The Highwayman

As I said last time I want to post the story that I wrote for the Highwayman. I quite enjoyed this one, though I did not relish having to write the one scene with the Landlord's daughter.

I have always liked the story that the song by Loreena Mackennit gives me, it is truly quite beautiful and sad. Do not worry this will not turn into an episode of Days of our Eventful Bold and the Restless Lives in Santa Barbara :-)

The Highwayman

The moon had arisen, it rode the dark clouds like a ghostly ship; the road below mirrored its radiance to a bright gypsy’s ribbon. The luminous galleon saw a rider making his way easily upon the bright ground. On the rider’s head sat a French cocked hat; boots of worn and well cared for leather were all the way up to his thigh and the breeches he wore were made from soft doe-skin. White lace sat under his chin to enhance the red velvet coat he wore. Even his horse matched his finery with an oiled and finely made leather harness; the great beast’s trappings were even inlaid with bells here and there, so that the rider made his way in a twinkling of merry sound. Underneath his fine coat two pistols sat ready and the hilt of a rapier rode easily at one hip. Smiling the Highwayman crested a rise in the road and saw his destination come closer into view, at the top of the next hill an old inn slept. The horse’s hoofs clattered on the cobbles as the Highwayman made his way to the old inn door, though he saw that it was closed for the night. So he went tapping with his whip on the door, but no one answered. With that he made his way around the side of the inn where the stables sat in the back yard. Whistling a quiet tune he stopped under a shuttered window just out of reach. The well oiled hinges whispered in the night as a dark eyed girl opened the shutters; the Highwayman was illuminated by the light of the candles set in her room.  Smiling up at the Landlord’s daughter the Highwayman came closer to the casement upon which she sat; there he saw she was plaiting a dark red love-knot into her hair.  She said, “Why have you come, oh dangerous man of the night?”
“Ah my bonny lass I have come for one kiss.” Pointing back down the road he had come from, “For I’m after a prize tonight, I shall be back before the Morning’s light with gold more yellow than the sun.”

Reaching up he took the hand of the Landlord’s daughter which trailed below the casement. Laughing softly she snatched her hand back and said “And what of the soldiers sent to pursue you on these... prize hunts?”

“If they harry me and press their luck, watch for me by the light of the moon.”

Smiling the Highwayman carried on, “I will come to thee beautiful lass, though hell shall bar my path back.” Arching an eyebrow the Landlord’s daughter gave a chuckle and replied “Oh but this venture is sure to be filled with danger, especially when you have it in your head to act the fool.” Raising himself up on his saddle the Highwayman tried to steal a kiss from the Landlord’s daughter. Laughing again she drew back slightly and loosened her long, black hair. The black waves came tumbling over the Highwayman; sitting there in the moonlit night he kissed those sweet waves. With that the Highwayman turned his horse away from the old inn and galloped into the West. Smiling to herself the Landlord’s daughter noticed then that the love-knot was gone from her hair. Sighing in the dark she closed the shutters not noticing the dark shape that crept from the stables.  Making its way down the now dimming road, the figure stopped for a moment and looked back towards the old inn door. Cursing silently it disappeared into the gloom.

The next day saw no lone horseman riding along the road. Though she kept watch the Landlord’s daughter feared that something had happened to her love. “Lass stop gawking out of the door. I have enough troubles with that lazy stable hand not here today.” Turning she saw her father standing in the doorway of the old inn wiping his hands on a cloth. Shaking her head she made her way inside to help with the customers, knowing that it was going to be a long day. But whenever time permitted she still came and looked out onto the road hoping for a single figure on horseback. As the sun set, colouring the sky with a tawny brilliance, a troop of soldiers was seen marching down the road; not the expected French soldiers but Red coats. English soldiers marching solidly with musket and pride next to them. Worried the Landlord’s daughter prayed that they would pass on by.  Marching slowly the Red coats came up to the old inn door.  As the troop came to a crashing halt outside the Landlord came out to meet them. As he spoke to the sergeant leading the English soldiers the Landlord’s daughter felt a shiver course up her spine; the cold eyes of the sergeant did nothing to alleviate her fears. “Oh you foolish, foolish man, who did you rob this time.” she whispered fearfully. Watching her father jovially talking to the English troops she went inside to finish cleaning for the day. “Hoi girl!” called her father outside, “Get these soldiers some ale!” Worry creasing her brow she started filling tankards with the bitter brew. When she almost had enough filled she realised how quiet it was outside. Reaching the door she looked outside, the tray of drinks heavy in her hands. There lay her father; dead from a knife that had been drawn across his throat. It was so quiet outside because the soldiers were creeping towards the open door. Spinning she released the tray and ran for the back door. Time seemed to congeal around her, behind she heard the soldiers enter the inn. But her feet seemed to be moving too slowly. An ugly laugh sounded behind her and a rifle butt cracked into the back of her head, falling she struggled to fight off the darkness. The rough floor boards were suddenly under her left cheek. “Oh foolish, foolish....” Black wings enveloped her and she felt herself falling away from the world.

