G
Guest
Guest
<table width="100%"> <tr> <td> <table width="750" height="130" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" align="center" border="0"> <tr> <td width="175">
</td> <td width="400">
</td> <td width="175">
</td> </tr> </table>
eeping to my regular exercise regimen, I made my way from town to town, and I came upon several strange occurances.
The first, in Yew, was a group of men who had decided that the best accoustics in the land were to be found around the Heartwood gateway.
<table bordercolor="#008000" width="300" align="left" border="1"> <tr> <td>
</td></tr></table>
So, there they gathered, and there they sang.
I attempted to join in, but my singing voice has been ravaged by too many years of mining dust, so I gave up, and went on my way.
Once inside Heartwood, it seemed that an unseen beggar was attempting to flood the place, through the strangest of methods!
Water jugs, all aquired through his or her begging methods, were everywhere!
I later found more of the same, deposited around Luna.. but of the littering beggar, there was no sign to be found.
<table bordercolor="#0080c0" width="260" align="right" border="1"> <tr> <td>
</td></tr></table>
Wandering on, with fairly soggy boots, and a water jug on one foot, I came to Skara Brae.
Here, too, a small group of singers had gathered - a barbers shop quartet, outside the bank. Thankfully, they weren't making it as hard to get around as those in Yew.
<table bordercolor="#800000" width="180" border="1"> <tr> <td>
</td></tr></table>
They were no more fond of my singing than their counterparts in Yew, so I left.
With songs on the brain, I headed on to the Shire, for a night of stories and song!
The first event of the eve, though, was neither - for Yancey lead us in a night of trivia, general knowledge, and riddles!
I will save the answers to these until the end of this article, for those who wish to have their minds stretched at this strange hour!
So, here is the Quiz of the night, as 'twas presented!
<table border="1" width="60%" align="center" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="135"><a target="_blank" href=>
</a></td> <td align="middle">
Tavern Thought Twisters
by
Yancey DeFlorio </td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td>
onight, I weave not tales to ensnare the mind
nor will I make the women folk swoon
tonight I test your mental might
We shall start easy
<p align="center">
</p>
Until I am measured
I am not known,
Yet how you miss me
When I have flown.
<p align="center">
</p>
With thieves I consort,
With the vilest, in short,
I'm quite at ease in depravity;
Yet all divines use me,
And savants can't lose me,
For I am the center of gravity.
<p align="center">
</p>
I never was, am always to be,
No one ever saw me, nor ever will
And yet I am the confidence of all
To live and breathe on this terrestrial ball.
<p align="center">
</p>
Of no use to one
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby's right,
The lover's privilege,
The hypocrite's mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I?
<p align="center">
</p>
I have rivers without water,
Forests without trees,
Mountains without rocks
Towns without houses.
What am I?
With no wings, I fly.
With no eyes, I see.
With no arms, I climb.
More frightening than any beast,
stronger than any foe.
I am cunning, ruthless, and tall;
in the end, I rule all.
<p align="center">
</p>
If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.
<p align="center">
</p>
I'm pleasing to the eye
A tool for many absent of mind
A tapestry of fickle lies
Blind to even the most pensive spies
I'm often the breeder of fervent lust
But I am by far one you shouldn't trust
<p align="center">
</p>
With potent, flowery words speak I,
Of something common, vulgar, dry;
I weave webs of pedantic prose,
In effort to befuddle those,
Who think I wile time away,
In lofty things, above all day
The common kind that linger where
Monadic beings live and fare;
Practical I may not be,
But life, it seems, is full of me!
<p align="center">
</p>
I am born in fear, raised in truth,
and I come to my own in deed.
When comes a time that I'm called forth,
I come to serve the cause of need.
<p align="center">
</p>
I'm by nature solitary, scarred by spear
and wounded by sword, weary of battle.
I frequently see the face of war, and fight
hateful enemies; yet I hold no hope
of help being brought to me in the battle,
before I'm eventually done to death.
In the stronghold of the city sharp-edged swords,
skilfully forged in the flame by smiths,
bite deeply into me.
I can but await a more fearsome encounter;
it is not for me
to discover in the city any of those doctors
who heal grievous wounds with roots and herbs.
The scars from sword wounds gape wider and wider;
death blows are dealt to me by day and by night.
<p align="center">
</p>The answers can be found <a target="_blank" href=#quiz_answers>down below</a> !
</td> </tr> </table>
Next, came Morning, with a little poem to remember Mother's Day, just passed for some of us, and long gone for others.
<table border="1" width="60%" align="center" bordercolor="#800040"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Mother's Poem
by
Morning </td> <td align="middle" width="150">
</td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#800040"> <tr> <td>
hen the waters surrounding you
boil over
taking you places you never wished to go
when fierce winds blow and howl
with songs
you pray God will let you soon forget
when the drums in your heart
beat so wildly
the earth beneath your feet
becomes afraid
I will be there
God help me,
I will be there
to those waters
I will set out on my little ship
beating back the waters
pushing away the winds
and loving you until your heart will only drum for joy
God help me, Mama
*I will be there*
</td> </tr> </table>
On a far less serious note, though McAndrews was nowhere to be found, we had one Scotsman in the tavern, who came to let us know far more than we ever wished to know about his kilt!
