearded men in sandals and women in hairy shirts and tie-dye skirts spit and scream and fight so vociferously in defence of every civil liberty, however apparently insignificant.

Today I will buy sandals. I already have the beard.

BT Broadband Nightmare

Up to close-of-business on Tuesday my 2mb BT Broadband connection was working fine. Tuesday night it was 'upgraded' to 8mb (which I'd ordered by telephone 10 days previously). Which is why, by the time I got to work on Wednesday I couldn't connect to the internet at all. Obviously. Much hilarity all round. Why is it that my 'improvements' never improve anything?

I telephone 0845 600 7020 and eventually speak to Stuart. Stuart tells me that I can't connect because the 2 year old router supplied when I first subscribed can't cope with the new higher broadband speed. The fact that the 'newer broadband speed' is currently zero slips past him without comment. Apparently a new router should have been sent out by the upgrade team but hadn't been... and the only way I can get connected the same day is if go out and buy a new router myself. Which I do. £150. Still can't connect though and after checking the line with a spare handset realise that there's no dial-tone.

Telephone 0845 600 7020 again and after much waiting on hold am told that the information I was given earlier may or not be correct, but they can't be sure as there is now a fault on the line at the exchange. I get a reference number. I'm initially told it'll take 24-48 hours to be resolved but am eventually assured that I have some sort of premium service in place which meant it'd be dealt with 'expeditiously' within the next 4 hours. It isn't. Obviously.

On my way into work on Thursday 14th September I get a phone call saying that the fault on the line has been fixed, and could I please check it. No I can't because I'm in the car driving to work. Can the lady telephone back in 20 minutes? Yes of course! Can she my arse. I get no call back and on arriving in work find that whilst there is indeed now a dial-tone on the line, there's still no broadband service - which is what my original complaint was about.

Telephone 0845 600 7020 again and after an interminably long wait eventually speak to someone who says they can 'see the line-fault on the system' but no record of a fault on our broadband service. I describe everything that has happened thus far - again - and am then told that there are 'synchronisation issues' at the exchange. This will be resolved within 48 hours, but I'll get regular updates.

On Friday, having had no updates, I telephone 0845 600 7020 again. Simon. Still no broadband-related fault booked on 'the system'. I can't revert to the original level of service I'd had before the 'upgrade' and resolution of the current fault could now take up to 5 days. "But Simon, my business survives on internet sales! Pretty please can I speak to a supervisor? A manager? Anyone able to make decisions?" I'm eventually (and I do mean eventually) 'permitted' to speak to Daniel. Which I'm proud of. I describe the entire saga again and Daniel the Supervisor takes my mobile number and gives his word that he would 'look into it' and telephone me back - definitely by the end of the day but most likely within a couple of hours. Good man.

No call from Daniel or anyone else, either on Friday or over the weekend. I telephone 0845 600 7020 a fourth time. No-one has even heard of Daniel. As he doesn't exist I'm half tempted to add his surname here - but I won't just in case he does exist and is a nice man in real life. Once again I relate the entire series of events from the start, and once again I'm told that no broadband-related fault had been logged. But I'm given a second different reference number (hurray) and am told that the fault on our line - which no-one knows enough about to describe or even name it to me - will be resolved in an unspecified period of time, and that I may possibly receive a telephone call with an update at some point. Or not.

I've had to go out and buy dial-up modems for all our computers just to give everyone something to do. This is like having to walk from Bristol to London instead of taking the car. Perfectly feasable, but completely pointless.