When she came to, the Landlord’s daughter found herself tied to the foot of her own bed, the sergeant standing above her. This close she could see that his eyes were not merely cold but a strange gleam resided in them. Hands clasped behind his back the sergeant asked “This Highwayman. Where is he?” Glaring at him the Landlord’s daughter said nothing. Casually he brought his left hand up and backhanded her. Spitting blood at the sergeant from her now split lip she continued to glare at him. “I will ask one more time. This highwayman, where is he?” Lowering her eyes the Landlord’s daughter replied “I don’t know, and even if I knew...” Her words ended with another slap from the sergeant. Walking to the door he replied “I said I would not ask again.” With that he exited her room. In the hall way she heard him say “Do what you want with her, but keep her alive.” Ice clenched her heart at the words, and as three soldiers entered she felt the cold enter her veins. “Heh look here lads. We got ourselves some exercise before tonight’s fun.” This time blackness did not take her mercifully away from the world.

What felt like hours later, a torn dress was flung back at her.

“Put that on, don’ want you to catch a cold.” The youngest of the three sniggered. Slowly she replaced the torn dress aware of the three sets of eyes on her. Looking out of one eye, the other almost swollen shut she spat at their feet. “Oh we can’ have tha’.” Said the young soldier as he hit the Landlord’s daughter in the stomach and a second time in the temple; black spots swam in front of her eyes as she struggle to remain conscious. She felt herself being dragged back towards the bed, fear overcoming the cruel hit. But no this time they merely tied her to the bedpost at attention facing the open window. After making sure she was securely bound the soldiers then tied a pistol tightly to her own hands, the barrel facing her. Aimed at her own breast she heard the three leave the room laughing. Sagging against her bonds she gazed out over the casement and down the road which was lit by the bright moon, sadly she stared down at the road that she knew he would ride. “Watch for me by the light of the moon. I will come to thee beautiful lass, though hell shall bar my path back.” The Highwayman’s words echoed in her head as she took in the ribbon of silver light glimmering in the dark, tears filling her dark eyes. Downstairs she heard the soldiers getting into position; two of them even came up to her window, primed their muskets and waited. Death waited at every window for the Highwayman, and at the casement hell stood watch with the Landlord’s daughter.

Slowly the night grew old, the shadows darkening beneath the inn’s roof. In her room the Landlord’s daughter twisted and struggled with the knots keeping her hands tight and her body bound to the bed, the two soldiers barely paying her any attention. Pausing to breathe she gazed for the hundredth time out the window wishing, praying that her love would not meet her tonight. As she stood watching she felt her hands which were slick with blood and sweat from her struggles with both the men and the ropes, but the bonds were too tight, she could not get free. Groping in the darkness her fingers suddenly felt the trigger of iron belonging to the pistol bound in her hands. While not free she at least had a companion for her efforts. A breeze came over the casement, cold and clear, with it the wind carried the sound of hooves distantly coming down the road. Straining in pained silence she saw that the soldiers had not heard the distant clop of horseshoes in the dust. “How can they not hear it?” she wondered, struggling anew with the ropes. Hissing in surprise one of the soldiers suddenly saw a figure coming over the brow of the hill. Silhouetted against the light a dark figure could be seen riding easily down the bright ribbon, bells marked the rider’s passage. As she heard them the Landlord’s daughter knew that he had come and her heart sank. Knocking gently on the floor boards, the soldier that had first seen the Highwayman warned the others below. Swiftly and silently they primed their weapons and set them to track the rider’s progress until he came close enough to kill. Breathing faster the Landlord’s daughter knew that it was over, that he would die in the darkness. Now fighting the bonds her fingers once again touched the trigger. The cold metal stopped her. Her eyes grew wide for a moment in the gloom. Drawing one last breath, she took in the night air deeply, sadly knowing that it would be her last. Her finger moved in the dark as the moonlight illuminated the rider coming closer. With a last prayer for her father’s spirit a spark sprang up and a shot shattered the darkness. Hot metal shattered her breast. As the shot rang out the rider wheeled his horse and urged it away to the West. The Highwayman let fear guide his horse’s hooves and strained to get as much speed as he possibly could. Racing into the moonlight he did not know the Landlord’s daughter stood but with her head bowed in the dark, her blood drenching the pistol that had warned him away and brought death to the black eyed daughter of the Landlord.

