G
Guest
Guest
<table width="100%"> <tr> <td> <table width="100%"> <tr> <td align="middle">
</td> </tr> </table>
ello!
Yes, it's me again, the not-a-reporter-emergency-stand-by-scribe!
Otto's been pwned by a sleep elemental, so while he tries to find a wandering healer in dreamland, I'll share the stories and poems of the night with you.
First up was Yancey's chest... *cough*... sorry, Yancey's best work to date - or at least I thought so!
You'd think with all the prizes he keeps winning, he'd be able to afford a shirt - not that I'm complaining!
Between him, and Memnoch's summer attire, there was plenty to look at tonight!
<table border="0" width="95%" bgcolor="#000000" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/backgrounds_stars_animated_2.gif"> <p align="center"> <font color="#ffffff"> Black Star, Silver Moon
by
Yancey DeFlorio</font> </p> </td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#000000" align="center" bgcolor="#000000"> <tbody> <tr><td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/backgrounds_stars_static_1.gif" valign="top" width="200">
</td> <td>
<font color="#ffffff"> eath, like a cat, slinks behind,
Softly on little padded feet,
To wait for signs to find,
And the time to end to meet.
And songs of angels softly play,
If that is what they truly are,
And not just sirens far away,
Singing 'neath the Moon and Star.
Across the shining silver light,
Cresent moon hanging in ebon sky,
A beacon on through silent night,
To follow and to guide us by.
A star of darkest hue,
No eye can see its emptiness,
A symbol of old and new,
'Gainst heaven's towering countenance.
Bright of the circling sphere,
White and silver tones to pacify,
While singing in one's ear,
A soft refrain; a lullaby.
Distant chamber of hollow core,
Remnants of an ancient sun gone bye,
An opening and closing of a door,
The greatest truth; the faithless lie.
And riding along on reflected light,
Peaceful and content in cool dark air,
All the glories of Heaven in sight,
Its prism's palette there to share.
Sings a song of much older times,
From the center of blackened hole,
Verses and choruses with no rhymes,
And a rhythm that from others stole.
In robes of mystical glow,
Celebes, Cybill, Diana to name a few,
Paces she along the sky so slow,
Sprinkling down the jeweled morning dew.
In echoed waves of dying light,
Drawn ever deeper down within,
Until fore'er gone from sight,
As if they had never been.
Make your offerings at her feet,
Bundles of incense and flowered wreath,
To the shining light that has no heat,
Yet sets the blood to boil and seethe.
And to that which is not,
Yet even from afar so strongly holds,
Eternally within its celestial knot,
Forever in its nightshade folds.
So praise upon the silver moon,
Yet know the black star looms behind,
Each singing its own tune,
To sway upon your finite mind.</font>
</td> </tr></tbody> </table>
I was a bit doubtful about presenting this next one. I found the good Otto, fast asleep at his workbench, some hours before the telling of tales was to begin, with this work on a scroll before him. I had no way of knowing if he had completed it or not - but I liked it as it was, and so took the liberty to present it on his behalf. He can always provide an updated version next week, after all!
So now, hear the tale of the terrible land... enough to strike fear into the heart of any citizen of Siege!
<table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td align="middle"> Dream of a Terrible Land
by
Blind Otto </td> <td width="211">
</td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" align="center"> <tr> <td>
dreamed a dream of a terrible land,
Killing was forbidden, safety was planned,
Justice was completely out of my hand,
For some reason the citizens though this was grand,
and a sickly sweetness weighed on me as bags of sand!
The red hue of murder was completely unknown,
the iron fist of civility held fast to the throne,
people queued to fight monsters, bored to the bone,
Luna was a marketplace where bright hues were shown,
and a guild of salesmen wouldn't leave me alone!
I dreamed a dream of a terrible town,
All were carefree, each dressed like a clown,
Bright neon they wore, not a trace of brown.
Their garrish garb was getting me down,
I grimaced with pain as they strutted around!
