Way Old Books and Weird Old Languages

[Talorcen]

I start a new thread here, because I think the discussion is better conducted outside the Friendly Tavern.


We talked about the Song of Roland yesterday. It is a famous text for those who study Mediaeval literature, though not exactly as well known as, say, the Illiad. I'll tell you a bit about it.

Historical background:

Already Charlemagne's grandfather had fought the Musulmans in Spain, and Charlemagne himself wanted to build a Spanish marche, or mark* to secure his frontier. He got the chance in 778, when a Musulman Prince asked him for help against a rival. The campaign was not exactly a success, though a mark was indeed established. On his way back through the Pyrenées, Charlemagne's rearguard was ambushed, probably by allied Saracens and Basques, and a great number of men was killed and the train lost.

It was a defeat which the contemporary Annals and Charlemagne's biographer Eginhard (Vita Karoli Magni) tried to minimize. Eginhard mentions a certain "Hruodlandus Brittannici limitis praefectus" (Roland, count of the Breton mark) among the fallen noblemen.

But ony a hundred years later, history had become legend, and the defeat a victory ("victor in patriam reversus est" - he returned home as the victor, Annales Mettenses (and don't get me started on the reliability of Mediaeval sources :) ).

And in the late 11th century, legend had turned into literature.


* Derived from Ancient Germanic marka, it means the frontier districts in the Realm of the Franks since the time of Charlemagne until appr. the 12th century (there is still a Mark Brandenburg in Germany, east of Berlin). Tolkien uses the word in "Riddermark", and when you look at its history you'll see the connection: it was given to the Rohirrim by the kings of Gondor for just that purpose: to defend the frontier.

At the time of Charlemagne the marks or marches were Brittany, Northern Spain (against the Musulmans) and the Eastmark (along the German rivers Ruhr and Weser) against the heathen Saxons. The marches were governed by margraves (Markgrafen, Latin: marchiones), a position more powerful than that of a count because it included military leadership outside the borders of the realm.

[Talorcen]

The Song of Roland - summary:

For seven years, Charlemagne conducts a war of atrition in Spain. The Saracen king Marsilius offers a peace treaty, he will swear fealty and receive baptism, if Charlemagne leaves the country. The message is discussed in the Emperor's council. Since Marsilius has killed envoys before, the mission to conduct the negotiations is dangerous. Roland, Charlemagne's nephew, volunteers, and so does his friend Olivier. But the Emperor will have none of this; choose "un barun de ma marche," he says. Roland suggests his stepfather Ganelon, margrave of Brittany (their relationship is not the best). Ganelon is furious, but has to accept the mission. He threatens revenge.

So, he cooks up a plan with Marsilius to accept Charlemagne's conditions to get rid of him. But the Emperor will leave a rearguard that is to be led by Roland, and that force Marsilius might overcome after a hard battle. When his nephew and all the pairs are killed, Charlemagne will give in and leave Spain to him. This plan is accepted and Ganelon comes out of his embassy not only alive but with a nice amount of gold, too.


I will get a bit more detailed from here on; and I deliberately use a somewhat epic language I don't use in my fictions.

"Halt sunt li pui et li val tenebrus,
Les roches bises, les destreiz merveilluz."
(High are the mountains and deep the glens, the stones are grey and the passes narrow.)

The emperor returns to France. When the Franks reach Gascony and see their own country before them they weep with gratitude. The emperor returns to France but his heart his heavy. His nephew he has left behind and the twelfe pairs. The emperor returns to France but tears are falling on his white beard. He has dreamt that Roland and the pairs will die. Ganleon will betray him, gold and good he received for it.

Olivier ascends a high mountain and sees the plains of Spain filled with Saracens, their golden helmets glittering, their brocade banners flowing, their lances sharp and their mailcoats strong. He cannot count their numbers.
Olivier speaks to Roland, his friend, "The power of the heathens is great and the number of the Franks but small. Roland, my friend, blow your horn Olifant. King Charlemagne will hear it and come back to our aid."
Roland answers, "God may prevent that my family and sweet France will suffer dishonour for my sake. Nay, I will fight with my sword Durendal, and it will be red from blood. Brave are the knights from sweet France and valorously they will fight. To meet destruction the heathens have come hither."
Olivier says, "No dishonour will there be. I have seen the Saracens. Hills and valleys, mountains and glens are filled with them. Great are the forces of the enemy, only small in numbers is our host."
Roland replies, "My courage will be the greater for this. God and his angels will not suffer to see the honour of sweet France diminished because of me. Rather I will die than to be subject to blame and dishonour".