The morning came grey and bleak as the Highwayman rode slowly along the road. A foul smelling figure stumbled from a bend in the road and made its way in the direction of the old inn. Glancing over the Highwayman saw that it was the stable hand that worked for the Landlord, drunk the man stumbled along singing a song in his revelry. “Don’t go there’s been trouble at the inn.” Said the Highwayman sadly to the drunken man, “Well it’s your faul’ now ain’t it Mr Highwayman.” Replied the stable hand. “I mean you come ... Come there in the... hmmm.. Night and.. And jus’ because I tol’...” With that the man shut his mouth.

“You told who?” asked the Highwayman dangerously.

“No one, no one, jus’ me being drunk. Is all.” Mumbled the man in reply.

Drawing a pistol the Highwayman pointed it at the man and said “I will not ask again.” Stumbling backwards the stable hand quickly replied in a shaking voice “The... The Red coats, is all! But it’s your fault. You stole her from me!” Gazing sadly down at his pistol the Highwayman sighed and lowered the weapon.

“No it’s my fault that I couldn’t protect her. Go on get out of here, you reek of pigs and cheap wine.”

“She really is dead you know, they tol’ me when they paid me.” As the stable hand said those words he started crying, his hands trembling, “They took her, and they killed her.” Hearing the finality of the stable hand’s words, the last vestige of hope the Highwayman did not even know lay in his heart died. “Where are the men that killed her?” asked the Highwayman, not even looking at the crying man now sitting in the cold mud, as he checked that his pistols were primed and ready and that his rapier sat loose in its sheath. Still crying the man pointed from the direction he had been stumbling from. “I should shoot you, but she wouldn’t want me to. You live on her memory this day.” Looking down at his horse he patted the great beast on its side “One last ride my friend, this time to the gates of hell itself.” With that the Highwayman set his horse into a gallop and rode hard down the road.

As the sun rose, bright rays glinted off the Highwayman’s pistols and rapier hilt; even the bells on the harness were lined in the red-gold light. As he pressed his horse hard around a bend in the road he saw the troop of Red coats before him. Spurring his horse even faster the red sun shone like blood on the spurs he was using to coax every ounce of speed from the great horse. As he neared the Highwayman shrieked a curse to the sky; pulling a pistol from his belt he discharged it into the face of a soldier as he rode past, the Red coats scattering like leaves in a storm. Having passed the troop he reined in the horse and rode back the way he had come. Discarding the spent pistol he drew the other. But this time the troop was ready. Muskets roared and the horse fell in agony on the bright road, its blood staining the stone and dust. As he went through the air the Highwayman twisted and rolled, dipping his shoulder into the dirt as he hit the hard ground. Rising with ease he shot another soldier through the throat who, choking on his own blood, staggered off the road to die. With a roar he drew his rapier and charged the reloading troop. As he neared the Red coats a young soldier tried to use his bayonet to parry the bright sword of the Highwayman. But the soldier was no match for the skill and fury of the man. With a twist and lunge he ran his silver blade through the soldier. Turning to face the troop red hot lead tore through the Highwayman’s velvet coat and into the beating heart beneath. Staggering he stepped forward, blood dripping from the wounds. Another shot rang out. This one caused the Highwayman to fall to his knees. Falling over backwards the Highwayman suddenly found himself gazing up at the sky, a sad smile on his face. In his mind he saw the Landlord’s daughter smiling from a window, a red love-knot in her hair. The Red coats reloaded their muskets and calmly shot the Highwayman again as he lay in his blood. “Dead like the dog he was.” came the voice of the sergeant staring coldly at the bloody body.

Winter came to the land and with it a cold wind blew the clouds. The moon rose in the still of the night riding the scudding clouds in an icy light. Parts of the road were illuminated like a gypsy’s ribbon by the ghostly pale radiance. As the moon gazed down it saw a figure coming slowly over the brow of the hill, bells seemed to be making a mournful sound on the horse’s harness. Riding along the road the figure made its way to an old door, the inn behind it a ruin in the darkness. It had not survived the first of the winter storms very well. Checking the two pistols, the highwayman gazed around at the dilapidated house one last time and rode into the West, long black hair flying free. A bloodied love-knot tied to the end of one raven tress.         