<font color="#0000ff">"Let me give you green leggin's, orange shirt and blue hat!"</font>
"Now why, my good sir, would I want to dress like that?"
<font color="#0000ff"> "It's got great resists, and that is a fact!"
</font> "I'd rather die in battle, than dress like a prat!"
<font color="#0000ff"> "Suit yourself, but remember to insure this goza mat!"
</font>
I dreamed a dream of a most terrible place,
"Insure it all!" was the rule and the pace.
They feared to lose anything, from robe to mace.
But why insure against skeletons and the orcish race?
I ran around uninsured, and terror crossed every face!
<font color="#0000ff">"Let's go to Fel!"</font> one brave soul did say
"Oh no, no, no, I might run into a PK!"
<font color="#0000ff">"We could go to a quiet spot I found the other day?"</font>
So they went during a quiet spell, or so they did pray...
Too bad I tipped off some reds, but I'm funny that way.
I dreamed a dream of a terrible life,
It was free of peril, it was free of strife.
All was safe and cuddly, blunt was every knife,
and Death himself had to turn in his scythe.
No harm would befall any, be they man or wife.
I awoke in a cold sweat, trembling with fear,
I rushed to the window, listening with cupped ear,
but the fresh sounds of combat rang out quite near.
No Trammel was this, but my own Siege, most dear!
Ne'er will I leave her - that other place is too queer! </td> </tr> </table>
Insurance? Ewwwww! What a horrible dream!
I was terribly nervous after presenting that, and some of my spells may have gone ever so slightly wrong.
I do hope Memnoch's codpiece recovers from my acceleration spell...oops, did I say that out loud? ah, well, ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. *clams up*
<table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bgcolor="#ffd7ae"> <tr> <td align="middle"> The Heart of Summer
by
Angharad </td> <td width="105" height="132">
</td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bordercolor="#ffc993"> <tr> <td>
all the piper, call the drummer, fetch the fiddle and the fife.
It's the beating heart of summer and the night is full of life.
In the morn we cannot tarry but must go seperate ways;
Come dance and be merry! The dance music plays.
Cast off anger, care and sadness, let your feckless feet take flight.
As the music speaks of gladness, you'll find your heart is light.
Your troubles will be patient, they have time enough to stay;
If they don't, so much the better! They are free to go away.
There are maids in ribbons going where the dancing fires burn
With their hair all loose and flowing, flying wide at every turn
Their eyes are bright with mischief, you can hear the laughter spill
And it you won't be their partner, why another dancer will.
While the dancing drums are sounding, come the lads from east and west
Like the stag in autumn bounding, so they seem to need no rest
While the music runs before them, every head will turn their way
And if I cannot be their partner, then another dancer may.
Like a flock of eager swallows playing tag around our feet
So the music flirts and follows here, where bard and dancer meet
His glance is bright and merry and I meet it more and more;
Someone else should play a tune so I can ask him to the floor! </td> </tr> </table>
A fine piece of dragon-lore was next, with somewhat of a Celtic ring to it, if I'm not mistaken. (and I often am!)
<table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bgcolor="#ff0000"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font color="#ffffff"> The Dragon Dances
by
Mri kulssin
(originally told by the great bard, Papa G)</font> </td> <td width="90" height="119">
</td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bordercolor="#ff0000"> <tr> <td>
he world spins and twirls
memories swirl with past mistakes
old shames claim bits of energy
but yet, the Dragon still does dance.
Vampires steal rewards earned,
lovers try to change that which they say they love,
focused on goals, gold things,
love slips by, afraid to take a chance?
Unknown, but the dragon still does dance.
The Gods above watch and laugh
at how hard the warrior tries.
Reflections of truths ring,
the puzzle to find.
