G
Guest
Guest
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his week, the Golden Unicorn Tavern in Wispwood Shire's walls were bulging at the seams, trying to contain the large numbers of visitors who had come to enjoy the regular telling of tales, the fine ale, and the good company!
The ale flowed freely - perhaps a little too freely, and I must caution those of sensitive ears and tender minds to read on with caution. For one thing, we had a drunken Scotsman, and for another, we had a tipsy Hoffs. And, as any who have ever hunted the Dreadhorn with the Shirefolk know, that is a recipe for disaster!
Ah, good Kelmo, I hope the fresh delivery of Wintermoor mountain goats and thick-wooled sheep arrived safely? Aye? Good, good. In that case, on with the tales...
First, the aforementioned drunken Scotsman. Or perhaps he's Irish. It's hard to tell, betwixt *hic* and *hic*.
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5"> <tr> <td width="61">
</td> <td align="middle">
"Mary McGregor"
by
McAndrews </td> <td width="107">
</td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5"> <tr> <td>
ell I stumbled and I am all drunk and full of smoke,
So I stumbled down to Kelly's Pub across the edge of town,
And I told the boys me story, and we had another round.
And Mary McGregor, she was a pretty wh<font size="1">0</font> re,
She'd always greet you with a smile, and never lock her door,
But on the day she died, all the men in town did weep
For Mary McGregor finally got some sleep.
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink and fight! Hey!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink and fight! Hey!
And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink and fight!
And thats all i can remember!
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Aye... well. Hmm. Everyone has to make a living, I suppose. At least McAndrews is keeping the barkeeps of the land in business.
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Next, quite unexpectedly, I presented another chapter about the strange bovines that had invaded Britannia.
Many ordered milk. Some ordered ribs. McAndrews slid under the bar.
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"Cows"
Chapter XII
by
Blind Otto </td> <td width="100">
</td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd"> <tr> <td>
e came to this land, from far away."
the huge bull-like creature explained to Kirsta.
"Our home had almost run dry of the black waters we need to survive,and your world has yet to discover
much use of them at all, beyond lighting your way through the dark, and easing the motion of gears.
Now, we have enough to last many an age, and we would return home.
Except..."
The creature trailed off, a look on its face that could have been anger, or could have been dismay.
Kirsta could not tell. Besides, it was cold, up on this stone roof, the wind making her all too aware of
her missing garments.
"Except what?" she asked nervously.
"Hmmm?" startled the beast, as if only just being aware of her presence.
"Oh, I was lost in thought and memory. The unspeakable deeds still ...
I can hardly bring myself to speak of them, and I have seen many a war.
Never before have I seen any creature treat another so.
Normally, an enemy is to be interrogated, bargained for, or executed ...
But this.. oh, but this...."
It let out a horrible sound, a combination of a bellow and a wail, that rang across the rooftops, and through the valley beyond.
"She was my mate, mother. She was everything to me."
Kirsta reached out a shaking hand in comfort, and asked:
"What did they do? And why do you call me mother? "
"They took her apart. They took her apart, piece by piece. They took her apart, and joined her parts with parts of
their own. They killed her, and made her broken body dance for them. They killed her slowly, bit by bit,
and turned her into a misshapen copy of themselves.
They named this mockery of my wife golem and turned her on me. "
It sighed.
"I call you mother because you protected us. While we hid from the evil ones, you spent your days guarding us, caring for us,
and being a mother to us all. I call you mother, because you proved that you are. And, also...
but no. That is for later. "
Kirsta sat, amazed. She had been looking after THIS???
All those long, boring days of staring at cows, and
they had really been. what? And what was for later??
"Forgive me, but what are you? Where did you come from?
And what do I name thee? "
"We are the people of Moogen, and I am named Tau. "
Tau paused.
"And we will have our revenge. "
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I suspect I may be responsible for the increase in sightings of dead cows near Delucia, somehow...
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Following a similar vein to McAndrews, Beldin had the finer products of the tavern on his mind...
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ccffff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">"The Fly"
by
Beldin Brightaxe </td></tr> <tr> <td align="middle">
</td></tr></table>
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n elfling, a manling, an' a dwarf lad walk intae a tavern
each orders a nice cool ale
As soon as thae ale arrives a fly lands in each one.
Thae elfling pushes thae ale away wit' disgust, wunting nae a thing tae do wit' it.
Thae manling flicks oot thae fly an' finishes thae ale in one gulp !
Thae dwarf lad gingerly...
(an if yer've seen a dwarf lads fingers yer'll know how difficult this kin be )
he gingerly picks oot thae fly by thae wings,
gently holds it over his tankard an' screams...
"SPIT IT OOT YE BA STARD, SPIT IT OOT !!"
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</p>
Sloan took to the stage next, with a tribute to her old friend Tyrfang.
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"Wolf Pup"
by
Sloan </td> <td width="175">
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ost pup in a sea of howling wolves.
Whimpering and shivering, wide eyed.
Dripping mouths pant hungrily.
Darken woods surround thee.
Trees stare like the audience.
Waiting for the kill they grew to see.
Moon disowns behind the clouds.
Betrayed by darkness without a sound.
Fog lays a thick blanket.
Wind blows its' silent song.
The cold chills the death to come.
Where is the master to claim?
No dimensions, all is disoriented.
FEAR IS OLD AND FORGOTTEN.
GATHERED STRENGTH TO FIGHT.
No more cowardly pup.