So, for those who don't think bagpipes sound like a cat being murdered, I give you...
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#008080"> <tr> <td valign="top" align="middle" width="133">
Sitric where's yer troosers?
by
Sitric MacBrayne
</td> <td><font color="#7bbf92">*rubs sporon for luck, warms up bagpipes*</font>
Hello, lasses!!!
Och, and ye gents too, I s'pose.
Noo, I've got sumfink special fer all a ye!
It's a song all aboot me kilt!
Dinnae pay owt attention to yon laddie Donald wot says it's aboot him, ye ken?
Righty!
Weeelllll........
ust came doon from the Highlands Dry,
I'm not very big and I'm awfully shy,
The lasses shout as I go by,
"Sitric where's yer troosers?"
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.........
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
Doon the street in me kilt I go,
Put the Glow in Moon, y'know?
"Sitric! Where's yer troosers?"
A lassie took me to a ball,
an' it were slippery in Trinsic Hall,
I were afear'd that I might fall,
'coz I hadnae on me troosers!
<font color="#7bbf92">*raises kilt with a flourish*
</font>
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
It gets draughty down below,
all Skara's lasses say "Hel LO!
Sitric where's yer troosers?
The lasses'd wed me everyone,
Just let em catch me if they can
You canna put the breeks on a highland man,
who doesna like wearin' troosers.
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
it's right windy in old Ocllo,
aye, Vesper's lasses say 'Woa-HO!
Sitric where's yer troosers?
<font color="#7bbf92">*lifts kilt, tosses a cabre*
</font>
Ta wear the kilt is my delight,
It isna wrong, I know it's right,
The Banksitters would get a fright
If they saw me wearin' troosers!
<font color="#7bbf92">*does the highland fling*</font>
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
Doon yon street in me kilt I go,
Gave Minoc's lasses a right rare show,
Sitric where's yer troosers?
<font color="#7bbf92">(wanna closer look at me sporon, lass?)
</font>
Well, I caught a cold an' me nose were raw,
I hadnay handkerchief at all,
So I hiked up me kilt and I gave it a blow,
<font color="#7bbf92">*demonstrates*
</font>Now, ye canna do that with troosers!
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
Doon the street in me kilt I go,
an all Siege's lasses say 'Hello!
Sitric WHERE'S YER TROOOSERS!!!
</td> </tr> </table>
That draughty entry tied with my humble offering, given below, for first place...
but as I was ill equipped to fight, having only a craftsman's skills to offer that night, and Sitric declined to strike a blind man, we agreed to split the gold, with a goodly share going to buy resources for NEW.
Any time you change your mind about the duel, Sitric, let me know, and I'll bring something better than tinkering and lumberjacking!
However, all that kilt-waving had left some of the audience with impaired vision, so I felt it appropriate to present this:
<table border="1" width="60%" align="center" bordercolor="#000000"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="100" bgcolor="#000000"><font style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #000000" color="#ffffff">-</font></td> <td align="middle"> Truly Blind
by
Blind Otto </td> <td align="middle" width="100" bgcolor="#000000"><font style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #000000" color="#ffffff">-</font> </td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#000000"> <tr> <td>
hich of us is truly blind,
Who can not see,
Though I am sightless,
I have vision in my mind,
And hear far more than thee.
The pains, the hopes, the fears rage,
Silently in the people's hearts,
But their lips stay mute,
Writing on an unseen page,
Fearing to bring fiery darts.
Which of us is truly blind,
And who simply looks away,
Fearing ever, to get involved,
Shunning all those they find,
As others lose their way.
The things you see while in the dark,
You’re not supposed to see,
Inspect inside with blind eyes,
Soul stained with darkest mark,
Could yet light the path for thee.
Which of us is truly blind,
Which of us lost in the night,
Asking ‘is this all there is’
As unseen teeth gnash and grind,
Lost without their sight..
The blackness swirls in the night,
Unseen without, within,
Tides of ebon anger flow,
Draining away the light,
Shunning all, but to win.
Which of us is truly blind,
Who has forgot the light,
Where have all the good men gone?
They are here, a spark shined,
Just removed from sight.
Tis faith ye need to part the black,
But faith is shunned indeed,
And faith many do ridicule,
Pride leading them down it’s track,
Claiming faith in their own misdeed.
Which of us is truly blind,
And who simply refuses to see,
For in truth, is can be said,
The darkest places are in the mind,
Aye, within you… and me.
</p> </td> </tr> </table>
Angharad then brought us a fine tale, without any kilts..
