G
Guest
Guest
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ne of the many amazing things about Tuesday nights in Wispwood Shire is, while the numbers who attend steadily increase, the groups of people who gather there are not always the same. So again this week, were there new voices and old, both hearing, and commenting on, tales from around the lands of Siege!
First, the last.
Or, more precisely, the last chapter of Yancey DeFlorio's Dragon Rider Saga.
<table border="2" width="100%" bordercolor="#ffff00" bgcolor="#ffffb9"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font color="#0080ff"><font size="5">The Dragon Rider Saga
Conclusion
"Yesterday"
by
Yancey DeFlorio</font> </font> </td> <td width="160" height="150">
</td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#ffff80"> <tr> <td>
rn was given visions,
Before Tamarin passed away.
A hint into the future,
From a glimpse of yesterday.
It had been three hundred years
Since darkness claimed the land
In the Blood Wars of the Races
At a place called Firebrand.
The Evil had grown strong in time.
Left unchecked it slipped its noose,
Poisoning the earth and sky,
Setting demons on the loose.
Ogre, Troll and Gnome, it seemed,
Were the quickest to subvert.
The weakest of the Races
To do their Masters work.
The Elves were first to feel the change,
Then Dwarf, and finally, Man.
They knew that they must fight as one --
So alliances began.
There were battles fought on every front,
Both on land and in the skies.
Blood was spilled so casually,
Mixed with deafening battle cries.
The alliances fought bravely
But were slowly losing ground.
They must learn to fight as one,
So a leader must be found.
The demons had a Master,
Born straight from burning Hell.
The Evil even had a name,
The demons called him Krell.
Changed by the magics madness,
The darkness held them tight.
He fed off pain and misery,
Dealing death with swift delight.
He rode upon a Vampree,
Creatures that fed on blood,
And on the battlefield
It wet the ground as mud.
Clutched within his left hand,
He held the Staff of Shades,
Used to do his bidding --
Evil magic, demon-made.
The alliances began the task,
The forging of their trust,
To put aside their differences
Or succumb to demon lust.
They must create a weapon:
Part Dwarf, part Man, part Elf.
A symbol of integrity
Forged of unity, not self
Dwarves were master craftsman
Of fire and of ore.
With hammer and with anvil,
Their covenant was swore.
The Elves used earthen magic
Of life and healing arts.
Where Dwarves were true in body,
The Elves were true in heart.
So came the sword and shield --
One to destroy, one to sustain.
They had the heart and body,
Just the spirit now remained.
That spirit came from Man,
Courage dipped with gallantry.
He would die for what he believed
And he believed in liberty.
The man they chose to lead them
Was a Rider and a Prince.
His blood ran deep and noble.
The Chosens name: Armiss.
He rode a young, yet hardened, mount,
A brave and fearless jinn,
A legend in the making
Whose name was Tamarin.
Equipped with sword and shield,
They fought the demon swell.
When finally they stood face to face,
With the demon leader Krell.
Not many had survived that day,
A few more turned and ran
When Dragon opposed Vampree,
Demon against Man.
The battle flashed across the sky,
Both riders held their steeds.
Blood rained down upon the ground,
Neither willing to concede.
Both creatures slashed and beaten,
Had fought beyond their worth.
In a final confrontation,
Both fell wasted to the earth.
Now both riders stood alone,
Upon the battleground.
In the valley of Firebrand,
Their breath, the only sound.
They dodged each other's thrusts,
Neither gained the upper hand.
When Krell delivered a crushing blow
That fell the other man.
Armiss lay upon the bloodied ground,
The demon stood over him,
Raising up his staff once more
To plunge within his victim.
With his last ounce of strength,
Armiss lifted his magic blade
And with one final swoop,
Shattered the Staff of Shades.
Krell let out a deafening scream,
One last cry of demon lust,
Then everything born of Evil
Exploded into dust.
Many heroes died that day,
Never to fight again.
The only one that lived to tell
Was the dragon, Tamarin.
That was over three hundred years,
The staff was lost somehow.
Sword and shield forgotten,
At least that was, till now.
For history has a tendency
To repeat itself when spurned.
For unless Man's hate is broken
The Evil will return
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Spyderbite had little to say this week - the whisperings about the shire have it that Katharine wishes to finish sewing his new outfit, previewed here last week, before he is allowed to speak in public again. So, instead, and after some confusion between the stable and the stage, I took to the stable. Then to the stage.