Lost rites, the lance, to bring Caesar down
Searching, the dragon does dance
Music plays within,
Echoing an awful din,
heard by an old sage alone
Madness holding onto sadness
under a moon as white as bone
but the dragon dances on
Come, be skyclad, throw all hopes
to those above, To the sound of the sea
we, you and me, will bring power
to cone, and lust to bear
will ye too dance with the dragon
in the winter air?
within a circle of made of good wishes alone
prances a poet, waiting for she who could love me
far from home, feeling alone
the dragon dances still </td> </tr> </table>
Being skyclad in this heat sound like a wonderful idea... but I have a news post to finish, and it's probably a violation of the RoC to post in that condition anyway... *sigh*
Now, it's rare to have a work with a dedication, so here's a rare work indeed!
<table width="95%" border="1" align="center" bgcolor="#afcdfe"> <tr> <td align="middle">The Return
by
Angharad
This piece is dedicated to some whom should know who they are </td> <td width="146">
</td></tr></table> <table width="95%" border="1" align="center" bordercolor="#0080c0"> <tr> <td>
n east wind is coming to kill the spring land.
A woman calls out, weapon close to her hand,
And I hear and answer her sunmons' demand.
The heroes will rise and return.
The legend's come down from the days of Bran's head:
This land is defended by her belov'd dead
In her greatest hour of need, it is said,
The heroes will rise and return.
Hear the horn call!
Mount up and ride.
The shades of old friends will stand tall by your side.
Hear the horn call!
Heroes will rise
And return,,,
Old Puck tried to warn me, in days long gone by:
"Your old friends' old stories will never run dry,
There's more to old mem'ries they'll never let die"
The heroes will rise and return.
The Yard's tall white towers look out t'ward the coast
The Underground's haunted by my old foe's ghost.
There's a war? Bring my steed! I'll take up my post --
The herioes will rise and return.
A fresh wind is blowing out of the west.
I've come home again to the land I love best.
The game is afoot and I need no more rest!
The heroes will rise and return.
Hear the horn call!
Mount up and ride.
The shades of old friends will stand tall by your side.
Hear the horn call!
Heroes will rise
And return... </td></tr></table>
This next bit o' tomfoolery was inspired by that great group of bards, the Rune Beatles, and by experiences with certain interesting people with light fingers...
<table width="95%" border="1" bordercolor="#800000" align="center" bgcolor="#ffcece"> <tr> <td align="middle">I'm in Luna
by
Beatrice Quill
(To the tune of 'I'm a loser' by the Beatles)</td> <td valign="top" align="middle" width="150">
"Lock inspector!"</td></tr></table> <table width="95%" border="1" bordercolor="#800000" align="center"> <tr> <td>
'm in Luna
I'm in Luna
And I'm not who I appear to be
Of all the thefts I have won or have lost
There is one item I should never have touched
It was a backpack with a million, my friend
I should have known I'd get whacked in the end
I'm in Luna
And I robbed someone who's near to me
I'm in Luna
And I'm not what I appear to be
Although I stealth and pretend I'm not around
My disguise kit gives me hair like a clown
Guard whacks are falling, like bolts from the sky
Please wait a moment, while I cry
oooOOoooOoo
I'm in Luna
And I robbed someone who's near to me
I'm in Luna
And I'm not who I appear to be
I missed that one, now he's gone through the gate
I realize I have left it too late
Now I'm dead, pride comes before a fall
I'm telling you, but I'll still rob you all
I'm in Luna
And I robbed someone who's near to me
I'm in Luna
And I'm not who I appear to be</td></tr></table>
Waving a lag spike, Quentico came to give us a tale, a dance, and a magic act!
<table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#0000ff" align="center" bgcolor="#d5d5ff"> <tr> <td align="middle"> The Tale of the Naive Knight
by
Quentico </td> <td width="150" valign="top" align="middle">
"which end do I hold?" </td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#0000ff" align="center"> <tr> <td>
here once was a young knight so loyal, so brave
a member of KSS as they say
He was going to kill a dragon, did I mention he was naive?
Saddling his steed, he bragged about killing,
"Catch one and skin it alive I am willing!".
Jumping on his mount he headed West,
To kill a dragon I'll do my best!
After a long ride of wandering, searching and bragging
His horse was weary, his shoulders sagging,
He decided to take a rest near a lake,
Spotting a young dragon he thought, 'What a piece of cake!'.
