SingingDryad~
New member
Ok everyone.Since i've been promising for over a month i'm gonna post my book here-and i've been failing for over a month(sorry,its the combined effects of my stupidity and balky computers).So while i try to post my book here,i thought i'de post something a little different in the meantime.
This is a real Polish legend,taking place in Warsaw.PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:I edited the legend,adding some things,taking away others.
And if its awful,please say so.I know my style is flawed(even though this whole idea was rather spur of the moment).Ok,rant over.Here goes!
See how she rears her head,
And rolls about her dreadful eyes,
To drive all virtue out, or look it dead!
‘Twas sure this basilisk sent Temple thence-Jonathan Swift
* * *
It was the stifling hot summer of 1532, and Warsaw was at its full bloom of festivities and holy days. The city inns and even the lowest hostels were bursting at the seams with all the travelers stopping there, and the Royal Guard was having an extra hard job stopping all the tavern brawls and robberies. The streets were never empty, even in the dead of night.
The Rynek Glówny, come alive with all the new items merchants were selling, had become a place of the highest interest. In the Academy, even the most uptight professors gladly went with their students to the nearest pub for a tankard of mead or beer, their heated, loud discussions on astronomy and mathematics a constant source of irritation for neighbors.
And so arrived the day before the Equinox Festival. The city was in a blur as everyone readied themselves for the festivities.
The entertainers diligently practiced their feats, while red-cheeked women bent over their cooking, adding dashes of cinnamon or clove in kitchens. The streets and buildings were adorned with flowers, and everything had taken that atmosphere of something fresh,something exciting.
The Royal Family also frequently rode around Warsaw in their beautiful carriage, while their subjects bowed and waved.
And among all this excitement, one little family also was getting ready. In a smaller, shabbier part of Warsaw, a father and his two little children lived quietly.
The tata, Boleslav, was a large, kind man who had lost the use of both his legs in an accident some years before, leaving him a cripple who refused to fully accept his disability.
His two little children were his pride and joy, as his wife had died from a smallpox epidemic only five years back. He still kept a small carving of her he had made by his bed. Sometimes he thought he could almost hear his beloved calling from the Heavens, comforting him in times of need.
Eight-year-old Stas had inherited his dark blonde hair, round face and brown eyes from his mother, but the steadfastness was his father’s doing.
Little Bronka was only six, and already a beauty. Her wavy gold hair hung down her back, and two bright azure eyes glittered like stars against her rosy face.
This family was very close, and all of them were excited about the upcoming Equinox.
So on the morning of the Festival, Stas and Bronka piled onto their father’s bed. The bedroom was cramped, just like the other two rooms in the tiny house. The walls were bare except for a small wooden cross above the bed, by which the family prayed every evening. The faint smell of wildflowers hung everywhere.
“Tato, wake up!” Pleaded Bronka and Stas, shaking their father by the shoulders.
Boleslav cracked one blue eyes open, while the rest of his face remained hidden by the blanket.
“Hm? Oh well you know, I was thinking we’d stay home and-“ Boleslav began, his voice muffled. His eyes were struggling not to crinkle in a smile, but his children didn’t see that.
“Oh no! Tatusiu please no!” Cried Bronka, her face ashen.
Boleslav burst out laughing, hugging his two children. “I was joking, you two. No need to worry! Lets get up and dressed, then we’ll go!”
“Hooray!” Shouted Bronka, jumping from the bed and dashing to the room she shared with Stas, her footfalls light as a kitten’s.
Boleslav sat up, and stood, propping himself up with his two crutches. Stas helped him limp to the kitchen, a small, well-lit room, where Bronka was fruitlessly trying to reach a high shelf.
Stas immediately ran to help her, while Boleslav watched him proudly, with a note of sadness in his tired eyes.
Ever since Boleslav’s accident and the death of his wife, Stas had been the main breadwinner of the family. Boleslav worked at home, as an ironsmith, but it wasn’t enough. Bronka and Stas, if not busy with minding the house, often helped him. Boleslav, however, always tried to shoo them outside as much as possible, to play with the other children. He felt guilty, taking away his children’s free time, even though he valued their help.