The fierce wolf to beware.
Master of all they bow to.
Cold darkness befriends thee.
Awaits the victim they used to be.
~fin~
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An excellent tale, Sloan!
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Yancey has become something of a celebrity, and he took to the stage to the sound of cheers and whistles, to present "fairytales".
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"Fairytales"
by
Yancey DeFlorio </td> <td width="100">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5" border="1"> <tr> <td>
omeone once told me
There are no such things as fairytales
Just words on paper brought to life in dreams
Fairytales are not just words on a page
For they start long before the first ink is spilled
Before the quill is dipped
When the parchment lay blank
Fairytales are not fireflies growing voices
But rather the soft flutter of leaves
Dancing to and fro in the breeze
Fairytales dont start in the clouds
They quietly push themselves out of the ground
As they reach for the sun
Fairytales arent absorbed from the outside
Coming to life as they work their way in
They start on the inside
Exploding out like fireworks
In a dark summer sky
Painting multicolored pictures on ones eye
Fairytales are more than dreams
They are the reality of reaching our goals
They are not running from
They are running to
Shaking off the darkness that pursues us
The chains that would bind us to one place
If fairytales werent real
Than clouds would just be clouds
All the flowers would smell the same
The birds wouldnt be able to sing
If fairytales werent real
Everything would be just black and white
But everything isnt just black and white
Someone once told me
There are no such things as fairytales
But someone blew me a kiss
I saw it grow butterfly wings
Dance across the meadow
To land on my cheek
Now every night the dragons dance
Around the moon
Chasing their tails like shooting stars
And the fireflies spell out your name
As they skip across a field of wildflowers
So make your wish
Dream your dreams
Dont ever give up hope
But most of all
BELIEVE
Believe in fairytales..
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A couple of small pixies sitting on the bar shuffled nervously, and ordered a round of drinks.
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Next, came an almost lost tale of Britannia's past... a tale so terrible... so revealing... it had to be told.
A tale of the madman, the despot, the dictator, known as.... Lord British!
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffffa6" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Lord British's Tyrannical Adventure"
by
Angharad </td> <td width="162">
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ord Brit was a monarch who was haughty and vain,
And especially proud of his despotic reign
But conceit of this sort isn't proper at all,
And soon the old tyrant was doomed for a fall.
One day as he viewed his subjects from on high
A voluptuous wench caught his tired old eye
Bending over to see, that oversexed goat
Let his gold crown slip and fall into the moat
With a cry of sheer terrorm he jumped like a fool
He rushed to his ditch (which reeked of cesspool)
He leapt in kerplash! And sank like a stone
(Everyone hoped for a new hier to the throne)
But alas he came up and staggered from the sewer
His robes smelled of offal, his breath of manure
"WhydidIdothat>? What possessed me today?"
"I'm daft as old Iolo and now I smell like Dupre!"
"And if anyone sees me, oh what a disgrace!
I had better leave now if I wish to save face!"
But a crowd had gathered, and stared, amazed
The sight confused them, the stench left them dazed
Then with a shriek a young boy began to laugh
Giggling and pointing at the King's Fecal Bath
Becoming enraged, the monarch turned wild
He looked like he wanted to STRANGLE the child!
His hand turned to fist, he struck lightning fast
But the old fart missed and fell on his ass
Not holding back, the crowd soon roared
The laughter was deafening; it grew till it soared
But the King found no humor and called for his men
The arrival of guards soon silenced the din
"For all of you who found humor in my sorrow and misfortune,
Will soon find the rack! and pain! and contortion!"
"Then will I cackle as you stew and boil.
In a pot full of lard and bubbling oil!
And for those who survive this (they'd liefer be dead)
I'll pluck out their eyes, and chop off thier head!"
"Finally in the wind their bodies will swing,
Then you fools will be sorry for laughing at this King!"
Then all were led away at the tip of a sword
While Old Lord Brit took a dip in a ford
Then he laughed at the cries that screamed through the night
He chuckled at their anguish, he cackled at their plight.
In Britannia today, no one openly tells this tale
Lest they find themselves thrown into Brit's darkest jail.
But here in the old lands this song can be sung
The talk of how British got his faint smell of dung.
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'tis probably a good thing that the vampires and other brigands of the land were occupied elsewhere that night - for their own sakes, for that tale left many in a fighting mood. Much muttering followed the telling of that tale, and one tamer vowed to fill Lord British's bedroom with drakes while he slept.
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Fortunately, Grot's ode reminded us of truer heroes and friends.
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"Ode to Tarin Silverleaf"
by
Grot </td> <td width="162">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1"> <tr> <td>
know of a man,
humble and true.
He fought with a bow,
oft made of Yew.
The Rangers of Shadow
he led very well
Directing their strikes
without a yell.
But that is not all
to this great man.
He worked with his hands,
like an elf can.
He made bows of might
and arrows true.
when used in a fight
they all stuck true
But greatest of all
the best that I've seen
Is the garden he made
in North Evergreen.
Some know who by now...
he's not a thief
For those who don't know,
He's Tarin Silverleaf
And missed by the Shire and the land.
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Aye. Far too many friends have left. Fortunately, some have returned, and more do so each week!
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</p>
Py Lethius was in fine form, with not one, but three finely presented pieces! Here they follow, as presented!