*at this point Quentico inexplicably, and spectacularly, changed into a large blue hiryu*
Throwing his sword down he thought he'd have some fun,
but the little dragon got up and began to run!
Around a corner he chased the dragon,
Oh but alas, it's mother was waiting!
The dragon grinned and said "I think I'll start with your leg",
The knight dropped down on his knees to beg,
Please eat my horse, he tastes better then me!"
The dragon replied, "Oh, dont worry we shall see!"
The knight never returned to the village his home,
Some wonder what happened, others believe that they know. </td> </tr> </table>
No one was certain how or why Quentico turned into a hiryu, but it was truly spectacular.
He also informed us that we will be invaded by a man of the sands next week, and his strange magic of the airwaves!
Next, a drunken blue vampire, who had spent most of the evening looking rather ill, flapped his way to the stage, and, taking a deep swig of blood and vodka, told us of this strange series of events:
<table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#ff0000" align="center" bgcolor="#ffcae4"> <tr> <td align="middle"> The Barefoot Vampire
by
Mourn'Valas </td> <td width="150">
</td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#ff0000" align="center"> <tr> <td>
ne time at band camp ...
no kidding seriously :
one time
i met some peeps
that i didnt know
was rumpy
quentico
and kemo
and i pwned them at surfing
then we posed at the hotel
then they posted a pic of me
barefoot
coming back from the beach
on stratics
and then people made fun of me being poor
and not being able to afford shoes
and that my ma'ams and sirs
is why i need the
111001 gold pieces
is to buy me shoes </td> </tr> </table>
Now we know why there are blue vampires - the mystery is solved, at long last! It's simple - WyRm doesn't pay them enough for shoes, and the poor things are so cold, they're turning blue!
WyRm, we demand equal rights for vampires! You're not paying them a fair wage!
And none of that 'we'll have to loot more insolent humans' stuff - we've all seen you clanking around in your solid gold jester's hat! Equity! Solidarity! And a good dental plan with fang coverage!
*passes picket signs round to the vampires, hoping they don't notice the stakes at the bottoms*
That's a satisfying enough conclusion for me - so I'll also conclude this batch of stories!
Next week, the new theatre in Wintermoor will officially open, as Story Night goes on the road!
(Gates and directions will be provided!)
<p align="center">
</p>
</td></tr></table>
Yes, it's me again, the not-a-reporter-emergency-stand-by-scribe!
Otto's been pwned by a sleep elemental, so while he tries to find a wandering healer in dreamland, I'll share the stories and poems of the night with you.
First up was Yancey's chest... *cough*... sorry, Yancey's best work to date - or at least I thought so!
You'd think with all the prizes he keeps winning, he'd be able to afford a shirt - not that I'm complaining!
Between him, and Memnoch's summer attire, there was plenty to look at tonight!
<table border="0" width="95%" bgcolor="#000000" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/backgrounds_stars_animated_2.gif"> <p align="center"> <font color="#ffffff"> Black Star, Silver Moon
by
Yancey DeFlorio</font> </p> </td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#000000" align="center" bgcolor="#000000"> <tbody> <tr><td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/backgrounds_stars_static_1.gif" valign="top" width="200">
Softly on little padded feet,
To wait for signs to find,
And the time to end to meet.
And songs of angels softly play,
If that is what they truly are,
And not just sirens far away,
Singing 'neath the Moon and Star.
Across the shining silver light,
Cresent moon hanging in ebon sky,
A beacon on through silent night,
To follow and to guide us by.
A star of darkest hue,
No eye can see its emptiness,
A symbol of old and new,
'Gainst heaven's towering countenance.
Bright of the circling sphere,
White and silver tones to pacify,
While singing in one's ear,
A soft refrain; a lullaby.
Distant chamber of hollow core,
Remnants of an ancient sun gone bye,
An opening and closing of a door,
The greatest truth; the faithless lie.