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td align="middle">
The Alchemist's Landlady
by
Angharad </td> <td align="middle" width="100">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td>
n Alchemist has taken rooms three floors up in the attic space.
What he does there, I don't know - I wouldn't go near the place.
But sometimes in my dreams, slivers of his magistry
Catch me unwares...and i crave a little mystery.
He's certainly a private man - perhaps he's shy, this guest of mine.
His visitors are strange and few; he's seldom seen in the daylight hours
Magpies bring him gifts of stuff, his windowbox holds mandrake flowers
Ten years I've been a widow now; long enough to mourn a man -
Long enough to chance my heart again?
I serve him all the choicest fayre, bread i've shaped with my own two hands
Wine I've saved for year on year, sweets from oriental lands
I ply the man with roasted meats, woo him with my provender
Scent the house with cinnebar, scent the sheets with lavender
Ten years I've lived a widow now, long enow sans company
Didgnity, propriety, go hang! I've other tricks to bring him 'round.
My mother was a hedewitch and my father peddled spells
I'd shame them both, gods rest them, if i couldn't do as well.
My first love was a wealthy man, I planned that way you see
Why ever do you think he loved a country girl like me?
There's woman's magic no man knows...
The echoes of his summonings - slivers of his magistry
Traces of his arcane power - of how I crave this mystery
Woman's magic, aid me now; Artemis and Hecate
Conjure him with all I know, make him want to conjure me
</td></tr></table>
The Shire was filled with KSS last night, it seemed - but here's a work in which the knight did not fare so well...
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#800000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
The Dragon of Grindly Grun
by
Kiera Willow </td> <td align="middle" width="200">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#800000"> <tr> <td>
'm the Dragon of Grindly Grun,
I breathe fire as hot as the sun.
When a knight comes to fight
I just toast him on sight,
Like a hot crispy cinnamon bun.
When I see a fair damsel go by,
I just sigh a fiery sigh,
And she'd baked like a 'tater-
I think of her later
With a romantic tear in my eye.
I'm the dragon of grimly grun
But my lunches aren't very much fun,
For I like my damsels medium rare,
and they always come out well done.
</td></tr></table>
Daan, one hand on his axe in case the dragon was about, read to us from one of his past journals.
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#804000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Initiate's Journal
by
Daan Mor </td> <td align="middle" width="100">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#804000"> <tr> <td>
he Beast of Depravity endures longer than the flesh of Men.
Those that contest the Beasts must labour long in their ways,
for a single Beast may need suffer the mastership of many champions
before it is ready to shed it's earthly flesh.
However,
a Man may die and yet still endure
if his work enters the Greater Work.
Time is carried upon a current incepted by forgotten deeds.
Events of great moment are but the culmination of a single carefully placed thought.
As all Men must thank progenitors obscured by the past,
so we must endure the present
that those that who come after may continue the Greater Work;
For every Man is a spark in the darkness.
By the time he is noticed he is gone forever.
A retinal after-image which fades
and is obscured by newer, brighter lights.
Do not waste your tears.
We were born to watch the world grow dim.
Life is not measured in years, but in the deeds of Men.
These deeds, the deeds of myself, Daan Mor,
are those that shall bring light back to these ever-waning lands.
There is no right or wrong in my profession.
The present changes the past from moment to moment.
Only pray for the future to vindicate my actions.
Though gold in my palm weighs light compared to death by fire or steel,
I do not shy the hopeless fight, for endeavor is it's own reward.
I must repent my sins and instead focus on those of others.
You may ask 'How will you know if you are in the presence of the unclean?'
It is not in my mind to ask questions which cannot be answered.
For that is the soul standing upon the crossroad of vacillation.
You search for wisdom, but find only stasis of will.
Know only this:
I will know the unclean,
by sight, by smell, touch or instinct i will know.
They must be cleansed.
I must beat my thoughts to the mould of my will and purge the unclean,
for in my mind the only true crime is cowardice.
Better crippled in body than corrupt in mind.
Thank you
</td></tr></table>
Yancey took the floor again, and, though the large amounts of ale in some caused him to be mistaken for a woman, he lead a rousing rally, taught to him by the dock workers of Buc's Den - one that every hard working gold farmer could relate to!
<table cellpadding="0" width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#ff8000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Pay me, you owe me
by
Yancey DeFlorio </td> <td align="middle" width="50">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#ff8000"> <tr> <td>
ay Me, you Owe me, Pay me my money down
You got to pay me Mr. Seggallion, pay me my money down
You owe me, you owe me, pay me my money down
You got to pay me or ya go to jail, pay me my money down.
If I'd a known the boss was blind
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
I wouldn't'a gone to work 'til half past nine
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
I thought I heard the old man say;
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*
</font>Go to shore spend all your pay.
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
Pay Me, you Owe me, Pay me my money down
You got to pay me Mr. Seggallion, pay me my money down
You owe me, you owe me, pay me my money down
You got to pay me or ya go to jail, pay me my money down.