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"The River"
by
Py Lethius </td> <td width="162">
</td></tr></table>
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rom source to mouth there's but one ford
And that cannot be crossed
Where Ferdiad was gripped and gored
His best friend won and lost
The water's red from brink to brink,
The Morrigan comes down to drink,
And the river goes on south.
Right close in shore, to ward off cold,
An angler sucks a jug.
The water seals and gets its hold;
The angler feels and gives a tug.
Above the ice he's having fits,
Below the ice a long tail flits,
For the river takes it south.
Steeped in the vacuum of her dreams,
A mirror's empty till
A man rides through it. Once she gleams
And once she moves, then she is still.
The filament snaps in the light,
But yet she is a lovely sight,
As the river bears her south.
The gold a dragon could not keep
Came to a woman's hand.
Then thieving kinsmen, diving deep,
Found out a safe in sinking sand.
Dying, they would not tell the place,
Nor does the water yield a trace,
As the river sweeps on south.
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</p>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#80ffff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"A song for rowing"
by
Py Lethius </td> <td width="140">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#80ffff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
ast of Agamemnon was a city he had sacked,
West of him his heart went home to Greece.
Good and ill wear each a mask that never can be cracked;
He raced from what he thought was war to what he thought was peace.
He was cuckold by his cousin and he'd find his death blow,
But he made them burn the thole pins, and still he called them slow
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
East of Ingcel One-Eye were his kin without their lives,
Westward was a chance to square the loss.
Men will win and men will lose, and only Wyrd survives;
He aimed his fleet for Eriu and flitted it across.
He would conquer mighty Conaire, but that he couldn't know,
He only knew that he must strike and he must not be slow
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
East of O. van Kortlandt all the world was traced and known,
West of him the land leapt off the map.
Luck or loss, the dice won't speak till after they are thrown;
He stowed his gear and stepped aboard and braved Ginnunga Gap.
He would come back to Communipaw, but that just happened so;
He turned from men to mystery and did not travel slow
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
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</p>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d0cdfe" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Tammuz, Gilgamesh and I"
by
Py Lethius </td> <td width="120">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#dacdfe" border="1"> <tr> <td>
have known both joy and grief, neat, and mixed together
Cold and Heat I've known, and found both good drinking weather
Light and Darkness I have known, seldom doubting whether
Tammuz would return again, when he'd slipped his tether!
I remember gaudy days when the Year was springing
Tammuz, Gilgamesh and I, clinking Cups and singing
Till Ininni sauntered by, skimpy garments clinging
To her hips, and things like that: Tammuz left us, winging!
So we welcomed Enkidu when he came to Erech
He was rough as hickory bark, nothing of the Cleric!
But his taste in Wine and Ale, THAT was Esoteric!
And he used a drinking cup that would strain a derrick!
Khumbaba then felt our strength 'neath the magic Cedars
And we wrestled Anu's Bull, pride of Heaven's Breeders!
Thrice we struck, and once he fell, drawing wolves for feeders
while we strode where drinking men called for expert leaders.
Tammuz must have joined us there, but he'd just got wedded
And Ininni (blast the Wench!) hacked him as they bedded
Such a honeymoon as that, I have always dreaded....
For a drinking man is...spoiled...once he's been beheaded!
So we waked him with a will, ale and teardrops pooling
Then we drank to him for months, while the year was cooling.
But he came back with the grass! Death was only fooling!
Tammuz told us: "Fill my Cup! I'm both dry...and drooling!"
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'Tis good to have ye back, Py - although I suspect the surviving relatives of the orcs near my home may disagree!
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</p>
Next, a tale of a tail... or at least, of it's owner!
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"A rodent's tail"
by
Dola </td> <td width="90">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
any moons ago
during the winter months of a distant land
I was in search of a warm dry den
being young I had no mate or young to look after
so I was not in need of anything great
but the warm dry place was needed to help me get through the winter
I came across a home bigger than I ever dreamed!
it was warm & dry
it was devoid of all but one real danger :
another occupant.
but I figured if I kept to myself and stayed out of side
the other resident would no nothing of my presence
I would be fine
well I hadn't been there long
not even 3 moons had passed
when one day
while the sun slept
the other resident
awoke
while I will still exploring the surrounding
I was in plain sight of this monster
I was caught by surprise
I wasn't sure what to do
I stood as still as stone
and hoped the resident would return to slumber and not bother me
we stared each other blink less for what seemed a fortnight
I prayed prayed for the monster to go back to sleep
but alas that did not happen
it started to move!
it was getting up
perhaps it would not bother me
but hope quickyl faded has it came at me with at a fair pace
I escaped its clutches
without a mark on me
I ran all over my new home, looking for a place to hide
to get out reach of this hidous beast
that was after me
what was I to do?
the creature started to behave in a manner I could not comprehend
it was pulling its bedding matterial from its stores
and placing them in new spots
maybe it was trying to make me welcome
but I didn't take any chances
I stay hid as long as possible
when the sun I awoke
I noticed I couldn't hear the beast in my new home
I think I was a lone
I ventured out
no sign!
whew
that was a close call
I swore I would only make my rounds while it slept
and I would stay out of site as much as possible
as the Sun went back to sleep, the creature returned back the dwelling
and proceeded to do even stanger things
it put this white powder out
and a cracker with peanut butter on it
wow!
its leaving me a snack
how htought ful
and its even under this cute white box being held by a stick
I will wait till its asleep
just to be safe before I take this offering
just in case its a trick
it was too big for me to leave out int he open to eat, so I grabbed it
but as I stepped from the white powdery stuff, I noticed I was leaving foot prints!
well I quickly fixed that
I wiped my feet clean with my tongue
the powder turns out was stuff I recognized from bread, I think it was called flour
most strange indeed!
after a while I realized all that way said and done the monster was still loocking for me
well I figured my luck would turn one day soon
so I left the next day
quitely
while it was gone
all I have to say is this
some thing my mother failed to tell me
momma
never told how hard it was to live on your own as mouse!