Roland is brave and Olivier is wise. Both of them have wondrous courage. They are armed and mounted and never will they shrink from battle, be death prepared for them. Courageous are the friends and their words are proud. "For our liegelord we must endure heat and cold, wounds and death. Let us take our weapons and be ready for battle. To die here we will prove us to be valorous and worthy knights and faithful vassals of our great king".

The Franks mount their swift running horses. As befitting knights, they are armed for battle and ready for battle they are. Roland rides throught the pass on his steed Veillantif, swinging his lance. Graceful is his bearing, serene is his face. Olivier, his friend, rides behind him. The host of the knights from sweet France follows. Far is their battle-cry to be heard, "Monjoie!" they cry, the trumpets sound in the deep valley. They gallop swiftly, their lances ready for charge, their blazoned shields held on their left arms, their helmets and mailcoats gleaming brightly. Brave they are and fierce to beheld.

Brave are the heathens, too, and eager for battle. The Saracen Aelroth rides foremost and calls to Roland, "Silly are you Franks and stupid is your king to have left you behind on this place. Today France will loose its honour and Charlemagne his right arm."
When Roland hears this he is overcome by grieve. He spurs his steed, and mightily Veillantif runs forward. With all his power Roland thrusts his lance through the body of Aelroth. He cloves his shield, cuts open his chain mail and pierces the chest and breaks his backbone. With his lance Roland tears out Aelroth's soul from his body. With all his force he stabs him and Aelroth falls off his horse. His neck is broken.
Roland says, "You rascal, never has Charlemagne been stupid. As a wise king he acted when he left us behind. France will not lose its honour today. Go on, brave knights, the first stroke has been ours, and the right is on our side."


There follows the description of a number of single combats that I will not give in detail since they are all modeled according to the same mould (shields cloven and helmets cut, mailcoats torn apart, Saracens dying, brain and blood and broken bones covering the ground). Things go very bad for the Saracens at first but since there are so many of them, after a time things begin to go bad for the Christians, too:


More severe the battle becomes. Heathens and Christians alike are fighting valorously, the ones attack, the others defend. Many a lance is broken and many a shield cloven, many a sword red from blood. Many young Franks meet their death at Roncesvals. Never will they see their wifes and mothers again, never will they return to sweet France.

Roland sees his friends and compagnons dying and speaks to Olivier, "Noble friend, so many valorous knights are lying dead on the field. For sweet France I weep, bereft of the flower of its youth. For my king I weep, suffering from the loss of his host. I will blow my horn Olifant, and king Charlemagne will hear it. He will hear it and come back to our succour."
Olivier replies, "You speak idly, compagnon, you did not blow your horn when I told you so. Now the host of the Franks is lying dead on the green field of Roncesvals by your fault. Your pride it was that caused their dead. We will die on this spot and never again shall Charlemagne receive help from our valour. Too late you would now blow your horn."
Turpin hears them. A wise man the archbishop is, and he says "Never could Charlemagne return in time to help us. But you shall blow the Olifant, and the king will hear it and come back to revenge our death. The king will find our bodies and bring them back to sweet France and bury them in sacred earth."
Roland says, "Wisely you speak". He puts the horn to his mouth and delivers a mighty blow. High are the mountains and far the sound carries.

Roland blows the Olifant with all his strength and great pain. Brightly the blood is gushing from his mouth and his brain nearly breaks. Mightily the call resounds in the mountains.
Far away Charlemagne hears it. He says "Never would Roland have blown like this was he not heavily beset by the enemy."
Ganelon says, "A fool is Roland and for nothing he blows his horn."
Roland blows the Olifant with great pain and effort. The veins on his temples are bleeding.
Charlemagne hears it and the Franks. Naimes speaks "This sound lasts a long time. Verily, Roland fights a great battle. Return and ride to his help! The one who gives you a different advise is a traitor."
Charlemagne has the traitor Ganelon taken and bound.