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font size="5">"Cows"
Chapters IX and X
by
Blind Otto</font> </td> <td width="190" height="240">
</td> </tr> </table>
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td> <h2 style="MARGIN: 12pt 0cm 3pt"><a name="_Toc128747175"><font face="Arial">Chapter IX</font></a></h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
ilbercio tried to avoid looking at the scrying spheres as he slouched down the stone corridors. Normally it could be handy to have a small insight into what the near future held, but the Grand Luminary of the Controllers had left little doubt as to what HIS future would consist of – at least, until the dragons of Destard were found to have died of frostbite.<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
Instead, he shuffled along, very self-aware in his freshly re-issued initiate’s robe, down the corridor that lead towards the cog-sorting bins, to start his newly assigned role of assistant to the junior cog-sorter.<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
Why, oh WHY hadn’t the luminary believed him? <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">That the missing items, the ones he had found secreted away in Trinsic, had come from some creatures he had managed to contact out in the endless Void? That they knew a way to make metal live, and – worst of all – that he believed that there was already a colony of these creatures somewhere HERE, in the lands? <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
But, NO – he got no credit for his hard work, research and experimentation! Here he was – reduced to assisting a junior in the sorting of cogs! If it was not for all the wonderful benefits that came to members of the order, and the fact that no one had ever successfully lived more than 4 seconds after resigning from the order, he would have left there and then.<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
Muttering to himself, he passed the last pair of the spheres that lined that part of the corridor… and stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">
</span>Noticing the image of a towering metallic bull-like creature standing over a decidedly naked, frightened young woman, he seized the spheres, and ran back up the passage, shrieking madly for the Grand Luminary. <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
Several minutes later, he was being escorted back to the cog-sorting room by two armed guards, with very clear instructions that he was never to approach ANYONE of a higher caste than himself while yelling about nudity and telling them to look at his balls.
<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Soon after, he was given a new initiate’s robe. This one had some embroidery on the back, which read “I am under a vow of silence. If I speak, please beat me soundly.”
<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Filbercio sighed, which resulted in his first beating, and wondered how long it would take him to work his way back up to junior cog-sorter.
<o></o></span></p><span style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"><br style="PAGE-BREAK-BEFORE: always; mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <h2 style="MARGIN: 12pt 0cm 3pt"><font face="Arial">Chapter X</font></h2> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
upre looked around him at the carnage. While a few men still lived, not a one was conscious. He had felt it his sworn duty to not only stay alive but also unscathed, and had very bravely secured himself behind a large rock, a quarter of a mile from the battle against the metallic beasts. <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
He surveyed the aftermath of the battle, hoping to spot a horse that he could ride to<st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region>, to raise the alarm, or perhaps to get those useless mages moving a bit faster, but the only mountable animal in sight was a llama, which spat at him as he approached, and refused to be ridden. <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
“Looking for summat?” came a gruff voice from behind him.
Dupre half-looked up from going through the backpack of a fallen soldier, where he had hoped to find a spell of travel, or perhaps an unharmed pigeon, but did not turn around. <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
“Aye, I need a good steed, and swiftly! Those creatures will overrun <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region> before long if the alarm is not raised!” <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
“No fear of that. That lot’re just getting the kinks out before the trip. Who’d wish to go to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region>, anyway? Ghastly place, all full of scruffy architecture and brainless swamp spawn trying to win favours from that charlatan that squats on the throne there. <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region>? I’d rather sit in the Trinsic swamp in mosquito season!”
<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Dupre turned, to see who DARED insult his home town and his liege so, and came face to face with a large metallic bull, who was leaning on a fallen trebuchet, and chewing a piece of straw.
<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">“Aye. I’m not human. Want ta make something of it?” it sneered at him. “Or are ye one of the few with a brain in yer head?”
<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Dupre found that there was, indeed, a brain in his head. In there, his sword arm was yelling loudly that it needed to raise his sword, and kill this beast, while his legs were yelling equally loudly that the far side of a distant hill was the best place to be.
<o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">His legs won.<o></o></span></p>
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Goliath followed, with a riddle. Ah, many were the cries of "I know this one" when he started... but when he had finished.... that was another story indeed.
All lovers of riddles and brain teasers are hereby challenged to awaken the Shire next week - 'tis plain that much more practice is needed!
<table width="100%" border="1" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="140" height="110">
</td> <td> <p align="center"><font size="5">Goliath's Riddle
by
Goliath</font></p></td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td>
man goes for a stroll in a forest
And he gets it.
He tries to find it but he can't -
so he leaves.
When he arrives home, he finds it.