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Tis a hard life indeed - whether man or mouse!
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</p>
Ah... Kelmo? Another load of extra fluffy sheep should be arriving in Iantown shortly.
Hoffs? I'll be billing you for all these sheep.
Regardless, here is the result of Hoff's drinking problem...
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"Whoa, Dobbin!"
by
Hoffs </td> <td width="144">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5" border="1"> <tr> <td>
ne day, a messenger visiting from a far away land
arrived at the Beasts of Burden in Skara Brae looking for a mount.
"How much for the lesser hiryu?", he asked the owner.
"Oh, a wise choice", came the reply,
"And our most popular colour scheme. 50,000 gold pieces."
"Right", said the messenger, "and how about that unicorn? "
"I see Sir has the eye for a noble creature.
This is one of the '05 models with the extra stamina. 20,000 gold marks."
"Well", the messenger asked again, "how about the charger?"
"Ah, a thoroughbred for sure sir, but that you have no doubt ascertained for yourself.
A bargain at just 2,500 gold. "
"Very well", said the messenger." Let me just see if I can stretch to that."
He fumbled in his money bag, then turned to face the animal trainer.
"Erm, do you have anything for 187 gold and two silver groats? "
"Ahh", sighed the stable master, dropping his posh accent and slipping into the vernacular.
"Well, mate, as it happens you just may be in luck. Come outside."
The two stepped into the yard and the rancher pointed to a horse tethered nearby.
"I picked this one up last week after the owner died. 'ave a look at him."
The horse was led over. Its body was muscular and not unlike that of the charger.
Its coat was well groomed and, apart from rather a dumb look on its face,
the animal seemed altogether sound.
The trainer called for his assistant who quickly put on a saddle and bridle.
"Try 'im for size. "
The horse stood dutifully by as the messenger pulled himself up into the saddle.
"Well, he seems fine. What's the catch?"
"Aha", said the trainer. "Thing is, the previous owner was a bit of an eccentric, see.
He 'ad some fairly, erm, unusual training methods.
You steer the 'orse with the reigns like normal.
But to make 'im go you have to say 'damn it'.
If you want 'im to go faster you 'ave to use the words ''bl**dy hell.'
And to make 'im stop, you 'ave to say 'cr*p'. "
"Good grief", exclaimed the messenger, somewhat shocked.
He patted the horse on the neck. "Damn it, boy."
Sure enough, the horse moved forward into a steady walk.
"Now crap, boy, cr*p for me. "
Once again, the horse obeyed and stood still.
"Okay, damn it then. "
Again the horse started forwards and the messenger pulled the right hand reign
and led him in a deep circle of the yard.
"Right, bl**dy hell then!"
The horse immediately broke into a trot and then to a canter, all perfectly controlled.
"Cr*p, now, cr*p", commanded the messenger, and the horse came neatly to a halt.
"Well, this is all somewhat unusual", laughed the messenger, "but I'll take him!"
And so the courier traveled all over Britannia and beyond delivering his news.
And although he received many a strange look
and was barred from most of the better establishments in the land,
he experienced no problems with his mount.
After two weeks, the only destination remaining
was that of the mountain fortress of Wintermoor
where he had news to impart to the Lady Siofra.
As they climbed up to the head of the pass which led into the valley of Wintermoor,
the going became rather tricky at a walk,
so the rider decided they would be better on the trot.
"Bl**dy hell", he commanded and the beast faithfully complied.
As they reached the small plateau at the top, the wind picked up enormously.
The horse trotted along the flat path until it started the descent into the valley.
"Okay, boy", said the messenger, "damn it now."
His words, though, were carried away by the fierce gale.
"Damn it, boy, damn it". he said with greater force, but still the words were silent.
The path now became steeper and the trot had become a canter.
"Cr*p for me boy, cr*p now!" he shouted, but still it was all in vain.
Moreover, not too far ahead, the path veered sharply to the left
and straight ahead the land disappeared so that the distant valley floor
and the mountains on the far side filled the view.
"Cr*p, damn it, cr*p!!!"
Still no response.
The canter hand now become a full gallup, with the edifice looming ever closer.
"Cr*p, cr*p, cr*p, cr*p, cr*p, cr*p." he cried.
"CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P."
But he could not be heard.
At last, the messenger closed his eyes and let out one final wail.
"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
....................................................................................................
He opened his eyes.
They had come to a halt just inches from the edge of the cliff.
As he looked ahead he could see the valley below and the tiny buildings of Wintermoor.
He leaned forward onto the horse's neck then peered over the edge of the precipice and
gulped at the near vertical drop of over a thousand feet onto the jagged rocks at the bottom.
"Phew!", he cried out.
"Blo*dy hell, that was close! "
</td></tr></table> <p align="center">
And so, another evening drew to a close.
Well done to Angharad, for winning the vote, and sending many out into the night up in arms. I suspect last night was not a good night to belong to the order of True Britannians, somehow.