And riding along on reflected light,
Peaceful and content in cool dark air,
All the glories of Heaven in sight,
Its prism's palette there to share.
Sings a song of much older times,
From the center of blackened hole,
Verses and choruses with no rhymes,
And a rhythm that from others stole.
In robes of mystical glow,
Celebes, Cybill, Diana to name a few,
Paces she along the sky so slow,
Sprinkling down the jeweled morning dew.
In echoed waves of dying light,
Drawn ever deeper down within,
Until fore'er gone from sight,
As if they had never been.
Make your offerings at her feet,
Bundles of incense and flowered wreath,
To the shining light that has no heat,
Yet sets the blood to boil and seethe.
And to that which is not,
Yet even from afar so strongly holds,
Eternally within its celestial knot,
Forever in its nightshade folds.
So praise upon the silver moon,
Yet know the black star looms behind,
Each singing its own tune,
To sway upon your finite mind.</font>
</td> </tr></tbody> </table>
I was a bit doubtful about presenting this next one. I found the good Otto, fast asleep at his workbench, some hours before the telling of tales was to begin, with this work on a scroll before him. I had no way of knowing if he had completed it or not - but I liked it as it was, and so took the liberty to present it on his behalf. He can always provide an updated version next week, after all!
So now, hear the tale of the terrible land... enough to strike fear into the heart of any citizen of Siege!
<table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td align="middle"> Dream of a Terrible Land
by
Blind Otto </td> <td width="211">
Killing was forbidden, safety was planned,
Justice was completely out of my hand,
For some reason the citizens though this was grand,
and a sickly sweetness weighed on me as bags of sand!
The red hue of murder was completely unknown,
the iron fist of civility held fast to the throne,
people queued to fight monsters, bored to the bone,
Luna was a marketplace where bright hues were shown,
and a guild of salesmen wouldn't leave me alone!
I dreamed a dream of a terrible town,
All were carefree, each dressed like a clown,
Bright neon they wore, not a trace of brown.
Their garrish garb was getting me down,
I grimaced with pain as they strutted around!
<font color="#0000ff">"Let me give you green leggin's, orange shirt and blue hat!"</font>
"Now why, my good sir, would I want to dress like that?"
<font color="#0000ff"> "It's got great resists, and that is a fact!"
</font> "I'd rather die in battle, than dress like a prat!"
<font color="#0000ff"> "Suit yourself, but remember to insure this goza mat!"
</font>
I dreamed a dream of a most terrible place,
"Insure it all!" was the rule and the pace.
They feared to lose anything, from robe to mace.
But why insure against skeletons and the orcish race?
I ran around uninsured, and terror crossed every face!
<font color="#0000ff">"Let's go to Fel!"</font> one brave soul did say
"Oh no, no, no, I might run into a PK!"
<font color="#0000ff">"We could go to a quiet spot I found the other day?"</font>
So they went during a quiet spell, or so they did pray...
Too bad I tipped off some reds, but I'm funny that way.
I dreamed a dream of a terrible life,
It was free of peril, it was free of strife.
All was safe and cuddly, blunt was every knife,
and Death himself had to turn in his scythe.
No harm would befall any, be they man or wife.
I awoke in a cold sweat, trembling with fear,
I rushed to the window, listening with cupped ear,
but the fresh sounds of combat rang out quite near.
No Trammel was this, but my own Siege, most dear!
Ne'er will I leave her - that other place is too queer! </td> </tr> </table>
Insurance? Ewwwww! What a horrible dream!
I was terribly nervous after presenting that, and some of my spells may have gone ever so slightly wrong.
I do hope Memnoch's codpiece recovers from my acceleration spell...oops, did I say that out loud? ah, well, ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. *clams up*
<table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bgcolor="#ffd7ae"> <tr> <td align="middle"> The Heart of Summer
by
Angharad </td> <td width="105" height="132">
It's the beating heart of summer and the night is full of life.
In the morn we cannot tarry but must go seperate ways;
Come dance and be merry! The dance music plays.
