Thats Logistics

I have a story I am writing, fantasy wafare.  I am finding that it is very difficult to successfully write about a war, let alone a single battle scene.  To add to the fact, I don't have a computer I can use more than a few times a month, and it doesn't have internet.  A laptop would be very very helpful, but I can't afford one.

One of the difficulties I'm having is logistics.  When I started, I didn't think about the logistics of a battle.  I don't know the population my fantasy land (Felenore), how big their army could be, how big of an army they could support, how they would support it, etc.  How would they make sure they had weapons for everyone?  Or horses, food, and shelter?  Do they have a draft, or do they just sign up? Is there an age limit?  I don't even have a detailed map drawn up, its just in my head.

When I started, I didn't even think about why they were at war, it was merely that the enemy had attacked.  I can't have the enemy land attack merely because they are evil, thats rediculous.  It would have to be revenge, land, money, or power.  Revenge isn't a likely cause, as while a king may be angry with someone, the men of his country would not be eager to attack.  I also have to think logistics for the attacking country.

Then there are the individual battles, and scenes within those.  I still need to map out cities/battle fronts.  They can't all be the same, that would become boring to read.  While it is a fantasy, there is not an overpowering presense of magic, so that wouldn't play much of a role in a battle.  I can write from just the main character's point of view, or from another character, or from an enemy, or from a general birds eye view, or switch between multiple viewpoints.

Basically, its all very frustrating, and seems impossible to get my thoughts in order for everything.  I'm thinking about starting a binder just for this story, so even if I can't work on the story itself, I can work on logistics, maps, battle plans, etc.  Typing things out helps my brain sort it all out, too, which is why I'm posting this.  I'm sure that while you would all love to hear about plots and such, I am not sharing.  You have to wait for that.

When its planes in the sky for a chain of supply that's logistics.

When the parts for the line come precisely on time that's logistics.

A continuous link that is always in sync that's logistics.
There will be no more stress 'cause you've called UPS, that's logistics

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Our adventure started out rather smoothly.  We drove to our starting point, unloaded our water vessels, and waited for the Guides to arrange our returning transportation.  After catching a few frogs and playing with some Touchmenots, we set out.  Tom, Haley, and Matthew were in a canoe, Josh and Becca were in one, and John and I were in our own individual kyaks.  It wasn't a wild river, it was actually really calm.  It wasn't long until we were slowly making our way through a thick forest of lilypads.  It was difficult work, like rowing through mud.  Occasionally they thinned out, but for the most part it was very thick.  Finally, we reached our lunch spot.  We stopped at part of some camp, using their picnic table and outhouse.  After nearly stepping in bear poop, finding someone's underwear in the toilet, and almost getting caterpillar diseases, we headed towards the lake.  It was a large lake, and we were starting to get tired.  We got direction from some people in a boat, then headed to the river.  It was more of a creek.  A narrow, shallow creek, that steadily grew more narrow and more shallow and more buggy and mucky.  Soon it was almsot too thick to manuveur.  We were sure we'd come the wrong way, since we were traveling upstream now.  Tom and John, our guides, got out and went towards the sound of the road to see if they knew where we were.  I switche spots with Haley and we waited for them.  It couldn't have gotten any worse--that is, until it started raining.  Our guides came back, nearly getting sucked under the muck, and we started to head back the way we'd come.  We still weren't sure where we were.  It started to thunder, so we pulled off shore and headed up towards the road they'd found.  Tom, Haley, and I walked up to a cabin and asked for directions.  We found out we had gone in the completely wrong direction, heading East instead of West when we first got to the lake.  We thanked them and returned to our troop.  A decision was made:  our Guides would leave us, going alone back to the truck.  We waited for them, entertaining each other with tricky mind games.  It seemed like hours before they returned to rescue us.  We were hungry, thirsty, wet, cold and tired.  We loaded our canoes and kyaks and piled into our vehicles and returned home.  All in all, it was a great adventure, and we would do it again.

The Eyes of an Elf

The following is a bit of writing my friend, Teagn King, wrote.  I liked it and wanted to share it.