  

Ok... So two things tonight, I want to get the last little bit of the Hero's Journey and then onto something else. 

First then - carrying on with the Hero's Journey. What is next is the Archetype: basically this is a recurring theme or "character set" if you will. This is what a character is, but it is by no means a fixed identity. Much like people's own identities it can shift and change to suit a writer's needs. A hero might become an ally to someone, or a mentor (see Gandalf here: he is the mentor to Frodo and the hero to many people, such as at the siege of Gondor.) Or the hero of a story might be an anti-hero where he has shades of the villain in him. These archetypes are repeating patterns within stories, so many have the same or similar basic characteristics - see every mad scientist :-)

These are the archetypes:

THE ARCHETYPE

HEROES

Central figures in stories.  Everyone is the hero of his or her own myth. These are heroes, the knights in shining armour. These are also the anti-heroes like Dante from Devil May Cry, or Wolverine when he was first introduced by Marvel. Your central figure is important so be careful with them.

Both Dante and Bayonetta are anti-heroes (some say heroes) in their respective games :-)

SHADOWS

Villains and enemies, perhaps even the enemy within (A very good example is Jekyll and Hyde, with hyde being an outer image of the inner shaodw.)  The dark side of the Force, the repressed possibilities of the hero, his or her potential for evil.  Can be other kinds of repression, such as repressed grief, anger, frustration or creativity that is dangerous if it doesn’t have an outlet. Sometimes these are also fallen heroes - ones that have turned their backs on the Hero's call.

The Dark master of the Force himself
(Done by the excellent Steve Argyle: http://steveargyle.deviantart.com/)

MENTORS

The hero’s guide or guiding principles.  Yoda, Merlin, a great coach or teacher such as Mr MIyagi. These offer insights, powers, abilites or  just old fashioned diretion to the hero and can sometimes be seen as an ally as well as a mentor.

And since we mentioned the Grey Pilgrim earlier, he takes this spotlight

HERALD

One who brings the Call to Adventure.  Could be a person or an event. This was often depicted as the winged god Mercury or Hermes. See also any quest giver in most MMORPGs or standard RPGs such as World of Warcraft (as seen below is a quest giver in the Outland module of Warcraft)

THRESHOLD GUARDIANS

The forces that stand in the way at important turning points, including jealous enemies, professional gatekeepers, or your own fears and doubts. This has been shown as many different things, such as over bearing parents, or personal strife. A classic example would be Little John from the Robin Hood tales, he barred Robin's passage over the stream and was one of the first obstacles Robin Hood overcame.

SHAPESHIFTERS

In stories, creatures like vampires or werewolves who change shape, often the physical ability to shape change is used to highlight their shifting nature.  In life, the shape shifter represents change.  The way other people (or our perceptions of them) keep changing.  The opposite sex, the way people can be two-faced. Sometimes they can be the Shadow characters as well, with the audience not sure about the character until the end.

A wonderful example is Jarlaxle, a dark elf from the mind of the brilliant R. A. Salvatore

TRICKSTERS

Clowns and mischief-makers, Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy.  Our own mischievous subconscious, urging us to change.

ALLIES

Characters who help the hero through the change.  Sidekicks, buddies, girlfriends who advise the hero through the transitions of life. Sometimes the hero or mentor can also fulfill this role.

Today this can also be the people you play games with -World of Warcraft, Call of Duty, Mass Effect 3 and so on.

This is a basic summary of archetypes can be. What can you find that fits these descriptions? They do not have to be exact copy and past images. Often characters embody more than one archetype, so a shapeshifter that is actually a villain, or a shadow character that must fight with the hero to overcome a greater shadow and in doing so beomes a hero himself. Or a mentor that is also a threshold guardian.

What I also wanted to share was a little bit of inspiration. 

One of the things that inspires me in my writing is music. There are many people that use music to get their minds going, though there are just as many that need silence - whatever works. 

So one of the songs that got my brain going was The Highwayman by Loreena Mackennit. She based it on a narrative poem by Alfred Noyes of the same name. Here is the song:

I will post the story I tried next time.

There and Back Again Pt.2

Ok... So if you are wondering why I am using the Hero's Journey it helps me think of my own stories. I can see what I have written or want to write and use the Hero's Journey to get my own ideas in order. See what I might need, or even what I might need to get rid of scene or character-wise. I know that many people are aware and use the Hero's Journey in its many forms - The Writer's Journey; The Heroine's Journey etc.

