Example for Josh Master of Stuff
Created | Updated Jan 27, 2007
H2G2 Storytime III: Prologue Part III
Antarctica, 1912.
Midnight.
The sun was still up. It never went down, hovering just beyond a thick cover of cloud bringing neither warmth nor light; only a perpetual gloom of twilight stretched out over the sea and reflected in the ice. Lending to the landscape a torpor of seduction and death.
Watch your step.
A figure wreathed in a woollen hat and gloves and a coat too thin for the climate appeared above the skyline of an icy ridge and surveyed the landscape.
Below, tent flaps and tarpaulins whipped about audibly in the bitter wind that whipped through the camp.
Satisfied the coast was clear, the figure swung over the side and skidded down the slow incline of the ice, disappearing behind some stacking crates awaiting loading onto the morning sleds.
Brushing himself off the figure tiptoed over to the paddock where the ponies where kept, the noise of the wind kept the sounds of his footfalls masked as he had hoped.
The figure unpegged the gate and slipped inside - the beasts whinnied in alarm and distress, placing his hand carefully aside the muzzle of one the figure whispered softly
There, there Christopher - it's only me Shhhh
The pony ceased its distress as if in conscious recognition of the man's soothing words.
The man took his reigns and led him carefully and a trot out of the paddock.
Outside the wind had died down. The man turned his head as he emerged for he could here voices from within the nearest tent.
The voices of his former fellows - all of them subject to his deception - where discussing him.
'e got my 'and he did.
That was Evans the figure thought. He tried to grab me yesterday caught me trying to steal a sled.
I think me fingers is turnin' black" came the plaintive cry.
Poor devil he'd likely not last this far from home. thought the man with a touch of regret.
Then a new voice pierced the silent night a course and angry voice. Oates must not escape alive!
Scott. He's been watching me since the start.' Captain Oates looked up at the looming peak of Mount Erubus and resolved to leave.
Just then, Christopher, beast that he was, whinnied.
"That came from outside the tent!", the cry came from within.
'Curses! I'm discovered!'
Scott emerged, Oates caught sight of the sigil he bore around his neck glimmering in the half-light, "you shan't escape this time!" Scott sneered.
"I can certainly try!" Oates cried leaping onboard Christopher and galloped out of the camp making for the coast.
Scott kept a record of his hunt for Oates in his journal to be delivered to The Master on account of Oates death.
~ We are reduced now to but four in number. I was the first to reach the poor man and found him on his knees, his clothing disarranged and a wild look in his eyes. Wilson, Bowers and I went back for a sledge. When we got him to the tent, he was quite unconscious and died quietly at 12:30am.
Antarctica, 1912.
Midnight.
The sun was still up. It never went down, hovering just beyond a thick cover of cloud bringing neither warmth nor light; only a perpetual gloom of twilight stretched out over the sea and reflected in the ice. Lending to the landscape a torpor of seduction and death.
Watch your step.
A figure wreathed in a woollen hat and gloves and a coat too thin for the climate appeared above the skyline of an icy ridge and surveyed the landscape.
Below, tent flaps and tarpaulins whipped about audibly in the bitter wind that whipped through the camp.
Satisfied the coast was clear, the figure swung over the side and skidded down the slow incline of the ice, disappearing behind some stacking crates awaiting loading onto the morning sleds.
Brushing himself off the figure tiptoed over to the paddock where the ponies where kept, the noise of the wind kept the sounds of his footfalls masked as he had hoped.
The figure unpegged the gate and slipped inside - the beasts whinnied in alarm and distress, placing his hand carefully aside the muzzle of one the figure whispered softly
There, there Christopher - it's only me Shhhh
The pony ceased its distress as if in conscious recognition of the man's soothing words.
The man took his reigns and led him carefully and a trot out of the paddock.
Outside the wind had died down. The man turned his head as he emerged for he could here voices from within the nearest tent.
The voices of his former fellows - all of them subject to his deception - where discussing him.
'e got my 'and he did.
That was Evans the figure thought. He tried to grab me yesterday caught me trying to steal a sled.
I think me fingers is turnin' black" came the plaintive cry.
Poor devil he'd likely not last this far from home. thought the man with a touch of regret.
Then a new voice pierced the silent night a course and angry voice. Oates must not escape alive!
Scott. He's been watching me since the start.' Captain Oates looked up at the looming peak of Mount Erubus and resolved to leave.
Just then, Christopher, beast that he was, whinnied.
"That came from outside the tent!", the cry came from within.
'Curses! I'm discovered!'
Scott emerged, Oates caught sight of the sigil he bore around his neck glimmering in the half-light, "you shan't escape this time!" Scott sneered.
"I can certainly try!" Oates cried leaping onboard Christopher and galloped out of the camp making for the coast.
Scott kept a record of his hunt for Oates in his journal to be delivered to The Master on account of Oates death.
~ We are reduced now to but four in number. I was the first to reach the poor man and found him on his knees, his clothing disarranged and a wild look in his eyes. Wilson, Bowers and I went back for a sledge. When we got him to the tent, he was quite unconscious and died quietly at 12:30am.