What is it?
you may have heard it
At this point, many pretended to be more interested in their ale than the question, but a few poorly concealed tapping noises were overheard, showing that some were, indeed, trying - and failing - to solve the riddle.
Eventually, 'twas proven that we need a higher class of drunkard in the tavern, and Goliath provided the answer.
Tis a splinter
</td></tr></table>
After much ordering of more ale, and red faces at being shamed by a newcomer, the Golden Unicorn returned to whatever it is that passes for 'normal', and Miranda took to the stage, fresh from the crafting of cannons! Many were glad to find that she had not brought samples of her recent wares with her!
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ffff" bgcolor="#ffffff"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="592"><font size="5">"Battle of the Boyne"
re-enacted by
Miranda</font> </td> <td>
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ffff" bgcolor="#ffffff"> <tr> <td>
have a tale
I told a year ago
in the snow
for a festival
in Wintermoor.
I told this tale here too,
one time. I like to tell it in march so i am a bit early.
If i may.
'tis about a people
oft labeled criminals
by the KING
but they are not
the fight for justice
as the folks here do as well.
A remake of the Battle of the Boyne
A Kingly host loom'd upon the stream
A monarch, and his troops camped all around
upon our fair Britania, it's uplands far and wide.
Dwarfed by his gray palacial pavilion crowned.
Not long ago our sky unclouded showed,
beneath the sparkling sun sol ray,
that a gentle stream of blue silver freely flowed
to meet it's virtuous people, each newborn day.
!! Suddenly Thunder ! Lord British's cannons!! BOOM !
Echoing thunderous, his injustice is shown
Whilst a certained sulphurous cloud doth loom
and moved along, tyranny upon the virtuous twas thrown!
And knight and horse lie in mingled mass
irregardless of all life.
With furious ardor onward the wounded doth pass
to fight this deadly conflict and strife.
Not at all strange, that with such ardant flame
these knights of blue silver, their hearts beat high
their battle word by name was "Mithras "
Their battle cry was for justice liberty, "Sol Invictus" !
Oward they went, onto Ouldebrit, these silver blue clad folowers of Mithras,
amid sounds of thunder and death unwonted rang
all heard and seen the mighty clang.
Their blue silver stream turn'd crimson, wide
and clogged with many a corpse.
Floating down the stream's gentle tide
corpses of knight, citizen, and horse
Now fiercer grows this battle's rage..
yon guarded stream IS crossed.
And hand to hand and blade to blade,fighting, a king whom betrayed us,
hand to hand blade to blade..shouting Sol Invictus !
!!! HE FALLS HE FALLS their knight commander falls !
He whom protected the sacred scrolls in the sacred walls.
Then they, their battle mages and knights of virtue brave,
this persecuted silver serpent band
who foremost rushed amid the hostile wave
for a time gained that hostlile strand of land.
They bleed, mighty Mithras they bleed !!
For them please help them Mithras ye must intercede.
This can not be the end of their virtuous career.
And then that well contested strand o'land
Lord British's successive waves of troops doth gain,
Whilst the Knights of the Silver Serpent died in pain.
Driven back across that blood soaked plain,
Drew their blue silver swords one last time, in vain
And the knights their lives and breath the king, did fling
and they perished' fighting the unjust King.
OH!! What better cause ??
Thy witness is boldly shown
upon the blood soaked ground
that tyranny must be over thrown !
Thy bravest and choicest fell, to unjust cannons sound.
There is no shame, ye abandoned not the fray
Ye fought injustice and tyranny this day.
Labeled now as crimminals by Injustice's laW,
Yet ye fight ye deaths shine as witness to all,
The Truth !
So sing !
Yes sing !
Sing harrah harrah for Liberty, sing harrah !
For freedom's sword must continue to draw
to dare to battle those unjust in power on high
so let ye blue silver banners fly
With grateful hearts, remember to celebrate
Truth Honor and Courage are never out of date.
So sing !sing Harrah harrah for freedom's flame
Even in death, the flame will always be rekindled again
and again and again will be fought to the death, for what is right
can not be killed, tis now and forever in spirit and hearts of men this night !
Something the unjust ones, can never really fathom, nor control
that the will to bring truth and justice burns in every heart and soul,
such a will can nary be killed,
for Liberty and Freedom is everyone's birthright !
</td></tr></table>
Aye, and down with "lord" British!
He sits alone on a giant throne
Pretendin' he's the king
A little tyke who's rather like
A puppet on a string
And he throws an angry tantrum
if he cannot have his way
And then he calls for Mum while he's suckin' his thumb
You see, he doesn't want to play
Feh. Wrong king. Now, moving along to the next offering of the night, it seems that Angharad had much to offer indeed. Or, did she...?