To carry on where I last left off was with the stages of the journey:

1.      THE ORDINARY WORLD.  The hero, uneasy, uncomfortable or unaware, is introduced sympathetically so the audience can identify with the situation or dilemma.  The hero is shown against a background of environment, heredity, and personal history.  Some kind of polarity in the hero’s life is pulling in different directions and causing stress. This is the hero's ever normal day, from Luke Skywalker on the farm on Tatooine to Frodo in the Shire. 

2.        THE CALL TO ADVENTURE.  Something shakes up the situation, either from external pressures or from something rising up from deep within, so the hero must face the beginnings of change. 

3.        REFUSAL OF THE CALL.  The hero feels the fear of the unknown and tries to turn away from the adventure, however briefly.  Alternately, another character may express the uncertainty and danger ahead.

4.        MEETING WITH THE MENTOR.  The hero comes across a seasoned traveller of the worlds who gives him or her training, equipment, or advice that will help on the journey.  Or the hero reaches within to a source of courage and wisdom.

5.        CROSSING THE THRESHOLD.  At the end of Act One the hero commits to leaving the Ordinary World and entering a new region or condition with unfamiliar rules and values. 

6.        TESTS, ALLIES AND ENEMIES.  The hero is tested and sorts out allegiances in the Special World.

7.        APPROACH.  The hero and newfound allies prepare for the major challenge in the Special world.

8.        THE ORDEAL.  Near the middle of the story, the hero enters a central space in the Special World and confronts death or faces his or her greatest fear.  Out of the moment of death comes a new life. 

9.        THE REWARD.  The hero takes possession of the treasure won by facing death.  There may be celebration, but there is also danger of losing the treasure again.

10.      THE ROAD BACK.  About three-fourths of the way through the story, the hero is driven to complete the adventure, leaving the Special World to be sure the treasure is brought home.  Often a chase scene signals the urgency and danger of the mission.

11.     THE RESURRECTION.  At the climax, the hero is severely tested once more on the threshold of home.  He or she is purified by a last sacrifice, another moment of death and rebirth, but on a higher and more complete level.  By the hero’s action, the polarities that were in conflict at the beginning are finally resolved.

     12.       RETURN WITH THE ELIXIR.  The hero returns home or continues the journey, bearing some   element of the treasure that has the power to transform the world as the hero has been transformed.

These stages are not always external factors, they can also be used as an internal journey for the hero to follow. 

This is all the basic stages, you can go more in-depth into these different stages,  so this is just a summary. This is not a site to be a text book and read in some grand, dusty fashion, "Students... Today we will study stage one..."

As I said it is merely a way for me to sort out my own ideas, in my own way. Hopefully it can help you as well. 

There and Back Again, and Again and Again

I am going to talk a little on the Hero's Journey. Some people know it, some do not. In short it is a framework that all stories are based upon; or is the framework all stories use to get their vision/message/ice cream wrapper of fun across :-)

The idea was put forth by Joseph Campbell - and he in turn had studied the works of a Russian, Vladimir Propp... But essentially they get to the same conclusion. It also relates to myths of times past (You know Zeus! And mighty thunderbolts! and by that I do not mean Kratos) this framework can be put to all stories and can help them grow.

And all of this is related to the human psyche... I know this all seems a little heavy to take in. Normal stories ranging from Days of Our Lives to The Avengers all essentially use the same structure; and they all relate to mythology and the human mind... Wow... So what Mary goes thorough when Jack slept with her twin sister in Days of out bold and Restless Lives is what the old Norse gods went through in the old tales of Loki and Thor and Frig.

But basically this idea stretches back to ancient days when cavemen told stories around fires, which filtered down to William Shakespeare, and this filtered down to Twilight.

It can be a powerful tool for any writer: whether that writer is composing a short story, script, novel etc. Christoper Vogler relayed the Hero's Journey specifically to scripts, and di a phenomenal job with it, though his work can be used for  more normal stories as well
(You can find him here: http://www.thewritersjourney.com/)

Like I said Hero's Journey is a framework used by all stories, it does not mean that this framework is a solid construct that must be adhered to in every single line, or every single paragraph. It gives the writer the ability to  use it to suit your needs. Some steps or archetypes (more on these next time) can be left out or changed.
Most stories use the hero as the main character, with the villain as the main counterpoint; anything from The Mummy to Star Wars, or Titanic even, uses this formula. But then look at films such as The Departed or The Godfather Trilogy - they stand the basic idea of the hero vs villain on its head. In these you see more from the so-called villains point of view.

Ok, so this is the basic idea of the journey:

Next time there will be more detail on these steps.
Keep going :-)