I thought I heard the men below
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
You don't pay us and the ship don't go.
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*
</font>I need my pay to go to shore
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*
</font>I'll drink my whiskey and get some more!
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
Pay Me, you Owe me, Pay me my money down
You got to pay me Mr. Seggallion, pay me my money down
You owe me, you owe me, pay me my money down
You got to pay me or ya go to jail, pay me my money down.
<font color="#00793d">*pay me my money down*
</font>
<font color="#00793d">*passes the hat*</font>
</td></tr></table>
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#8080c0"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Chapter 5
from
The Book of Fellowship
"The Two Brothers and the Trickster"
by
Quentico </td> <td width="166">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#8080c0"> <tr> <td>
n the road to Minoc last week
I noticed a small mine being worked by 2 brothers.
They greeted me suspiciously but eventually told me their tale:
Their father died and left them a map to some unclaimed land that contained valuable minerals!
By Britannian law, a claim can only be made in one name, and this led the brothers in to conflict.
One brother was the elder, the other was more worldly.
Both wanted the claim however.
They became so fearful that the other would make the claim that each spent
all his time spying on the other!
No work at the mine was ever done.
One day, they met a stranger who said he was an engineer
a mining engineer.
They did not trust him at first, but he assured them that their claim was too small to be of
interest; he was on the way to stake a much larger claim.
The stranger turned their heads with tales of the riches they could have, replacing their distrust
with...avarice!
The brothers asked the stranger to make their claim for them, and went back to the working
their mine. They worked without stopping for months and afterward travelled to the mint in
Britain to sell their ore.
At the mint, they learned the stranger had staked their claim in HIS own name and
then sold it outright for a fortune!
As the brothers had taken ore from LAND they did not own, they were sent to the prison in Yew
for many years.
Their sad fate taught them to be more trusting of each other
for a man who does not TRUST his brother is always vulnerable. After hearing their tale, I went
back to the mint in Britain
I was curious which of the two brothers held the claim to their new mine.
I had tried to guess and was quite surprised when I saw the answer.
It was in the name of their dead father.
</td></tr></table>
Apart from Tigsalot poetically informing us that he hates us all, which may be Elven for 'Happy Birthday' for all I know, that was all for the night!
Well done to Sitric!
Lastly, as promised, here are the answers to Yancey's pub quiz.
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#004000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
<font size="6"><a name="quiz_answers"><font size="6">Q</font></a>uiz Answers</font></td> <td width="100">
</td></tr></table>
<table background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/background_goldparchment.jpg" bordercolor="#004000" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="1" width="75%" align="center" border="1"> <tr> <td>
<font size="6">Questions</font></td> <td>
<font size="6">nswers</font></td></tr> <tr> <td> Until I am measured
I am not known,
Yet how you miss me
When I have flown.</td> <td>Time</td></tr> <tr> <td> With thieves I consort,
With the vilest, in short,
I'm quite at ease in depravity;
Yet all divines use me,
And savants can't lose me,
For I am the center of gravity.</td> <td>The letter 'V'</td></tr> <tr> <td> I never was, am always to be,
No one ever saw me, nor ever will
And yet I am the confidence of all
To live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. </td> <td>Tomorrow</td></tr> <tr> <td> Of no use to one
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby's right,
The lover's privilege,
The hypocrite's mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I? </td> <td>A kiss </td></tr> <tr> <td> I have rivers without water,
Forests without trees,
Mountains without rocks
Towns without houses.
What am I?
With no wings, I fly.
With no eyes, I see.
With no arms, I climb.
More frightening than any beast,
stronger than any foe.
I am cunning, ruthless, and tall;
in the end, I rule all. </td> <td>The imagination </td></tr> <tr> <td> If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.</td> <td>The heart</td></tr> <tr> <td> I'm pleasing to the eye
A tool for many absent of mind
A tapestry of fickle lies
Blind to even the most pensive spies
I'm often the breeder of fervent lust
But I am by far one you shouldn't trust </td> <td>Appearance</td></tr> <tr> <td> With potent, flowery words speak I,
Of something common, vulgar, dry;
I weave webs of pedantic prose,
In effort to befuddle those,
Who think I wile time away,
In lofty things, above all day
The common kind that linger where
Monadic beings live and fare;
Practical I may not be,
But life, it seems, is full of me! </td> <td>Riddles</td></tr> <tr> <td> I am born in fear, raised in truth,
and I come to my own in deed.
When comes a time that I'm called forth,
I come to serve the cause of need.</td> <td>Courage</td></tr> <tr> <td> I'm by nature solitary, scarred by spear
and wounded by sword, weary of battle.
I frequently see the face of war, and fight
hateful enemies; yet I hold no hope
of help being brought to me in the battle,
before I'm eventually done to death.