The Eyes of an Elf
I coughed, my breathe became a cloud in the cold air of the dungeon. I shivered. My worn woolen shawl did nothing against the bitter wind that found its way through the cracks in walls of my cell. The chains seemed to have frozen in place where they held my ankles in their icy grasp. My cup of water had already frozen solid, and my tongue grew dryer. I tried to curl up, but the rags of green cloth that covered my body did not keep out the cold. Keys clicked and I looked up. A boy around my age, 18, slammed a bowl of cold slop on the floor. “Eat.” I smiled, my green eyes turning blue, then gold, then purple. For a minute I held him in my magical gaze, but he shook his head, releasing himself. “You can’t fool me Aoibheann Niamh, your eyes have no power over me,” he tried to hold himself still, but I could tell he was shaking in fright. I laughed, a laugh I had been told, would put bluebirds to shame. He quickly left, and locked the cell door. Men believed that eyes were magic, they weren’t. As I leaned down towards the bowl of milky white slop, my brown wavy hair fell away to reveal my pointy ears. I was an elf, and my eyes changed colors. They weren’t magical, it was just how I was born, and it scared the human race. Their king had captured me, believing that I, Aoibheann Niamh, or bright eyes, was the leader behind the War. It was laughable. That I, the illegitimate daughter of an elven blacksmith, would be the leader of the War. I looked back at the bowl of slop, and put my hands around it. The warmth had already left it, and a thin layer of ice was already beginning to form on the top. I brought the bowl to my nose, and breathed deeply. I sensed the essence of amaylis; the herb humans believed got rid of magic and put the consumer in a trance and state of ignorance and stupidity. I pulled myself into a corner of the cell and poured the slop down a hole in the floor, like numerous other times. I wrapped myself in my shawl as much as I could and tried to sleep.
When I woke up the torches had been lit that were braced to the wall of the corridor outside my cell, and my empty bowl was gone. I suddenly winced in pain as the scar on my upper arm throbbed. Elves. They were near. I looked up in time to see hooded men march past my cell. These were the men that had killed my father and captured me. The Hooded Guard, they were called. As they passed, one broke from the ranks and stole over to my cell. My eyes began to change color, and my scar throbbed stronger. “Aoibheann, come, now.” I smiled. “Eòghan.” He quickly and quietly broke the lock on my cell. Then he entered and broke the shackles on my ankles. He tossed me a black hooded cloak and we disguised ourselves as the Hooded Guard. I had little energy left, but we were able to make it out, unnoticed and alive. As we mounted his horse, I suddenly found myself in the golden woods of Crisosaidh, or Hall of the Elf.
“Stay strong my daughter.” I turned around. Father? But he was dead. As soon as he was there, he was gone disappearing in wisps of smoke.
“You served us well Aoibheann Niamh.” I turned around and saw the Queen. I fell to my knees, “Your majesty.” She extended her hand to me, her movements slow and dreamlike. “Rise and go in peace,” then she to disappeared in tendrils of smoke.
“Aoibheann,” I turned around again and there stood Eòghan. “Eòghan,” I said and ran towards him. He embraced me and whispered, “I love you.” I felt my self being pulled away from him by some unseen force. “No. Eòghan. Wait!” He extended his arm to me as I was being pulled away. Then like all the others, he vanished in strands of smoke. “No. Wait,” I cried. Something hit me in the face, and the golden woods of Crisosaidh disappeared.
“Get up.” Something kicked me and I looked up into the eyes of the Hooded Guard. My eyes began to change color in hatred, and for a moment they stood still, terrified by the beauty of my eyes. They quickly picked me up and dragged me out of my cell, my body limp and weak in their arms. As they led me outside, I caught a glimpse of my future through my still changing eyes. The executioner’s block. As they led me up the steps, the king began to mock me. “Finally Aoibheann Niamh, “he spit the words out like they were something rotten,” Finally the War will be over. I will be victorious as soon as your magical eyes cloud over.” I laughed, stunning the crowd. As they laid my head down on the block my eyes changed color for the last time.