Cast off anger, care and sadness, let your feckless feet take flight.
As the music speaks of gladness, you'll find your heart is light.
Your troubles will be patient, they have time enough to stay;
If they don't, so much the better! They are free to go away.
There are maids in ribbons going where the dancing fires burn
With their hair all loose and flowing, flying wide at every turn
Their eyes are bright with mischief, you can hear the laughter spill
And it you won't be their partner, why another dancer will.
While the dancing drums are sounding, come the lads from east and west
Like the stag in autumn bounding, so they seem to need no rest
While the music runs before them, every head will turn their way
And if I cannot be their partner, then another dancer may.
Like a flock of eager swallows playing tag around our feet
So the music flirts and follows here, where bard and dancer meet
His glance is bright and merry and I meet it more and more;
Someone else should play a tune so I can ask him to the floor! </td> </tr> </table>
A fine piece of dragon-lore was next, with somewhat of a Celtic ring to it, if I'm not mistaken. (and I often am!)
<table border="1" width="95%" align="center" bgcolor="#ff0000"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font color="#ffffff"> The Dragon Dances
by
Mri kulssin
(originally told by the great bard, Papa G)</font> </td> <td width="90" height="119">
memories swirl with past mistakes
old shames claim bits of energy
but yet, the Dragon still does dance.
Vampires steal rewards earned,
lovers try to change that which they say they love,
focused on goals, gold things,
love slips by, afraid to take a chance?
Unknown, but the dragon still does dance.
The Gods above watch and laugh
at how hard the warrior tries.
Reflections of truths ring,
the puzzle to find.
Lost rites, the lance, to bring Caesar down
Searching, the dragon does dance
Music plays within,
Echoing an awful din,
heard by an old sage alone
Madness holding onto sadness
under a moon as white as bone
but the dragon dances on
Come, be skyclad, throw all hopes
to those above, To the sound of the sea
we, you and me, will bring power
to cone, and lust to bear
will ye too dance with the dragon
in the winter air?
within a circle of made of good wishes alone
prances a poet, waiting for she who could love me
far from home, feeling alone
the dragon dances still </td> </tr> </table>
Being skyclad in this heat sound like a wonderful idea... but I have a news post to finish, and it's probably a violation of the RoC to post in that condition anyway... *sigh*
Now, it's rare to have a work with a dedication, so here's a rare work indeed!
<table width="95%" border="1" align="center" bgcolor="#afcdfe"> <tr> <td align="middle">The Return
by
Angharad
This piece is dedicated to some whom should know who they are </td> <td width="146">
A woman calls out, weapon close to her hand,
And I hear and answer her sunmons' demand.
The heroes will rise and return.
The legend's come down from the days of Bran's head:
This land is defended by her belov'd dead
In her greatest hour of need, it is said,
The heroes will rise and return.
Hear the horn call!
Mount up and ride.
The shades of old friends will stand tall by your side.
Hear the horn call!
Heroes will rise
And return,,,
Old Puck tried to warn me, in days long gone by:
"Your old friends' old stories will never run dry,
There's more to old mem'ries they'll never let die"
The heroes will rise and return.
The Yard's tall white towers look out t'ward the coast
The Underground's haunted by my old foe's ghost.
There's a war? Bring my steed! I'll take up my post --
The herioes will rise and return.
A fresh wind is blowing out of the west.
I've come home again to the land I love best.
The game is afoot and I need no more rest!
The heroes will rise and return.
Hear the horn call!
Mount up and ride.
The shades of old friends will stand tall by your side.
Hear the horn call!
Heroes will rise
And return... </td></tr></table>
This next bit o' tomfoolery was inspired by that great group of bards, the Rune Beatles, and by experiences with certain interesting people with light fingers...