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#ff8000" bgcolor="#a3a754"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font size="5">"A Toast to Noble Lady"
by
Angharad</font> </td> <td width="300" height="300">
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#ff0000" bgcolor="#c8cc7b"> <tr> <td>
"
Toast to Noble Lady"
as performed by a friend
In cheer she tips her glass
and when her cup is empty
she flashes us her -
Assassin's in the courtyard
they'll have to catch him quick
he's on to find a lady
and stick her with his -
Dicker with the merchants
and haggle over stock
be sure it's by the arm length
not measured by his -
Cocktails after dinner
and songs sung by a bard
advances from a comely lass
are sure to make him -
Hardened in the oven
his tankard is the best
he spun it on his potter's wheel
and shaped it like a -
Abreast the men stand ready
their weapons poised for war
they're dreaming of last evening
how they spent it with a -
Hoarse a man lies dying
a little death in bed
he thinks no way is better
his wife gives him good -
Heading to a party
she's happy to have stayed
for the rumor down at West Bank
is that everyone gets -
laid out on a table
fair trimmings and a roast
good gentles stand together
I'd like to give a toast!
</td></tr></table>
It seems more and more talent is pouring into our lands by the week! Wherever it is coming from, let us hope no one finds the hole in the dam, and plugs it!
Another fine example, speaking for the first time this week, was Aisha.
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ff00" bgcolor="#ccffcc"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="589"><font size="5">"Naeloth"
by
Aisha</font> </td> <td>
</td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ff80" bgcolor="#d5f9b0"> <tr> <td>
his tale takes place in a far off land, strikingly distant from this... Yet hauntingly similar.
In this land there stood a city, named Naeloth, on the island of Hythloth.
Many were the vassals who pledged allegiance to the lord of Naeloth and a shiver went down the
spine of all men who heard the name of the place whispered..
At this time, the lord of Naeloth was named Xirzin. As all rulers do in time, he finally surrendered
his power...
But as Xirzin gave his throne, the new lord - A superstitious man - Refused to sit it.
"Your throne is yours, milord - I shall sit as your advisor, now and forever."
And so he did - The great black throne of Naeloth remained empty
Whilst the advisors seat was ever occupied.
Naeloth grew stronger and stronger still, under this new stewart.
It's coffers laden with gold both plundered and offered in tribute.
And like all men with power, this Stewart fell in love and found a bride.
But yet, he was troubled. Each night as he slept, he saw before him the same haunting nightmare
Two rats tore at a great serpent and fought each other for the ripe and lush flesh.
So the stewart of Naeloth sought the advice of a witch who rumored had it dwelt within that
dank cave that gives the isle it's home.
He explained his troubles to this withered crone, retelling the tale in excruciating detail...
And she slowly nodded and spake thus; 'The serpent is your city, Stewart. Two rats unworthy of it
will feast on it's flesh and tear it to pieces'.
And it was true that the serpent was the sigil of Naeloth.
This prophecy troubled the stewart - As it rightly should..
"What rats would dwell within my realm and seek to tear it apart? Who would lust so dearly for
the seat of an advisor?"
Now, many things this stewart knew - To lead men in battle, to charm visitors and read signs and
portents...
But how to avoid fate, what man or woman knows this?
After a great deal of thought, the stewart called his wife to him and he spake
"The words of this witch troubles me deeply. Should our realm be torn asunder, I will have failed
my task to my lord and a bondsman who's oath is void is a bondsman who's life is void."
"I shall travel the realm and seek these rats, that I may prevent this to come to pass."
And with these words, he donned his cloak and mounted his steed and rode away from Naeloth.
Now, as was custom in Naeloth, the wife took the title of Elamshinae Dalharess
in the tongue they spoke, it meant 'Favored Daughter'
Like her husband, she would only serve, not rule from the black basalt throne.
Time passed...
Vassals pledged themselves to Naeloth, the coffers grew rich and richer
And in time, it seems the stewart and his curious edict that none would sit the black basalt
throne was forgotten.
His wife took other men to share her bed and styled herself with many great titles
And in time, she grew to long for even that one, last forbidden title.
And so it was that she sent forth heralds one day and announced that she would crown herself
the queen of Naeloth.
A hundred vassals, kings and queens in their own right, had gathered for the ceremony.
And only the ominous thunder could be heard as she ascended the steps to the black basalt throne
But then, as she laid her gloved hand on the arm rest.. A sound, at last!