The king has his trumpets blown and his knights armed. The Franks mount their steeds. Late is the day and the evening sun is shining. Brightly the helmets glitter, red-golden the chainmail coats gleam, golden the lances reflect the setting sun in a fiery shine. Red is the glare on the banners and shields. Forward the host rides. Forward the king spurs his horse in great anger, weeping for Roland and the pairs. Forward the host rides, their tears are falling. Great anguish they feel for Roland.

"Halt sunt li pui e tenebrus e grant,
Li val parfunt e les ewes curant."
(High are the mountains and dark and towering, the glens deep and the rivers swift.)

Roland sees so many noble Franks dead on the green fields of Roncesvals. Great is his sorrow. "O noble knights, faithful vasalls of king Charlemagne, bad fate has brought you here. So many lands and realms you have conquered for your king and now you lay dead on the green fields of Roncesvals. Alas, for my sake you have died and no help could I give you. May God receive you in Paradise."

Another host of Saracens remains, more than fifty thousend, big-nosed, large-eared, black as ink, their teeth the only white spot on them. When Roland beholds them he says, "Sure is our death today."
More terrible the battle becomes. All the Franks fall save Roland, Olivier, and Turpin. But finally death even comes to them. The Calife attacks Olivier from behind and thrusts his spear through his body. Olivier feels that he has taken deadly wound. He grasps his sword with both hands, turns round and cuts the Calife's head off. "Monjoie," he cries and calls to Roland, his friend, for help.


(to be continued)

[Talorcen]

OK folks, anyone interested in this? Yesterday, there were a few. :)

[Talorcen]

The wrath of battle is upon Olivier, mightily he fights in a last effort. Roland beholds his friend, wounded, on the threshold of death. So afflicted he is by sorrow that he faints in his saddle.
Olivier feels death to be close. He dismounts and lowers himself on the ground. His hands fold in prayer he confesses his sins aloud. He prays God to bless him and Charlemagne, sweet France and his dearest friend Roland. His heart ceases to beat. Olivier is no more.
Noble Olivier lays dead on the green fields of Roncesvals. Roland, his friend, weeps for him. Never has a man been seen more afflicted by sorrow. A burden life will be for him furthermore.

More enemies come and heavily beset is Roland. He blows his horn Olifant a last time, weak and dying is the sound.
Charlemagne hears it from afar and says, "Verily, Roland is leaving us today. I can hear it by the sound of his horn. Make haste that we reach him." The Franks blow their trumpets, they resound in the glen. The host rides through the glen, weeping.

The Saracens are terrified, king Charlemagne is coming! Away from the green fields of Roncesvals they flee.

Roland cannot follow them. His horse, swift Veillantif, is dead. Dead is Olivier, dead are all the Franks. Roland alone is left and the archbishop Turpin, mortally wounded.
Roland walks alone over the battlefield and searches for his compagnons. He looks on the hills and in the glens. The pairs he finds and his friend Olivier, dearest of all. He brings them all and puts them to rest close to the bishop. Olivier he carries on his arms, his heart is full of sorrow. Never has a friend been so dear to him.

Death comes to Roland, too. He takes his sword, the noble blade Durendal. To a rock of marble he walks. On a green hill it lies, two beautiful trees grow beside it. When he reaches the hill, Roland faints again, for death is near him. A black-hearted Saracen approaches and tries to take the sword.
But Roland awakes. His horn Olifant he smashes upon the heathen's head with such a force that he sinks dead before his feet. But alas, Olifant is cloven, never again will it sound in the glens of sweet France accompagnying the hunt of the deer.
Roland takes Durendal. Three times he tries to break it upon the marble stone, three times the blade remains unscathed.
Roland complains, "Durendal, my noble blade! When I am dead you will be the booty of some Saracen to my shame. Durendal, so many countries I have conquered with your help. All these realms are now in the power of King Charles with the white beard. O Durendal, noble blade, bright are you and beautiful, glittering in the sun. Charlemagne gave you to me when he made me a knight. Durendal, how beautiful you are and holy, reliques are enclosed in your hilt from Jerusalem and Constantinople. No heathen shall ever possess you, no coward."

Roland feels death coming. He lowers himself upon the green grass, his sword and his cloven horn he puts beside himself. His head is turned towards Spain. He folds his hands in prayer and confesses his sins, so many brave knights have died because of his pride. He turns his right hand towards heaven as token of eternal vassality to God. He remembers sweet France, he remembers his king and lord, he remembers his betrothed, Aude the beautiful, sister of Olivier.
The archangel Gabriel descends and receives the glove. The angels carry Roland's soul to Paradise. Dead is Roland.