The children, though young, were strong and intelligent, and Boleslav always made it a point to introduce them to all his customers.
But today there was no work to be done, a welcome change in the monotonous routine of the weekdays.
Boleslav, Bronka and Stas left the house in high sprits. It was only a short walk to the Rynek, but there was so much to see on the way that it took much longer.
Finally, they reached the old city walls, where the stoic Barbakan still towered over the other buildings. Passing through the gate, Stas glanced curiously around there were not only Poles here. He also saw many Jews-the second largest group in Warsaw. Right now they were praying, and their voices rose up, mingling with the singing of a Catholic monk nearby.
Women, arrayed in their best clothes, flitted to and fro, their bright flowered skirts swishing behind them.
The men were also in finery-the nobles in long silk żupans and high boots, the poorer in starched collars and embroidered shirts. Everyone was laughing and having a good time, and the muffled laughter of children running along the walls rang like birdsong.
Bronka and Stas stayed with Boleslav, holding his strong arms against the steadily growing crowds.
When they reached one of the alleys leading to the Rynek, Bronka laughed and clapped at some of the entertainers, the kuglarze. Juggling their colorful little balls high in the air, the minstrels sang well-remembered songs. From an open window a beautiful young woman’s sweet voice could be heard.
Pushing their way through, the trio managed to get to the center of the Rynek. Booths and curiosities surrounded them from all around, and the children could hardly keep still with excitement.
“All right, you remember the rules.” Boleslav said sternly.
“Oh yes, we know! No talking to strangers…” Bronka chirruped.
“And if we get lost we go and wait for you at the entrance of the Barbakan.” Finished Stas.
Boleslav nodded, satisfied. “I’ll give you some money-three złoty.” He said, dumping the coins in Stas’ outstretched palm.
Before Boleslav could even blink, Stas and Bronka had disappeared in the throngs of people. He laughed. “Oh those children. Let them play.” He thought, hobbling towards one of the booths.
* * *
Thats all for now!I'll post pronounciation rules in just a sec.
This is a real Polish legend,taking place in Warsaw.PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:I edited the legend,adding some things,taking away others.
And if its awful,please say so.I know my style is flawed(even though this whole idea was rather spur of the moment).Ok,rant over.Here goes!
THE BASILISK
There once lived a monster, deep in one of the cellars of Krzywe Koło of Old Warsaw. A nameless terror, people whispered about it at night. Children were told to stay away from Krzywe Koło, away from the locked vault. But not all listened…See how she rears her head,
And rolls about her dreadful eyes,
To drive all virtue out, or look it dead!
‘Twas sure this basilisk sent Temple thence-Jonathan Swift
* * *
It was the stifling hot summer of 1532, and Warsaw was at its full bloom of festivities and holy days. The city inns and even the lowest hostels were bursting at the seams with all the travelers stopping there, and the Royal Guard was having an extra hard job stopping all the tavern brawls and robberies. The streets were never empty, even in the dead of night.
The Rynek Glówny, come alive with all the new items merchants were selling, had become a place of the highest interest. In the Academy, even the most uptight professors gladly went with their students to the nearest pub for a tankard of mead or beer, their heated, loud discussions on astronomy and mathematics a constant source of irritation for neighbors.
And so arrived the day before the Equinox Festival. The city was in a blur as everyone readied themselves for the festivities.
The entertainers diligently practiced their feats, while red-cheeked women bent over their cooking, adding dashes of cinnamon or clove in kitchens. The streets and buildings were adorned with flowers, and everything had taken that atmosphere of something fresh,something exciting.
The Royal Family also frequently rode around Warsaw in their beautiful carriage, while their subjects bowed and waved.
And among all this excitement, one little family also was getting ready. In a smaller, shabbier part of Warsaw, a father and his two little children lived quietly.
The tata, Boleslav, was a large, kind man who had lost the use of both his legs in an accident some years before, leaving him a cripple who refused to fully accept his disability.
His two little children were his pride and joy, as his wife had died from a smallpox epidemic only five years back. He still kept a small carving of her he had made by his bed. Sometimes he thought he could almost hear his beloved calling from the Heavens, comforting him in times of need.