The doors burst open and a thunderous roar emerged from the gates
"Child, that seat is not for you!"
Through the gates, in the eyes of all the vassals of the would-be queen, strode Xirzin
First lord of Naeloth and the rightful heir to the black basalt throne.
The assembled vassals grew excited, whispering to one another and wondering
For they had sworn oaths both to Naeloth and to Xirzin.
Within mere moments, the entire scene was reduced to chaos
The assembled lords and ladies, dignitaries of the finests houses of the land had drawn their sword
and begun to chant their spells
And in the middle of it all clashed would-be-queen and rightful king, for the black basalt throne.
The sounds spread out from the great hall to the commoners amassed outside
Who, in turn, began to raise their voices for their chosen lord or lady
Within the day, Naeloth was in the grip of civil war as men and women declared for Xirzin or the
queen.
For days, the turmoil clashed - The coffers grew thinner and thinner as they raided them again
and again, for money to hire mercenaries
Vassal after vassal sensed weakness and broke free from their serfdom
And at long last, the city lay in ashes, only those few buildings from stone remaining.
The survivors scattered from the place and now only the wind echo through the once great
streets of Naeloth...
Only the wind now sits the black, basalt throne.
</td></tr></table>
And here we had another first - for Aisha's first appearance at Story Night won first prize!
Well done indeed!
And Hoffs? I believe that two vultures are out and about in the lands, stalking thee for some carelessly tossed words. But, of course, you can not believe all you hear - especially at Story Night!
Yancey found another scroll hidden about his person - which is no small feat, considering how he dresses - and ended the eve with this tale of wonder, woe and wagging.
</td> </tr> </table> <table bordercolor="#00ff00" width="100%" bgcolor="#e7b46d" border="1"> <tr> <td> <p align="center"><font size="5">Baba Yaga
by
Yancey Deflorio</font></p></td> <td width="255">
</td></tr></table>
<table bordercolor="#0000ff" width="100%" bgcolor="#d1fd82" border="1"> <tr> <td>
once saw the witch with teeth of steel
who of small children would make a meal
Her eyes were cold and her skin was gray
upon a mortar and pestal she would fly away
Her laugh would make a grown men faint with fear
and within the shadows would she appear
A witch that evil grew legendary in fame
Baba Yaga was that witches name
I went to see her long ago
to tell her of a maiden that I loved so,
but her love was not for me
and to Baba Yaga I went to see
My friends tried to warn me from such a foul place
and told me that the Devil was better than to see Baba's face
for in the darkest swamp does Baba Yaga live
and nothing but evil are the gifts that she gives
I ignored the advice and ignored their tales
I stepped in the darkness following the trails
to the swamp that no one returned
to tell Baba Yaga of the love which I burned
I followed the trail for many a day
deeper in the swamps where no sane man would stray
after weeks in the swamp I saw a fence of bones
I knew then I had found Baba Yagas home
Despite my fear I called her by name
I then heard her answer and felt ice in my veins
Then she appeared from the door of her home
picking her steel teeth with a chewed fingerbone
Her mouth then parted in a hideous grin
as she told me my tale from beginning to end
With an evil chuckle and a sinister grin
she sent her zombies for some items to begin
She cast a spell to capture my lady's heart
and bound it to mine so we could never part
Upon a lock of my love's hair and mine ,she cast her spells
and told me, together we would be upon the mornings bells
Baba Yaga's clawed hands touched me and I fell into a swoon,
and awoke the next morning in my true love's bedroom
She suddenly awoke and shrieked in delight
and clasped in her arms I was held tight
I tried to speak, yet no words could come
and I looked in horror at what I had become
I now mourn my fate as I lay by this warm log
She loves me now more than I was man now that I am her dog
</td></tr></table>
First, the last.
Or, more precisely, the last chapter of Yancey DeFlorio's Dragon Rider Saga.
<table border="2" width="100%" bordercolor="#ffff00" bgcolor="#ffffb9"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font color="#0080ff"><font size="5">The Dragon Rider Saga
Conclusion
"Yesterday"
by
Yancey DeFlorio</font> </font> </td> <td width="160" height="150">
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#ffff80"> <tr> <td>
Before Tamarin passed away.
A hint into the future,
From a glimpse of yesterday.
It had been three hundred years
Since darkness claimed the land
In the Blood Wars of the Races
At a place called Firebrand.
The Evil had grown strong in time.
Left unchecked it slipped its noose,
Poisoning the earth and sky,
Setting demons on the loose.