Dead is Roland. Charlemagne arrives at Roncesvals. The ground is so covered with dead knights that no grass is to be seen.
King Charles cries, "Where are you, dear nephew, where are you, Oliver and noble Turpin. Where are all my pairs, that I left behind!"
But no answer there is. Charlemagne weeps and tears his white beard in desperation. His knights are weeping, tears are falling from their eyes. So beset with sorrow they are that they fall fainting on the ground.

Low is the sun and red the mountains gleam, night will soon come. Charlemagne kneels in prayer upon the green grass and asks God to gain him to revenge his fallen friends. And, behold! An angel appears and says, "Ride, Charlemagne, for light will not fail you."
A miracle God did for king Charles with the white beard, for the sun did not set until he had reached the host of the Saracens. They chase them to the river Ebro, killing many of them. Others drown in the river. The heathens are no more. Charlemagne kneels again and thanks God.
The sun sinks and night comes. The host of the Franks dismount, tired they are and full of sorrow. They sleep on the ground.

Charlemagne awakes in the morning. Together with his entourage he rides back to Roncesvals. A long way they ride, and heavy are their hearts.
The plain is covered with the fallen, red is the grass on the fields of Roncesvals. He finds the rock upon which Roland in vain tried to break Durendal. He finds Roland, lying dead in the grass. Mightily, sorrow grips the emperor, he rushes forward, he embraces his dead nephew in his arms. Fainting he falls over the body of Roland. Charlemagne softly begins to mourn. "Friend Roland, never has a better knight been than you. My honour has ended now I have lost you. You fought the battles for me, you conquered the countries for me. Alas, none will be there to hold my banner high, to defend my honour, to defend sweet France." His white beard the king tears in despair. With both his hands he tears his long white hair.
"Friend Roland, when I return to sweet France you are no longer at my side. No day will pass when I will not weep and mourn you. In everlasting sorrow I will reign my realm. Dead is Roland, my nephew dear, my protector. The Saxons will rebel against me, the Hungarians will fight me and the people from Apulia and Rome. Many a heathen folk will threathen my kingdom. My sufferings will begin then. Who will guide my host with such strength and braveness when dead is the only one who lead them all the times."
Despair has gripen the emperor, despair fills the hearts of the Franks. The host has arrived on the bloodstained fields of Roncesvals, weeping.

King Charlemagne wants to leave the mountains and glens of Ronvcesvals. Two heathens suddenly appear before him, messengers of king Baligant. "Proud king, a vilain you would be to flee from here. King Baligant arrives with a mighty army to do battle upon you. We now will see whether you truly are a knight."
King Charles remembers his sorrow and his loss. Proudly he regards his people, then he cries aloud, "Barons Franceis, as chevals et as armes!"

Charlemagne arms himself. His chainmail he puts on and his helmet, his sword Joyeuse he girds. Brighter than the sun it shines. King Charles mounts his horse and takes his lance.
All the Franks equip themselves. Bright chainmail they have, swift horses and noble arms. They all know that today they will revenge the death of Roland. When Charlemagne sees this splendid host his heart is filled with pride.
The host of the Frank rides forward. Clear the trumpets sound. On they ride through the glens and across the mountains until they reach the plains of Spain. There they meet the armies of king Baligant. A noble and worthy knight Baligant were if only he had the Christian faith. He thinks that without Roland and the pairs they can beat Charlemagne.

Great and beautiful both armies are. Now hinder is between them, neither river nor hill nor wood. The golden Oriflamme of the Franks is displayed by the wind and the dragon banner of the heathens flows fiery red.

"Grant est la plaigne et large la ****ree [...]
Clers fut li jurz et li soleilz luisanz."
(Great is the plain and wide the country ... Clear was the day and the sun was bright.)

Both kings encourage their people, the hosts meet, galloping towards each other, their lances ready, their swords drawn. Hard is the battle and fierce the fighting. The ground is covered with cloven shields, broken swords and the bodies of the dead warriors from both sides.
Never has a battle been so severe. Great are the armies and the knights are brave. Noble are the kings to beheld, they encourage the warriors. Until the evening the battle lasts.