Come one and all, next week, and enjoy stories, rhymes, songs and jokes, of all shapes and sizes!
Now, will someone get these sheep out of here, and on their way to Iantown?
</p> </td> </tr> </table>
The ale flowed freely - perhaps a little too freely, and I must caution those of sensitive ears and tender minds to read on with caution. For one thing, we had a drunken Scotsman, and for another, we had a tipsy Hoffs. And, as any who have ever hunted the Dreadhorn with the Shirefolk know, that is a recipe for disaster!
Ah, good Kelmo, I hope the fresh delivery of Wintermoor mountain goats and thick-wooled sheep arrived safely? Aye? Good, good. In that case, on with the tales...
First, the aforementioned drunken Scotsman. Or perhaps he's Irish. It's hard to tell, betwixt *hic* and *hic*.
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5"> <tr> <td width="61">
"Mary McGregor"
by
McAndrews </td> <td width="107">
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5"> <tr> <td>
So I stumbled down to Kelly's Pub across the edge of town,
And I told the boys me story, and we had another round.
And Mary McGregor, she was a pretty wh<font size="1">0</font> re,
She'd always greet you with a smile, and never lock her door,
But on the day she died, all the men in town did weep
For Mary McGregor finally got some sleep.
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink and fight! Hey!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink and fight! Hey!
And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink and fight!
And thats all i can remember!
</td> </tr> </table>
Aye... well. Hmm. Everyone has to make a living, I suppose. At least McAndrews is keeping the barkeeps of the land in business.
<p align="center">
Next, quite unexpectedly, I presented another chapter about the strange bovines that had invaded Britannia.
Many ordered milk. Some ordered ribs. McAndrews slid under the bar.
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Cows"
Chapter XII
by
Blind Otto </td> <td width="100">
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd"> <tr> <td>
the huge bull-like creature explained to Kirsta.
"Our home had almost run dry of the black waters we need to survive,and your world has yet to discover
much use of them at all, beyond lighting your way through the dark, and easing the motion of gears.
Now, we have enough to last many an age, and we would return home.
Except..."
The creature trailed off, a look on its face that could have been anger, or could have been dismay.
Kirsta could not tell. Besides, it was cold, up on this stone roof, the wind making her all too aware of
her missing garments.
"Except what?" she asked nervously.
"Hmmm?" startled the beast, as if only just being aware of her presence.
"Oh, I was lost in thought and memory. The unspeakable deeds still ...
I can hardly bring myself to speak of them, and I have seen many a war.
Never before have I seen any creature treat another so.
Normally, an enemy is to be interrogated, bargained for, or executed ...
But this.. oh, but this...."
It let out a horrible sound, a combination of a bellow and a wail, that rang across the rooftops, and through the valley beyond.
"She was my mate, mother. She was everything to me."
Kirsta reached out a shaking hand in comfort, and asked:
"What did they do? And why do you call me mother? "
"They took her apart. They took her apart, piece by piece. They took her apart, and joined her parts with parts of
their own. They killed her, and made her broken body dance for them. They killed her slowly, bit by bit,
and turned her into a misshapen copy of themselves.
They named this mockery of my wife golem and turned her on me. "
It sighed.
"I call you mother because you protected us. While we hid from the evil ones, you spent your days guarding us, caring for us,
and being a mother to us all. I call you mother, because you proved that you are. And, also...
but no. That is for later. "
Kirsta sat, amazed. She had been looking after THIS???
All those long, boring days of staring at cows, and
they had really been. what? And what was for later??
"Forgive me, but what are you? Where did you come from?
And what do I name thee? "
"We are the people of Moogen, and I am named Tau. "
Tau paused.
"And we will have our revenge. "
</td> </tr> </table>
I suspect I may be responsible for the increase in sightings of dead cows near Delucia, somehow...
<p align="center">
Following a similar vein to McAndrews, Beldin had the finer products of the tavern on his mind...
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ccffff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">"The Fly"
by
Beldin Brightaxe </td></tr> <tr> <td align="middle">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ccffff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
each orders a nice cool ale
As soon as thae ale arrives a fly lands in each one.
Thae elfling pushes thae ale away wit' disgust, wunting nae a thing tae do wit' it.
Thae manling flicks oot thae fly an' finishes thae ale in one gulp !
Thae dwarf lad gingerly...
(an if yer've seen a dwarf lads fingers yer'll know how difficult this kin be )
he gingerly picks oot thae fly by thae wings,
gently holds it over his tankard an' screams...
"SPIT IT OOT YE BA STARD, SPIT IT OOT !!"
</td></tr></table>
<p align="center">
Sloan took to the stage next, with a tribute to her old friend Tyrfang.
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Wolf Pup"
by
Sloan </td> <td width="175">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
Whimpering and shivering, wide eyed.
Dripping mouths pant hungrily.
Darken woods surround thee.
Trees stare like the audience.
Waiting for the kill they grew to see.
Moon disowns behind the clouds.
Betrayed by darkness without a sound.
Fog lays a thick blanket.
Wind blows its' silent song.
The cold chills the death to come.
Where is the master to claim?
No dimensions, all is disoriented.
FEAR IS OLD AND FORGOTTEN.
GATHERED STRENGTH TO FIGHT.
No more cowardly pup.
The fierce wolf to beware.
Master of all they bow to.
Cold darkness befriends thee.
Awaits the victim they used to be.
~fin~
</td></tr></table>
An excellent tale, Sloan!