In the stronghold of the city sharp-edged swords,
skilfully forged in the flame by smiths,
bite deeply into me. I can but await
a more fearsome encounter; it is not for me
to discover in the city any of those doctors
who heal grievous wounds with roots and herbs.
The scars from sword wounds gape wider and wider;
death blows are dealt to me by day and by night. </td> <td>A Shield</td></tr></table>
I stand open to correction, but I believe that Angharad had more correct answers than any other last night!
</td> </tr> </table>Come along next week, for a night of good fun in the Shire!
The first, in Yew, was a group of men who had decided that the best accoustics in the land were to be found around the Heartwood gateway.
<table bordercolor="#008000" width="300" align="left" border="1"> <tr> <td>
So, there they gathered, and there they sang.
I attempted to join in, but my singing voice has been ravaged by too many years of mining dust, so I gave up, and went on my way.
Once inside Heartwood, it seemed that an unseen beggar was attempting to flood the place, through the strangest of methods!
Water jugs, all aquired through his or her begging methods, were everywhere!
I later found more of the same, deposited around Luna.. but of the littering beggar, there was no sign to be found.
<table bordercolor="#0080c0" width="260" align="right" border="1"> <tr> <td>
Wandering on, with fairly soggy boots, and a water jug on one foot, I came to Skara Brae.
Here, too, a small group of singers had gathered - a barbers shop quartet, outside the bank. Thankfully, they weren't making it as hard to get around as those in Yew.
<table bordercolor="#800000" width="180" border="1"> <tr> <td>
They were no more fond of my singing than their counterparts in Yew, so I left.
With songs on the brain, I headed on to the Shire, for a night of stories and song!
The first event of the eve, though, was neither - for Yancey lead us in a night of trivia, general knowledge, and riddles!
I will save the answers to these until the end of this article, for those who wish to have their minds stretched at this strange hour!
So, here is the Quiz of the night, as 'twas presented!
<table border="1" width="60%" align="center" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="135"><a target="_blank" href=>
Tavern Thought Twisters
by
Yancey DeFlorio </td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td>
nor will I make the women folk swoon
tonight I test your mental might
We shall start easy
<p align="center">
Until I am measured
I am not known,
Yet how you miss me
When I have flown.
<p align="center">
With thieves I consort,
With the vilest, in short,
I'm quite at ease in depravity;
Yet all divines use me,
And savants can't lose me,
For I am the center of gravity.
<p align="center">
I never was, am always to be,
No one ever saw me, nor ever will
And yet I am the confidence of all
To live and breathe on this terrestrial ball.
<p align="center">
Of no use to one
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby's right,
The lover's privilege,
The hypocrite's mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I?
<p align="center">
I have rivers without water,
Forests without trees,
Mountains without rocks
Towns without houses.
What am I?
With no wings, I fly.
With no eyes, I see.
With no arms, I climb.
More frightening than any beast,
stronger than any foe.
I am cunning, ruthless, and tall;
in the end, I rule all.
<p align="center">
If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.
<p align="center">
I'm pleasing to the eye
A tool for many absent of mind
A tapestry of fickle lies
Blind to even the most pensive spies
I'm often the breeder of fervent lust
But I am by far one you shouldn't trust
<p align="center">
With potent, flowery words speak I,
Of something common, vulgar, dry;
I weave webs of pedantic prose,
In effort to befuddle those,
Who think I wile time away,
In lofty things, above all day
The common kind that linger where
Monadic beings live and fare;
Practical I may not be,
But life, it seems, is full of me!
<p align="center">
I am born in fear, raised in truth,
and I come to my own in deed.
When comes a time that I'm called forth,
I come to serve the cause of need.
<p align="center">
I'm by nature solitary, scarred by spear
and wounded by sword, weary of battle.
I frequently see the face of war, and fight
hateful enemies; yet I hold no hope
of help being brought to me in the battle,
before I'm eventually done to death.
In the stronghold of the city sharp-edged swords,
skilfully forged in the flame by smiths,
bite deeply into me.
I can but await a more fearsome encounter;
it is not for me
to discover in the city any of those doctors
who heal grievous wounds with roots and herbs.
The scars from sword wounds gape wider and wider;
death blows are dealt to me by day and by night.
<p align="center">
</td> </tr> </table>
Next, came Morning, with a little poem to remember Mother's Day, just passed for some of us, and long gone for others.
<table border="1" width="60%" align="center" bordercolor="#800040"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Mother's Poem
by
Morning </td> <td align="middle" width="150">
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#800040"> <tr> <td>
boil over
taking you places you never wished to go
when fierce winds blow and howl
with songs
you pray God will let you soon forget
when the drums in your heart
beat so wildly
the earth beneath your feet
becomes afraid
I will be there
God help me,
I will be there
to those waters
I will set out on my little ship
beating back the waters
pushing away the winds
and loving you until your heart will only drum for joy
God help me, Mama
*I will be there*
</td> </tr> </table>
On a far less serious note, though McAndrews was nowhere to be found, we had one Scotsman in the tavern, who came to let us know far more than we ever wished to know about his kilt!