<table width="95%" border="1" bordercolor="#800000" align="center" bgcolor="#ffcece"> <tr> <td align="middle">I'm in Luna
by
Beatrice Quill
(To the tune of 'I'm a loser' by the Beatles)</td> <td valign="top" align="middle" width="150">
"Lock inspector!"</td></tr></table> <table width="95%" border="1" bordercolor="#800000" align="center"> <tr> <td>
I'm in Luna
And I'm not who I appear to be
Of all the thefts I have won or have lost
There is one item I should never have touched
It was a backpack with a million, my friend
I should have known I'd get whacked in the end
I'm in Luna
And I robbed someone who's near to me
I'm in Luna
And I'm not what I appear to be
Although I stealth and pretend I'm not around
My disguise kit gives me hair like a clown
Guard whacks are falling, like bolts from the sky
Please wait a moment, while I cry
oooOOoooOoo
I'm in Luna
And I robbed someone who's near to me
I'm in Luna
And I'm not who I appear to be
I missed that one, now he's gone through the gate
I realize I have left it too late
Now I'm dead, pride comes before a fall
I'm telling you, but I'll still rob you all
I'm in Luna
And I robbed someone who's near to me
I'm in Luna
And I'm not who I appear to be</td></tr></table>
Waving a lag spike, Quentico came to give us a tale, a dance, and a magic act!
<table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#0000ff" align="center" bgcolor="#d5d5ff"> <tr> <td align="middle"> The Tale of the Naive Knight
by
Quentico </td> <td width="150" valign="top" align="middle">
"which end do I hold?" </td> </tr> </table> <table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#0000ff" align="center"> <tr> <td>
a member of KSS as they say
He was going to kill a dragon, did I mention he was naive?
Saddling his steed, he bragged about killing,
"Catch one and skin it alive I am willing!".
Jumping on his mount he headed West,
To kill a dragon I'll do my best!
After a long ride of wandering, searching and bragging
His horse was weary, his shoulders sagging,
He decided to take a rest near a lake,
Spotting a young dragon he thought, 'What a piece of cake!'.
*at this point Quentico inexplicably, and spectacularly, changed into a large blue hiryu*
Throwing his sword down he thought he'd have some fun,
but the little dragon got up and began to run!
Around a corner he chased the dragon,
Oh but alas, it's mother was waiting!
The dragon grinned and said "I think I'll start with your leg",
The knight dropped down on his knees to beg,
Please eat my horse, he tastes better then me!"
The dragon replied, "Oh, dont worry we shall see!"
The knight never returned to the village his home,
Some wonder what happened, others believe that they know. </td> </tr> </table>
No one was certain how or why Quentico turned into a hiryu, but it was truly spectacular.
He also informed us that we will be invaded by a man of the sands next week, and his strange magic of the airwaves!
Next, a drunken blue vampire, who had spent most of the evening looking rather ill, flapped his way to the stage, and, taking a deep swig of blood and vodka, told us of this strange series of events:
<table border="1" width="95%" bordercolor="#ff0000" align="center" bgcolor="#ffcae4"> <tr> <td align="middle"> The Barefoot Vampire
by
Mourn'Valas </td> <td width="150">
no kidding seriously :
one time
i met some peeps
that i didnt know
was rumpy
quentico
and kemo
and i pwned them at surfing
then we posed at the hotel
then they posted a pic of me
barefoot
coming back from the beach
on stratics
and then people made fun of me being poor
and not being able to afford shoes
and that my ma'ams and sirs
is why i need the
111001 gold pieces
is to buy me shoes </td> </tr> </table>
Now we know why there are blue vampires - the mystery is solved, at long last! It's simple - WyRm doesn't pay them enough for shoes, and the poor things are so cold, they're turning blue!
WyRm, we demand equal rights for vampires! You're not paying them a fair wage!
And none of that 'we'll have to loot more insolent humans' stuff - we've all seen you clanking around in your solid gold jester's hat! Equity! Solidarity! And a good dental plan with fang coverage!
*passes picket signs round to the vampires, hoping they don't notice the stakes at the bottoms*
That's a satisfying enough conclusion for me - so I'll also conclude this batch of stories!
Next week, the new theatre in Wintermoor will officially open, as Story Night goes on the road!
(Gates and directions will be provided!)
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