<p align="center">
Yancey has become something of a celebrity, and he took to the stage to the sound of cheers and whistles, to present "fairytales".
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Fairytales"
by
Yancey DeFlorio </td> <td width="100">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5" border="1"> <tr> <td>
There are no such things as fairytales
Just words on paper brought to life in dreams
Fairytales are not just words on a page
For they start long before the first ink is spilled
Before the quill is dipped
When the parchment lay blank
Fairytales are not fireflies growing voices
But rather the soft flutter of leaves
Dancing to and fro in the breeze
Fairytales dont start in the clouds
They quietly push themselves out of the ground
As they reach for the sun
Fairytales arent absorbed from the outside
Coming to life as they work their way in
They start on the inside
Exploding out like fireworks
In a dark summer sky
Painting multicolored pictures on ones eye
Fairytales are more than dreams
They are the reality of reaching our goals
They are not running from
They are running to
Shaking off the darkness that pursues us
The chains that would bind us to one place
If fairytales werent real
Than clouds would just be clouds
All the flowers would smell the same
The birds wouldnt be able to sing
If fairytales werent real
Everything would be just black and white
But everything isnt just black and white
Someone once told me
There are no such things as fairytales
But someone blew me a kiss
I saw it grow butterfly wings
Dance across the meadow
To land on my cheek
Now every night the dragons dance
Around the moon
Chasing their tails like shooting stars
And the fireflies spell out your name
As they skip across a field of wildflowers
So make your wish
Dream your dreams
Dont ever give up hope
But most of all
BELIEVE
Believe in fairytales..
</td></tr></table>
A couple of small pixies sitting on the bar shuffled nervously, and ordered a round of drinks.
<p align="center">
Next, came an almost lost tale of Britannia's past... a tale so terrible... so revealing... it had to be told.
A tale of the madman, the despot, the dictator, known as.... Lord British!
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffffa6" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Lord British's Tyrannical Adventure"
by
Angharad </td> <td width="162">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffffa6" border="1"> <tr> <td>
And especially proud of his despotic reign
But conceit of this sort isn't proper at all,
And soon the old tyrant was doomed for a fall.
One day as he viewed his subjects from on high
A voluptuous wench caught his tired old eye
Bending over to see, that oversexed goat
Let his gold crown slip and fall into the moat
With a cry of sheer terrorm he jumped like a fool
He rushed to his ditch (which reeked of cesspool)
He leapt in kerplash! And sank like a stone
(Everyone hoped for a new hier to the throne)
But alas he came up and staggered from the sewer
His robes smelled of offal, his breath of manure
"WhydidIdothat>? What possessed me today?"
"I'm daft as old Iolo and now I smell like Dupre!"
"And if anyone sees me, oh what a disgrace!
I had better leave now if I wish to save face!"
But a crowd had gathered, and stared, amazed
The sight confused them, the stench left them dazed
Then with a shriek a young boy began to laugh
Giggling and pointing at the King's Fecal Bath
Becoming enraged, the monarch turned wild
He looked like he wanted to STRANGLE the child!
His hand turned to fist, he struck lightning fast
But the old fart missed and fell on his ass
Not holding back, the crowd soon roared
The laughter was deafening; it grew till it soared
But the King found no humor and called for his men
The arrival of guards soon silenced the din
"For all of you who found humor in my sorrow and misfortune,
Will soon find the rack! and pain! and contortion!"
"Then will I cackle as you stew and boil.
In a pot full of lard and bubbling oil!
And for those who survive this (they'd liefer be dead)
I'll pluck out their eyes, and chop off thier head!"
"Finally in the wind their bodies will swing,
Then you fools will be sorry for laughing at this King!"
Then all were led away at the tip of a sword
While Old Lord Brit took a dip in a ford
Then he laughed at the cries that screamed through the night
He chuckled at their anguish, he cackled at their plight.
In Britannia today, no one openly tells this tale
Lest they find themselves thrown into Brit's darkest jail.
But here in the old lands this song can be sung
The talk of how British got his faint smell of dung.
</td></tr></table>
'tis probably a good thing that the vampires and other brigands of the land were occupied elsewhere that night - for their own sakes, for that tale left many in a fighting mood. Much muttering followed the telling of that tale, and one tamer vowed to fill Lord British's bedroom with drakes while he slept.
<p align="center">
Fortunately, Grot's ode reminded us of truer heroes and friends.
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Ode to Tarin Silverleaf"
by
Grot </td> <td width="162">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1"> <tr> <td>
humble and true.
He fought with a bow,
oft made of Yew.
The Rangers of Shadow
he led very well
Directing their strikes
without a yell.
But that is not all
to this great man.
He worked with his hands,
like an elf can.
He made bows of might
and arrows true.
when used in a fight
they all stuck true
But greatest of all
the best that I've seen
Is the garden he made
in North Evergreen.
Some know who by now...
he's not a thief
For those who don't know,
He's Tarin Silverleaf
And missed by the Shire and the land.
</td></tr></table>
Aye. Far too many friends have left. Fortunately, some have returned, and more do so each week!
<p align="center">
Py Lethius was in fine form, with not one, but three finely presented pieces! Here they follow, as presented!
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ccffff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"The River"
by
Py Lethius </td> <td width="162">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ccffff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
And that cannot be crossed
Where Ferdiad was gripped and gored
His best friend won and lost
The water's red from brink to brink,
The Morrigan comes down to drink,
And the river goes on south.