So, for those who don't think bagpipes sound like a cat being murdered, I give you...
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#008080"> <tr> <td valign="top" align="middle" width="133">
Sitric where's yer troosers?
by
Sitric MacBrayne
</td> <td><font color="#7bbf92">*rubs sporon for luck, warms up bagpipes*</font>
Hello, lasses!!!
Och, and ye gents too, I s'pose.
Noo, I've got sumfink special fer all a ye!
It's a song all aboot me kilt!
Dinnae pay owt attention to yon laddie Donald wot says it's aboot him, ye ken?
Righty!
Weeelllll........
I'm not very big and I'm awfully shy,
The lasses shout as I go by,
"Sitric where's yer troosers?"
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.........
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
Doon the street in me kilt I go,
Put the Glow in Moon, y'know?
"Sitric! Where's yer troosers?"
A lassie took me to a ball,
an' it were slippery in Trinsic Hall,
I were afear'd that I might fall,
'coz I hadnae on me troosers!
<font color="#7bbf92">*raises kilt with a flourish*
</font>
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
It gets draughty down below,
all Skara's lasses say "Hel LO!
Sitric where's yer troosers?
The lasses'd wed me everyone,
Just let em catch me if they can
You canna put the breeks on a highland man,
who doesna like wearin' troosers.
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
it's right windy in old Ocllo,
aye, Vesper's lasses say 'Woa-HO!
Sitric where's yer troosers?
<font color="#7bbf92">*lifts kilt, tosses a cabre*
</font>
Ta wear the kilt is my delight,
It isna wrong, I know it's right,
The Banksitters would get a fright
If they saw me wearin' troosers!
<font color="#7bbf92">*does the highland fling*</font>
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
Doon yon street in me kilt I go,
Gave Minoc's lasses a right rare show,
Sitric where's yer troosers?
<font color="#7bbf92">(wanna closer look at me sporon, lass?)
</font>
Well, I caught a cold an' me nose were raw,
I hadnay handkerchief at all,
So I hiked up me kilt and I gave it a blow,
<font color="#7bbf92">*demonstrates*
</font>Now, ye canna do that with troosers!
Let the winds blow high,
Let the winds blow low,
Doon the street in me kilt I go,
an all Siege's lasses say 'Hello!
Sitric WHERE'S YER TROOOSERS!!!
</td> </tr> </table>
That draughty entry tied with my humble offering, given below, for first place...
but as I was ill equipped to fight, having only a craftsman's skills to offer that night, and Sitric declined to strike a blind man, we agreed to split the gold, with a goodly share going to buy resources for NEW.
Any time you change your mind about the duel, Sitric, let me know, and I'll bring something better than tinkering and lumberjacking!
However, all that kilt-waving had left some of the audience with impaired vision, so I felt it appropriate to present this:
<table border="1" width="60%" align="center" bordercolor="#000000"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="100" bgcolor="#000000"><font style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #000000" color="#ffffff">-</font></td> <td align="middle"> Truly Blind
by
Blind Otto </td> <td align="middle" width="100" bgcolor="#000000"><font style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #000000" color="#ffffff">-</font> </td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bordercolor="#000000"> <tr> <td>
Who can not see,
Though I am sightless,
I have vision in my mind,
And hear far more than thee.
The pains, the hopes, the fears rage,
Silently in the people's hearts,
But their lips stay mute,
Writing on an unseen page,
Fearing to bring fiery darts.
Which of us is truly blind,
And who simply looks away,
Fearing ever, to get involved,
Shunning all those they find,
As others lose their way.
The things you see while in the dark,
You’re not supposed to see,
Inspect inside with blind eyes,
Soul stained with darkest mark,
Could yet light the path for thee.
Which of us is truly blind,
Which of us lost in the night,
Asking ‘is this all there is’
As unseen teeth gnash and grind,
Lost without their sight..
The blackness swirls in the night,
Unseen without, within,
Tides of ebon anger flow,
Draining away the light,
Shunning all, but to win.
Which of us is truly blind,
Who has forgot the light,
Where have all the good men gone?
They are here, a spark shined,
Just removed from sight.
Tis faith ye need to part the black,
But faith is shunned indeed,
And faith many do ridicule,
Pride leading them down it’s track,
Claiming faith in their own misdeed.
Which of us is truly blind,
And who simply refuses to see,
For in truth, is can be said,
The darkest places are in the mind,
Aye, within you… and me.
</p> </td> </tr> </table>
Angharad then brought us a fine tale, without any kilts..
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td align="middle">
The Alchemist's Landlady
by
Angharad </td> <td align="middle" width="100">
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#004080"> <tr> <td>
What he does there, I don't know - I wouldn't go near the place.
But sometimes in my dreams, slivers of his magistry
Catch me unwares...and i crave a little mystery.