In a final effort king Baligant attacks king Charlemagne in person. In the middle of the field they meet. Mightily they fight, the blows of the swords upon the shields resound. So greatly they fight that both fall off their horses on the ground. Both they rise again and continue to fight. Brave are the kings and equal is their strength. Their shields are cloven into pieces, they fight body to body, fire sparkling off their helmets when they are hit by the swords.
Alas! The great king trembles! But God does not want his hero to fall, he sends his angel Gabriel to the earth. When Charlemagne sees the angel he recovers and strength returns to him. A final blow he gives Baligant with his bright blade Joyeuse that cuts the helmet and cloves his head all down to the neck. Baligant falls dead on the ground.

[Talorcen]

When the heathens see this they flee terrified. In hot pursuit the Fanks follow them all the way to Saragossa. Their tears they remember and their sorrow about the loss of Roland and the pairs. Revenge they will have! They break the doors of many-towered Saragossa. Proudly Charlemagne rides into the town, proudly his host rides with him, rejoicing.


I'll leave out the process of Ganelon, because it includes feudal problems which I might explain later. Let's only say he is finally condemned to death.

Four horses are brought forward onto which Ganelon is tied with hands and feet. Then they are guided in opposite directions. Ganelon, the traitor, is torn into pieces, his red blood flows on the green grass. His dead is the just punishment for his blackhearted treason. Justice has Charlemagne delivered and Spain he has conquered and the power of the heathen Saracens he has diminished.
Night envelops the earth. The noble king sleeps in his chamber. The angel Gabriel appears in the name of God and thus speaks, "Charles, call thee together the armies of thy realm and ride thee forth to the kingdom of Bire to aid king Vivien." Loth is the king to go forth. "God", says the king, "how tiresome is my life". He weeps, and his white beard he tears.


OK, while I have tried to keep the language somewhat epic in style, this has saved you to read the even more epic original (or rather, an English translation of the Anglonorman French text). :)

The "Song of Roland" is a so-called chanson de geste and differs from the Arthurian epics by Chretien de Troyes (and his successors). In the next part, I will explain what exactly that means - provided there is some interest. ;)

[Tar-Vanimelde]

Oh, I wish I had time to read this now! I'll be back, I swear! This is a brilliant idea, Talo! Bravo

#Vani

[Tar-Vanimelde]

Wow. I hope you keep going, even if it is just for me. This is really intersting, and I love the fact that you've kept it somewhat in the style of an epic. The explaination of 'mark' and 'march' makes sense, and it explains Tolkien. I loved the line from Charlemagne about how his honor is gone now that Roland is dead. How moving!
I also loved how you put in bits of old french (?), it shows the flavor of the work. Please, more?

#Vani

[Tar-Vanimelde]

Tal? Are you about? I'd love to hear more about this, it's really interesting, and you are very well informed ;)

#Vani

[Shieldmaiden]

Aye, we just finished with Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in English class, and I'd love to learn about other stories because I find the old English lore to be really cool...please continue!

[Talorcen]

I have been away for a few days. Went to see the Nibelungen Exhibition in Karlsruhe - there's another way old text - a number of manuscripts of a way old text, to be exact. ;)

I'll be back with a bit about the "Song of the Niblungs" soon.

[Tar-Vanimelde]

Yay!! Sounds wonderful :grin:

How was the exhibit? It sounds perfect for you

#Vani

[Talorcen]

The Nibelungen Exhibition - some random impressions:

I have returned from the Nibelungen Exhibition in Karlsruhe. Fortunately, without a plot bunny. Stephen Grundy ("Attila's Treasure" and "Rhinegold") already has written two great novels dealing with the Niblung subject, so I'm not tempted. It is the same with the Arthurian stuff - there are so many books, good and bad, that I don't feel inclined to add to the list.

The exhibits (from the 5th century where the original Burgundians and Huns lived to the 13th where the "Song of the Niblungs" was written) were interesting, and to see the three major manuscripts of the "Song of the Niblungs" at one place was great. There wasn't that much traffic in that room, most people were more interested in the artefacts. I also visited the Department for Roman findings of the Badisches Landesmuseum, and the next day those in the Ettlinger Schloss. It is always an amazing feeling to see things people in former times have used, and it helps me as a writer to imagine past worlds.