Ogre, Troll and Gnome, it seemed,
Were the quickest to subvert.
The weakest of the Races
To do their Masters work.
The Elves were first to feel the change,
Then Dwarf, and finally, Man.
They knew that they must fight as one --
So alliances began.
There were battles fought on every front,
Both on land and in the skies.
Blood was spilled so casually,
Mixed with deafening battle cries.
The alliances fought bravely
But were slowly losing ground.
They must learn to fight as one,
So a leader must be found.
The demons had a Master,
Born straight from burning Hell.
The Evil even had a name,
The demons called him Krell.
Changed by the magics madness,
The darkness held them tight.
He fed off pain and misery,
Dealing death with swift delight.
He rode upon a Vampree,
Creatures that fed on blood,
And on the battlefield
It wet the ground as mud.
Clutched within his left hand,
He held the Staff of Shades,
Used to do his bidding --
Evil magic, demon-made.
The alliances began the task,
The forging of their trust,
To put aside their differences
Or succumb to demon lust.
They must create a weapon:
Part Dwarf, part Man, part Elf.
A symbol of integrity
Forged of unity, not self
Dwarves were master craftsman
Of fire and of ore.
With hammer and with anvil,
Their covenant was swore.
The Elves used earthen magic
Of life and healing arts.
Where Dwarves were true in body,
The Elves were true in heart.
So came the sword and shield --
One to destroy, one to sustain.
They had the heart and body,
Just the spirit now remained.
That spirit came from Man,
Courage dipped with gallantry.
He would die for what he believed
And he believed in liberty.
The man they chose to lead them
Was a Rider and a Prince.
His blood ran deep and noble.
The Chosens name: Armiss.
He rode a young, yet hardened, mount,
A brave and fearless jinn,
A legend in the making
Whose name was Tamarin.
Equipped with sword and shield,
They fought the demon swell.
When finally they stood face to face,
With the demon leader Krell.
Not many had survived that day,
A few more turned and ran
When Dragon opposed Vampree,
Demon against Man.
The battle flashed across the sky,
Both riders held their steeds.
Blood rained down upon the ground,
Neither willing to concede.
Both creatures slashed and beaten,
Had fought beyond their worth.
In a final confrontation,
Both fell wasted to the earth.
Now both riders stood alone,
Upon the battleground.
In the valley of Firebrand,
Their breath, the only sound.
They dodged each other's thrusts,
Neither gained the upper hand.
When Krell delivered a crushing blow
That fell the other man.
Armiss lay upon the bloodied ground,
The demon stood over him,
Raising up his staff once more
To plunge within his victim.
With his last ounce of strength,
Armiss lifted his magic blade
And with one final swoop,
Shattered the Staff of Shades.
Krell let out a deafening scream,
One last cry of demon lust,
Then everything born of Evil
Exploded into dust.
Many heroes died that day,
Never to fight again.
The only one that lived to tell
Was the dragon, Tamarin.
That was over three hundred years,
The staff was lost somehow.
Sword and shield forgotten,
At least that was, till now.
For history has a tendency
To repeat itself when spurned.
For unless Man's hate is broken
The Evil will return
</td> </tr> </table>
Spyderbite had little to say this week - the whisperings about the shire have it that Katharine wishes to finish sewing his new outfit, previewed here last week, before he is allowed to speak in public again. So, instead, and after some confusion between the stable and the stage, I took to the stable. Then to the stage.
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font size="5">"Cows"
Chapters IX and X
by
Blind Otto</font> </td> <td width="190" height="240">
<table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#c0c0c0"> <tr> <td> <h2 style="MARGIN: 12pt 0cm 3pt"><a name="_Toc128747175"><font face="Arial">Chapter IX</font></a></h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Instead, he shuffled along, very self-aware in his freshly re-issued initiate’s robe, down the corridor that lead towards the cog-sorting bins, to start his newly assigned role of assistant to the junior cog-sorter.<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Why, oh WHY hadn’t the luminary believed him? <o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">That the missing items, the ones he had found secreted away in Trinsic, had come from some creatures he had managed to contact out in the endless Void? That they knew a way to make metal live, and – worst of all – that he believed that there was already a colony of these creatures somewhere HERE, in the lands? <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">But, NO – he got no credit for his hard work, research and experimentation! Here he was – reduced to assisting a junior in the sorting of cogs! If it was not for all the wonderful benefits that came to members of the order, and the fact that no one had ever successfully lived more than 4 seconds after resigning from the order, he would have left there and then.<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Muttering to himself, he passed the last pair of the spheres that lined that part of the corridor… and stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">
</span>Noticing the image of a towering metallic bull-like creature standing over a decidedly naked, frightened young woman, he seized the spheres, and ran back up the passage, shrieking madly for the Grand Luminary. <o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Several minutes later, he was being escorted back to the cog-sorting room by two armed guards, with very clear instructions that he was never to approach ANYONE of a higher caste than himself while yelling about nudity and telling them to look at his balls.