He's certainly a private man - perhaps he's shy, this guest of mine.
His visitors are strange and few; he's seldom seen in the daylight hours
Magpies bring him gifts of stuff, his windowbox holds mandrake flowers
Ten years I've been a widow now; long enough to mourn a man -
Long enough to chance my heart again?
I serve him all the choicest fayre, bread i've shaped with my own two hands
Wine I've saved for year on year, sweets from oriental lands
I ply the man with roasted meats, woo him with my provender
Scent the house with cinnebar, scent the sheets with lavender
Ten years I've lived a widow now, long enow sans company
Didgnity, propriety, go hang! I've other tricks to bring him 'round.
My mother was a hedewitch and my father peddled spells
I'd shame them both, gods rest them, if i couldn't do as well.
My first love was a wealthy man, I planned that way you see
Why ever do you think he loved a country girl like me?
There's woman's magic no man knows...
The echoes of his summonings - slivers of his magistry
Traces of his arcane power - of how I crave this mystery
Woman's magic, aid me now; Artemis and Hecate
Conjure him with all I know, make him want to conjure me
</td></tr></table>
The Shire was filled with KSS last night, it seemed - but here's a work in which the knight did not fare so well...
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#800000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
The Dragon of Grindly Grun
by
Kiera Willow </td> <td align="middle" width="200">
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#800000"> <tr> <td>
I breathe fire as hot as the sun.
When a knight comes to fight
I just toast him on sight,
Like a hot crispy cinnamon bun.
When I see a fair damsel go by,
I just sigh a fiery sigh,
And she'd baked like a 'tater-
I think of her later
With a romantic tear in my eye.
I'm the dragon of grimly grun
But my lunches aren't very much fun,
For I like my damsels medium rare,
and they always come out well done.
</td></tr></table>
Daan, one hand on his axe in case the dragon was about, read to us from one of his past journals.
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#804000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Initiate's Journal
by
Daan Mor </td> <td align="middle" width="100">
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#804000"> <tr> <td>
Those that contest the Beasts must labour long in their ways,
for a single Beast may need suffer the mastership of many champions
before it is ready to shed it's earthly flesh.
However,
a Man may die and yet still endure
if his work enters the Greater Work.
Time is carried upon a current incepted by forgotten deeds.
Events of great moment are but the culmination of a single carefully placed thought.
As all Men must thank progenitors obscured by the past,
so we must endure the present
that those that who come after may continue the Greater Work;
For every Man is a spark in the darkness.
By the time he is noticed he is gone forever.
A retinal after-image which fades
and is obscured by newer, brighter lights.
Do not waste your tears.
We were born to watch the world grow dim.
Life is not measured in years, but in the deeds of Men.
These deeds, the deeds of myself, Daan Mor,
are those that shall bring light back to these ever-waning lands.
There is no right or wrong in my profession.
The present changes the past from moment to moment.
Only pray for the future to vindicate my actions.
Though gold in my palm weighs light compared to death by fire or steel,
I do not shy the hopeless fight, for endeavor is it's own reward.
I must repent my sins and instead focus on those of others.
You may ask 'How will you know if you are in the presence of the unclean?'
It is not in my mind to ask questions which cannot be answered.
For that is the soul standing upon the crossroad of vacillation.
You search for wisdom, but find only stasis of will.
Know only this:
I will know the unclean,
by sight, by smell, touch or instinct i will know.
They must be cleansed.
I must beat my thoughts to the mould of my will and purge the unclean,
for in my mind the only true crime is cowardice.
Better crippled in body than corrupt in mind.
Thank you
</td></tr></table>
Yancey took the floor again, and, though the large amounts of ale in some caused him to be mistaken for a woman, he lead a rousing rally, taught to him by the dock workers of Buc's Den - one that every hard working gold farmer could relate to!
<table cellpadding="0" width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#ff8000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Pay me, you owe me
by
Yancey DeFlorio </td> <td align="middle" width="50">
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#ff8000"> <tr> <td>
You got to pay me Mr. Seggallion, pay me my money down
You owe me, you owe me, pay me my money down
You got to pay me or ya go to jail, pay me my money down.
If I'd a known the boss was blind
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
I wouldn't'a gone to work 'til half past nine
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
I thought I heard the old man say;
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*
</font>Go to shore spend all your pay.
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
Pay Me, you Owe me, Pay me my money down
You got to pay me Mr. Seggallion, pay me my money down
You owe me, you owe me, pay me my money down
You got to pay me or ya go to jail, pay me my money down.
I thought I heard the men below
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
You don't pay us and the ship don't go.
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*
</font>I need my pay to go to shore
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*
</font>I'll drink my whiskey and get some more!
<font color="#00793d">*Pay me my money down*</font>
Pay Me, you Owe me, Pay me my money down
You got to pay me Mr. Seggallion, pay me my money down
You owe me, you owe me, pay me my money down
You got to pay me or ya go to jail, pay me my money down.