Right close in shore, to ward off cold,
An angler sucks a jug.
The water seals and gets its hold;
The angler feels and gives a tug.
Above the ice he's having fits,
Below the ice a long tail flits,
For the river takes it south.
Steeped in the vacuum of her dreams,
A mirror's empty till
A man rides through it. Once she gleams
And once she moves, then she is still.
The filament snaps in the light,
But yet she is a lovely sight,
As the river bears her south.
The gold a dragon could not keep
Came to a woman's hand.
Then thieving kinsmen, diving deep,
Found out a safe in sinking sand.
Dying, they would not tell the place,
Nor does the water yield a trace,
As the river sweeps on south.
</td></tr></table>
<p align="center">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#80ffff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"A song for rowing"
by
Py Lethius </td> <td width="140">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#80ffff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
West of him his heart went home to Greece.
Good and ill wear each a mask that never can be cracked;
He raced from what he thought was war to what he thought was peace.
He was cuckold by his cousin and he'd find his death blow,
But he made them burn the thole pins, and still he called them slow
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
East of Ingcel One-Eye were his kin without their lives,
Westward was a chance to square the loss.
Men will win and men will lose, and only Wyrd survives;
He aimed his fleet for Eriu and flitted it across.
He would conquer mighty Conaire, but that he couldn't know,
He only knew that he must strike and he must not be slow
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
East of O. van Kortlandt all the world was traced and known,
West of him the land leapt off the map.
Luck or loss, the dice won't speak till after they are thrown;
He stowed his gear and stepped aboard and braved Ginnunga Gap.
He would come back to Communipaw, but that just happened so;
He turned from men to mystery and did not travel slow
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
</td></tr></table>
<p align="center">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d0cdfe" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Tammuz, Gilgamesh and I"
by
Py Lethius </td> <td width="120">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#dacdfe" border="1"> <tr> <td>
Cold and Heat I've known, and found both good drinking weather
Light and Darkness I have known, seldom doubting whether
Tammuz would return again, when he'd slipped his tether!
I remember gaudy days when the Year was springing
Tammuz, Gilgamesh and I, clinking Cups and singing
Till Ininni sauntered by, skimpy garments clinging
To her hips, and things like that: Tammuz left us, winging!
So we welcomed Enkidu when he came to Erech
He was rough as hickory bark, nothing of the Cleric!
But his taste in Wine and Ale, THAT was Esoteric!
And he used a drinking cup that would strain a derrick!
Khumbaba then felt our strength 'neath the magic Cedars
And we wrestled Anu's Bull, pride of Heaven's Breeders!
Thrice we struck, and once he fell, drawing wolves for feeders
while we strode where drinking men called for expert leaders.
Tammuz must have joined us there, but he'd just got wedded
And Ininni (blast the Wench!) hacked him as they bedded
Such a honeymoon as that, I have always dreaded....
For a drinking man is...spoiled...once he's been beheaded!
So we waked him with a will, ale and teardrops pooling
Then we drank to him for months, while the year was cooling.
But he came back with the grass! Death was only fooling!
Tammuz told us: "Fill my Cup! I'm both dry...and drooling!"
</td></tr></table>
'Tis good to have ye back, Py - although I suspect the surviving relatives of the orcs near my home may disagree!
<p align="center">
Next, a tale of a tail... or at least, of it's owner!
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"A rodent's tail"
by
Dola </td> <td width="90">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
during the winter months of a distant land
I was in search of a warm dry den
being young I had no mate or young to look after
so I was not in need of anything great
but the warm dry place was needed to help me get through the winter
I came across a home bigger than I ever dreamed!
it was warm & dry
it was devoid of all but one real danger :
another occupant.
but I figured if I kept to myself and stayed out of side
the other resident would no nothing of my presence
I would be fine
well I hadn't been there long
not even 3 moons had passed
when one day
while the sun slept
the other resident
awoke
while I will still exploring the surrounding
I was in plain sight of this monster
I was caught by surprise
I wasn't sure what to do
I stood as still as stone
and hoped the resident would return to slumber and not bother me
we stared each other blink less for what seemed a fortnight
I prayed prayed for the monster to go back to sleep
but alas that did not happen
it started to move!
it was getting up
perhaps it would not bother me
but hope quickyl faded has it came at me with at a fair pace
I escaped its clutches
without a mark on me
I ran all over my new home, looking for a place to hide
to get out reach of this hidous beast
that was after me
what was I to do?
the creature started to behave in a manner I could not comprehend
it was pulling its bedding matterial from its stores
and placing them in new spots
maybe it was trying to make me welcome
but I didn't take any chances
I stay hid as long as possible
when the sun I awoke
I noticed I couldn't hear the beast in my new home
I think I was a lone
I ventured out
no sign!
whew
that was a close call
I swore I would only make my rounds while it slept
and I would stay out of site as much as possible
as the Sun went back to sleep, the creature returned back the dwelling
and proceeded to do even stanger things
it put this white powder out
and a cracker with peanut butter on it
wow!
its leaving me a snack
how htought ful
and its even under this cute white box being held by a stick
I will wait till its asleep
just to be safe before I take this offering
just in case its a trick
it was too big for me to leave out int he open to eat, so I grabbed it
but as I stepped from the white powdery stuff, I noticed I was leaving foot prints!
well I quickly fixed that
I wiped my feet clean with my tongue
the powder turns out was stuff I recognized from bread, I think it was called flour
most strange indeed!
after a while I realized all that way said and done the monster was still loocking for me
well I figured my luck would turn one day soon
so I left the next day
quitely
while it was gone
all I have to say is this
some thing my mother failed to tell me
momma
never told how hard it was to live on your own as mouse!