<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Soon after, he was given a new initiate’s robe. This one had some embroidery on the back, which read “I am under a vow of silence. If I speak, please beat me soundly.”<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Filbercio sighed, which resulted in his first beating, and wondered how long it would take him to work his way back up to junior cog-sorter.<o
></o></span></p><span style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"><br style="PAGE-BREAK-BEFORE: always; mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <h2 style="MARGIN: 12pt 0cm 3pt"><font face="Arial">Chapter X</font></h2> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">He surveyed the aftermath of the battle, hoping to spot a horse that he could ride to<st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1
lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region>, to raise the alarm, or perhaps to get those useless mages moving a bit faster, but the only mountable animal in sight was a llama, which spat at him as he approached, and refused to be ridden. <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">“Looking for summat?” came a gruff voice from behind him.
Dupre half-looked up from going through the backpack of a fallen soldier, where he had hoped to find a spell of travel, or perhaps an unharmed pigeon, but did not turn around. <o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">“Aye, I need a good steed, and swiftly! Those creatures will overrun <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1
lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region> before long if the alarm is not raised!” <o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">“No fear of that. That lot’re just getting the kinks out before the trip. Who’d wish to go to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1
lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region>, anyway? Ghastly place, all full of scruffy architecture and brainless swamp spawn trying to win favours from that charlatan that squats on the throne there. <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Britain</st1lace></st1:country-region>? I’d rather sit in the Trinsic swamp in mosquito season!”<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Dupre turned, to see who DARED insult his home town and his liege so, and came face to face with a large metallic bull, who was leaning on a fallen trebuchet, and chewing a piece of straw.<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">“Aye. I’m not human. Want ta make something of it?” it sneered at him. “Or are ye one of the few with a brain in yer head?”<o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Dupre found that there was, indeed, a brain in his head. In there, his sword arm was yelling loudly that it needed to raise his sword, and kill this beast, while his legs were yelling equally loudly that the far side of a distant hill was the best place to be. <o
></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"><o></o></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial">His legs won.<o></o></span></p> </td> </tr> </table>
Goliath followed, with a riddle. Ah, many were the cries of "I know this one" when he started... but when he had finished.... that was another story indeed.
All lovers of riddles and brain teasers are hereby challenged to awaken the Shire next week - 'tis plain that much more practice is needed!
<table width="100%" border="1" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="140" height="110">
by
Goliath</font></p></td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" border="1" bgcolor="#80ffff"> <tr> <td>
And he gets it.
He tries to find it but he can't -
so he leaves.
When he arrives home, he finds it.
What is it?
you may have heard it
At this point, many pretended to be more interested in their ale than the question, but a few poorly concealed tapping noises were overheard, showing that some were, indeed, trying - and failing - to solve the riddle.
Eventually, 'twas proven that we need a higher class of drunkard in the tavern, and Goliath provided the answer.
Tis a splinter
</td></tr></table>
After much ordering of more ale, and red faces at being shamed by a newcomer, the Golden Unicorn returned to whatever it is that passes for 'normal', and Miranda took to the stage, fresh from the crafting of cannons! Many were glad to find that she had not brought samples of her recent wares with her!
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ffff" bgcolor="#ffffff"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="592"><font size="5">"Battle of the Boyne"
re-enacted by
Miranda</font> </td> <td>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ffff" bgcolor="#ffffff"> <tr> <td>
I told a year ago
in the snow
for a festival
in Wintermoor.
I told this tale here too,
one time. I like to tell it in march so i am a bit early.
If i may.
'tis about a people
oft labeled criminals
by the KING
but they are not
the fight for justice
as the folks here do as well.
A remake of the Battle of the Boyne
A Kingly host loom'd upon the stream
A monarch, and his troops camped all around
upon our fair Britania, it's uplands far and wide.
Dwarfed by his gray palacial pavilion crowned.
Not long ago our sky unclouded showed,
beneath the sparkling sun sol ray,
that a gentle stream of blue silver freely flowed
to meet it's virtuous people, each newborn day.
!! Suddenly Thunder ! Lord British's cannons!! BOOM !