<font color="#00793d">*pay me my money down*
</font>
<font color="#00793d">*passes the hat*</font>
</td></tr></table>
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#8080c0"> <tr> <td align="middle">
Chapter 5
from
The Book of Fellowship
"The Two Brothers and the Trickster"
by
Quentico </td> <td width="166">
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#8080c0"> <tr> <td>
I noticed a small mine being worked by 2 brothers.
They greeted me suspiciously but eventually told me their tale:
Their father died and left them a map to some unclaimed land that contained valuable minerals!
By Britannian law, a claim can only be made in one name, and this led the brothers in to conflict.
One brother was the elder, the other was more worldly.
Both wanted the claim however.
They became so fearful that the other would make the claim that each spent
all his time spying on the other!
No work at the mine was ever done.
One day, they met a stranger who said he was an engineer
a mining engineer.
They did not trust him at first, but he assured them that their claim was too small to be of
interest; he was on the way to stake a much larger claim.
The stranger turned their heads with tales of the riches they could have, replacing their distrust
with...avarice!
The brothers asked the stranger to make their claim for them, and went back to the working
their mine. They worked without stopping for months and afterward travelled to the mint in
Britain to sell their ore.
At the mint, they learned the stranger had staked their claim in HIS own name and
then sold it outright for a fortune!
As the brothers had taken ore from LAND they did not own, they were sent to the prison in Yew
for many years.
Their sad fate taught them to be more trusting of each other
for a man who does not TRUST his brother is always vulnerable. After hearing their tale, I went
back to the mint in Britain
I was curious which of the two brothers held the claim to their new mine.
I had tried to guess and was quite surprised when I saw the answer.
It was in the name of their dead father.
</td></tr></table>
Apart from Tigsalot poetically informing us that he hates us all, which may be Elven for 'Happy Birthday' for all I know, that was all for the night!
Well done to Sitric!
Lastly, as promised, here are the answers to Yancey's pub quiz.
<table width="60%" align="center" border="1" bordercolor="#004000"> <tr> <td align="middle">
<font size="6"><a name="quiz_answers"><font size="6">Q</font></a>uiz Answers</font></td> <td width="100">
<table background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/background_goldparchment.jpg" bordercolor="#004000" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="1" width="75%" align="center" border="1"> <tr> <td>
I am not known,
Yet how you miss me
When I have flown.</td> <td>Time</td></tr> <tr> <td> With thieves I consort,
With the vilest, in short,
I'm quite at ease in depravity;
Yet all divines use me,
And savants can't lose me,
For I am the center of gravity.</td> <td>The letter 'V'</td></tr> <tr> <td> I never was, am always to be,
No one ever saw me, nor ever will
And yet I am the confidence of all
To live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. </td> <td>Tomorrow</td></tr> <tr> <td> Of no use to one
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby's right,
The lover's privilege,
The hypocrite's mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I? </td> <td>A kiss </td></tr> <tr> <td> I have rivers without water,
Forests without trees,
Mountains without rocks
Towns without houses.
What am I?
With no wings, I fly.
With no eyes, I see.
With no arms, I climb.
More frightening than any beast,
stronger than any foe.
I am cunning, ruthless, and tall;
in the end, I rule all. </td> <td>The imagination </td></tr> <tr> <td> If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.</td> <td>The heart</td></tr> <tr> <td> I'm pleasing to the eye
A tool for many absent of mind
A tapestry of fickle lies
Blind to even the most pensive spies
I'm often the breeder of fervent lust
But I am by far one you shouldn't trust </td> <td>Appearance</td></tr> <tr> <td> With potent, flowery words speak I,
Of something common, vulgar, dry;
I weave webs of pedantic prose,
In effort to befuddle those,
Who think I wile time away,
In lofty things, above all day
The common kind that linger where
Monadic beings live and fare;
Practical I may not be,
But life, it seems, is full of me! </td> <td>Riddles</td></tr> <tr> <td> I am born in fear, raised in truth,
and I come to my own in deed.
When comes a time that I'm called forth,
I come to serve the cause of need.</td> <td>Courage</td></tr> <tr> <td> I'm by nature solitary, scarred by spear
and wounded by sword, weary of battle.
I frequently see the face of war, and fight
hateful enemies; yet I hold no hope
of help being brought to me in the battle,
before I'm eventually done to death.
In the stronghold of the city sharp-edged swords,
skilfully forged in the flame by smiths,
bite deeply into me. I can but await
a more fearsome encounter; it is not for me
to discover in the city any of those doctors
who heal grievous wounds with roots and herbs.
The scars from sword wounds gape wider and wider;
death blows are dealt to me by day and by night. </td> <td>A Shield</td></tr></table>
I stand open to correction, but I believe that Angharad had more correct answers than any other last night!
</td> </tr> </table>Come along next week, for a night of good fun in the Shire!