</td></tr></table>
Tis a hard life indeed - whether man or mouse!
<p align="center">
Ah... Kelmo? Another load of extra fluffy sheep should be arriving in Iantown shortly.
Hoffs? I'll be billing you for all these sheep.
Regardless, here is the result of Hoff's drinking problem...
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Whoa, Dobbin!"
by
Hoffs </td> <td width="144">
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#d5ffd5" border="1"> <tr> <td>
arrived at the Beasts of Burden in Skara Brae looking for a mount.
"How much for the lesser hiryu?", he asked the owner.
"Oh, a wise choice", came the reply,
"And our most popular colour scheme. 50,000 gold pieces."
"Right", said the messenger, "and how about that unicorn? "
"I see Sir has the eye for a noble creature.
This is one of the '05 models with the extra stamina. 20,000 gold marks."
"Well", the messenger asked again, "how about the charger?"
"Ah, a thoroughbred for sure sir, but that you have no doubt ascertained for yourself.
A bargain at just 2,500 gold. "
"Very well", said the messenger." Let me just see if I can stretch to that."
He fumbled in his money bag, then turned to face the animal trainer.
"Erm, do you have anything for 187 gold and two silver groats? "
"Ahh", sighed the stable master, dropping his posh accent and slipping into the vernacular.
"Well, mate, as it happens you just may be in luck. Come outside."
The two stepped into the yard and the rancher pointed to a horse tethered nearby.
"I picked this one up last week after the owner died. 'ave a look at him."
The horse was led over. Its body was muscular and not unlike that of the charger.
Its coat was well groomed and, apart from rather a dumb look on its face,
the animal seemed altogether sound.
The trainer called for his assistant who quickly put on a saddle and bridle.
"Try 'im for size. "
The horse stood dutifully by as the messenger pulled himself up into the saddle.
"Well, he seems fine. What's the catch?"
"Aha", said the trainer. "Thing is, the previous owner was a bit of an eccentric, see.
He 'ad some fairly, erm, unusual training methods.
You steer the 'orse with the reigns like normal.
But to make 'im go you have to say 'damn it'.
If you want 'im to go faster you 'ave to use the words ''bl**dy hell.'
And to make 'im stop, you 'ave to say 'cr*p'. "
"Good grief", exclaimed the messenger, somewhat shocked.
He patted the horse on the neck. "Damn it, boy."
Sure enough, the horse moved forward into a steady walk.
"Now crap, boy, cr*p for me. "
Once again, the horse obeyed and stood still.
"Okay, damn it then. "
Again the horse started forwards and the messenger pulled the right hand reign
and led him in a deep circle of the yard.
"Right, bl**dy hell then!"
The horse immediately broke into a trot and then to a canter, all perfectly controlled.
"Cr*p, now, cr*p", commanded the messenger, and the horse came neatly to a halt.
"Well, this is all somewhat unusual", laughed the messenger, "but I'll take him!"
And so the courier traveled all over Britannia and beyond delivering his news.
And although he received many a strange look
and was barred from most of the better establishments in the land,
he experienced no problems with his mount.
After two weeks, the only destination remaining
was that of the mountain fortress of Wintermoor
where he had news to impart to the Lady Siofra.
As they climbed up to the head of the pass which led into the valley of Wintermoor,
the going became rather tricky at a walk,
so the rider decided they would be better on the trot.
"Bl**dy hell", he commanded and the beast faithfully complied.
As they reached the small plateau at the top, the wind picked up enormously.
The horse trotted along the flat path until it started the descent into the valley.
"Okay, boy", said the messenger, "damn it now."
His words, though, were carried away by the fierce gale.
"Damn it, boy, damn it". he said with greater force, but still the words were silent.
The path now became steeper and the trot had become a canter.
"Cr*p for me boy, cr*p now!" he shouted, but still it was all in vain.
Moreover, not too far ahead, the path veered sharply to the left
and straight ahead the land disappeared so that the distant valley floor
and the mountains on the far side filled the view.
"Cr*p, damn it, cr*p!!!"
Still no response.
The canter hand now become a full gallup, with the edifice looming ever closer.
"Cr*p, cr*p, cr*p, cr*p, cr*p, cr*p." he cried.
"CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P, CR*P."
But he could not be heard.
At last, the messenger closed his eyes and let out one final wail.
"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
....................................................................................................
He opened his eyes.
They had come to a halt just inches from the edge of the cliff.
As he looked ahead he could see the valley below and the tiny buildings of Wintermoor.
He leaned forward onto the horse's neck then peered over the edge of the precipice and
gulped at the near vertical drop of over a thousand feet onto the jagged rocks at the bottom.
"Phew!", he cried out.
"Blo*dy hell, that was close! "
</td></tr></table> <p align="center">
And so, another evening drew to a close.
Well done to Angharad, for winning the vote, and sending many out into the night up in arms. I suspect last night was not a good night to belong to the order of True Britannians, somehow.
Come one and all, next week, and enjoy stories, rhymes, songs and jokes, of all shapes and sizes!
Now, will someone get these sheep out of here, and on their way to Iantown?
</p> </td> </tr> </table>