13th century swords were amazingly small, the handholt so short I could have held it, but not a man from our time. We tend to forget that, because swords made for re-enactments and such are adapted to the size of todays poeple, even if based upon ancient models. Strangely, 5th century swords were larger. As if people in the 5th century were taller and stouter than in the 13th. Maybe, they were.

Also a 13th century pot helmet (one of the five originals still existing in the world) is a rather tiny thing. There also was a Norman-style conical helmet with nasal that would have been too small for me to wear. And that struck me a bit, since I in Bannockburn had worn the replica of the helmet of Robert the Bruce, which also is made in that style, only with an additional chain mail neck protection. That one suited me perfectly, though it was very heavy (I wouldn't have wanted to fight the whole day wearing it). I suppose Robert the Bruce was a tall man for his time. His battle axe proves that, too.

But it seems Siegfrid and Gunther were no taller than I (5.7''), maybe even shorter, and had small hands. I remember I have read about this, but it always strucks me when I see the actual evidence in museums. We are so used to think in our measures.

[Tar-Vanimelde]

Wow, that seems like a really interesting exhibit. I think I would have been tempted to spend more time with you in the manuscripts room than looking at swords and all that kind of thing. I know next to nothing about them, so they wouldn't have meant much to me. The whole size thing is neat, I guess I knew that they were smaller then, but I never carried that thought through to the impact that would have on swords/helmets and such. Though now that I think of it, how else would we know?
When did you get to wear the helmet of Robert the Bruce? (I mean, what's Bannockburn?) Quite a kick for a history buff such as yourself, I might imagine ;) I can't picture trying to fight in all that stuff, how could one manage to carry, much less swing, a sword?

#Vani

[Talorcen]

Believe me, I spent quite some time in the room with the manuscripts, too, but I happen to be a weapon buff, especially when it comes to old stuff - I have always been, though my mother never understood why I was after old swords and prehistoric flint tools rather than after Meissen china, when we visited a museum. lol

Bannockburn (1314) was a famous battle where Robert the Bruce defeated the English and secured Scotland's independence for several hundred years. The battlefield is located near Stirling.
http://www.writersbbs.com/members/gabriele/bruce2_small.jpeg

Oh yes, that armour of old was quite heavy. That's why they made the chain mail in LOTR of aluminium. I have worn a chain mail shirt of polished iron once - these will never made it to the catwalks of Milan or Paris. A fragile stick like Claudia Schiffer would break down under the weight. ;)

But the swords in LOTR were made by using original materials and forging techniques. I bet Viggo (who used his sword most) has strong wrists; but then, he is a rider, and that strengthens some of the same muscles.

[Talorcen]

Northern and German tradition of the Niblung myth vary in a lot of details. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to write long retelling of the whole stuff like I did with the "Song of Roland. But I will give you a shorter account of the main incidents and try to disentangle the tangled web of traditions. :)

One part I will use in my novel "Never To Return". One of the main characters there, Alamir, is a warrior and bard, and I have a scene where he tells an old story, and I already wondered what sort of story I might use. Since the Siegfrid/Sigurd the Dragon Slayer part of the myth can theoretically have been known to the Goths (more about it in the essay to come), I have decided to let Alamir tell the story of Siegfrid and Brynhilde. You'll have to wait until I have put that into my novel, though. ;)

[Tar-Vanimelde]

That sounds really interesting, I love the idea of having one of the characters telling an old story as a part of the larger story. You'll have to elaborate on this novel you're writing.

#Vani

[Talorcen]

I work on two major novel projects. On is called "The Exiles" and has a 12th century Europe setting. The other is a series of four novels of which "Never To Return" is the first. The series is called "Dark Age Sunset", and it takes place in early 5th century Italia, Britannia and Gallia.

Sometimes I write short stories, and recently, I have got the ideas for two novelettas, also with a Dark Age setting.

Have a look at my website, you'll find summaries and some chapters of my works-in-progress there, as well as several short stories.

Click on the little castle icon below.

[Tar-Vanimelde]

Ah, I see! Well, I'll certainly have to find the time to do more than glance at your work, I want to see what it's like ;)

#Vani

[Talorcen]

I've made a little journey to the German coast of the Baltic Sea, and I'm going to write a travel diary, where I mix historical background info about the places I visited with my own experiences and some pics.

You can find the beginning of it here:

http://otherworldfantasies.com/gabriele/Diary.html

[Cuiel Rilwen]

I read it Vani and I liked it enough to beg for more lol!