Eight-year-old Stas had inherited his dark blonde hair, round face and brown eyes from his mother, but the steadfastness was his father’s doing.
Little Bronka was only six, and already a beauty. Her wavy gold hair hung down her back, and two bright azure eyes glittered like stars against her rosy face.
This family was very close, and all of them were excited about the upcoming Equinox.
So on the morning of the Festival, Stas and Bronka piled onto their father’s bed. The bedroom was cramped, just like the other two rooms in the tiny house. The walls were bare except for a small wooden cross above the bed, by which the family prayed every evening. The faint smell of wildflowers hung everywhere.
“Tato, wake up!” Pleaded Bronka and Stas, shaking their father by the shoulders.
Boleslav cracked one blue eyes open, while the rest of his face remained hidden by the blanket.
“Hm? Oh well you know, I was thinking we’d stay home and-“ Boleslav began, his voice muffled. His eyes were struggling not to crinkle in a smile, but his children didn’t see that.
“Oh no! Tatusiu please no!” Cried Bronka, her face ashen.
Boleslav burst out laughing, hugging his two children. “I was joking, you two. No need to worry! Lets get up and dressed, then we’ll go!”
“Hooray!” Shouted Bronka, jumping from the bed and dashing to the room she shared with Stas, her footfalls light as a kitten’s.
Boleslav sat up, and stood, propping himself up with his two crutches. Stas helped him limp to the kitchen, a small, well-lit room, where Bronka was fruitlessly trying to reach a high shelf.
Stas immediately ran to help her, while Boleslav watched him proudly, with a note of sadness in his tired eyes.
Ever since Boleslav’s accident and the death of his wife, Stas had been the main breadwinner of the family. Boleslav worked at home, as an ironsmith, but it wasn’t enough. Bronka and Stas, if not busy with minding the house, often helped him. Boleslav, however, always tried to shoo them outside as much as possible, to play with the other children. He felt guilty, taking away his children’s free time, even though he valued their help.
The children, though young, were strong and intelligent, and Boleslav always made it a point to introduce them to all his customers.
But today there was no work to be done, a welcome change in the monotonous routine of the weekdays.
Boleslav, Bronka and Stas left the house in high sprits. It was only a short walk to the Rynek, but there was so much to see on the way that it took much longer.
Finally, they reached the old city walls, where the stoic Barbakan still towered over the other buildings. Passing through the gate, Stas glanced curiously around there were not only Poles here. He also saw many Jews-the second largest group in Warsaw. Right now they were praying, and their voices rose up, mingling with the singing of a Catholic monk nearby.
Women, arrayed in their best clothes, flitted to and fro, their bright flowered skirts swishing behind them.
The men were also in finery-the nobles in long silk żupans and high boots, the poorer in starched collars and embroidered shirts. Everyone was laughing and having a good time, and the muffled laughter of children running along the walls rang like birdsong.
Bronka and Stas stayed with Boleslav, holding his strong arms against the steadily growing crowds.
When they reached one of the alleys leading to the Rynek, Bronka laughed and clapped at some of the entertainers, the kuglarze. Juggling their colorful little balls high in the air, the minstrels sang well-remembered songs. From an open window a beautiful young woman’s sweet voice could be heard.
Pushing their way through, the trio managed to get to the center of the Rynek. Booths and curiosities surrounded them from all around, and the children could hardly keep still with excitement.
“All right, you remember the rules.” Boleslav said sternly.
“Oh yes, we know! No talking to strangers…” Bronka chirruped.
“And if we get lost we go and wait for you at the entrance of the Barbakan.” Finished Stas.
Boleslav nodded, satisfied. “I’ll give you some money-three złoty.” He said, dumping the coins in Stas’ outstretched palm.
Before Boleslav could even blink, Stas and Bronka had disappeared in the throngs of people. He laughed. “Oh those children. Let them play.” He thought, hobbling towards one of the booths.
* * *
Thats all for now!I'll post pronounciation rules in just a sec.
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Poor kids. That would be scary!