Echoing thunderous, his injustice is shown
Whilst a certained sulphurous cloud doth loom
and moved along, tyranny upon the virtuous twas thrown!
And knight and horse lie in mingled mass
irregardless of all life.
With furious ardor onward the wounded doth pass
to fight this deadly conflict and strife.
Not at all strange, that with such ardant flame
these knights of blue silver, their hearts beat high
their battle word by name was "Mithras "
Their battle cry was for justice liberty, "Sol Invictus" !
Oward they went, onto Ouldebrit, these silver blue clad folowers of Mithras,
amid sounds of thunder and death unwonted rang
all heard and seen the mighty clang.
Their blue silver stream turn'd crimson, wide
and clogged with many a corpse.
Floating down the stream's gentle tide
corpses of knight, citizen, and horse
Now fiercer grows this battle's rage..
yon guarded stream IS crossed.
And hand to hand and blade to blade,fighting, a king whom betrayed us,
hand to hand blade to blade..shouting Sol Invictus !
!!! HE FALLS HE FALLS their knight commander falls !
He whom protected the sacred scrolls in the sacred walls.
Then they, their battle mages and knights of virtue brave,
this persecuted silver serpent band
who foremost rushed amid the hostile wave
for a time gained that hostlile strand of land.
They bleed, mighty Mithras they bleed !!
For them please help them Mithras ye must intercede.
This can not be the end of their virtuous career.
And then that well contested strand o'land
Lord British's successive waves of troops doth gain,
Whilst the Knights of the Silver Serpent died in pain.
Driven back across that blood soaked plain,
Drew their blue silver swords one last time, in vain
And the knights their lives and breath the king, did fling
and they perished' fighting the unjust King.
OH!! What better cause ??
Thy witness is boldly shown
upon the blood soaked ground
that tyranny must be over thrown !
Thy bravest and choicest fell, to unjust cannons sound.
There is no shame, ye abandoned not the fray
Ye fought injustice and tyranny this day.
Labeled now as crimminals by Injustice's laW,
Yet ye fight ye deaths shine as witness to all,
The Truth !
So sing !
Yes sing !
Sing harrah harrah for Liberty, sing harrah !
For freedom's sword must continue to draw
to dare to battle those unjust in power on high
so let ye blue silver banners fly
With grateful hearts, remember to celebrate
Truth Honor and Courage are never out of date.
So sing !sing Harrah harrah for freedom's flame
Even in death, the flame will always be rekindled again
and again and again will be fought to the death, for what is right
can not be killed, tis now and forever in spirit and hearts of men this night !
Something the unjust ones, can never really fathom, nor control
that the will to bring truth and justice burns in every heart and soul,
such a will can nary be killed,
for Liberty and Freedom is everyone's birthright !
</td></tr></table>
Aye, and down with "lord" British!
He sits alone on a giant throne
Pretendin' he's the king
A little tyke who's rather like
A puppet on a string
And he throws an angry tantrum
if he cannot have his way
And then he calls for Mum while he's suckin' his thumb
You see, he doesn't want to play
Feh. Wrong king. Now, moving along to the next offering of the night, it seems that Angharad had much to offer indeed. Or, did she...?
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#ff8000" bgcolor="#a3a754"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font size="5">"A Toast to Noble Lady"
by
Angharad</font> </td> <td width="300" height="300">
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#ff0000" bgcolor="#c8cc7b"> <tr> <td>
"
as performed by a friend
In cheer she tips her glass
and when her cup is empty
she flashes us her -
Assassin's in the courtyard
they'll have to catch him quick
he's on to find a lady
and stick her with his -
Dicker with the merchants
and haggle over stock
be sure it's by the arm length
not measured by his -
Cocktails after dinner
and songs sung by a bard
advances from a comely lass
are sure to make him -
Hardened in the oven
his tankard is the best
he spun it on his potter's wheel
and shaped it like a -
Abreast the men stand ready
their weapons poised for war
they're dreaming of last evening
how they spent it with a -
Hoarse a man lies dying
a little death in bed
he thinks no way is better
his wife gives him good -
Heading to a party
she's happy to have stayed
for the rumor down at West Bank
is that everyone gets -
laid out on a table
fair trimmings and a roast
good gentles stand together
I'd like to give a toast!
</td></tr></table>
It seems more and more talent is pouring into our lands by the week! Wherever it is coming from, let us hope no one finds the hole in the dam, and plugs it!
Another fine example, speaking for the first time this week, was Aisha.
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ff00" bgcolor="#ccffcc"> <tr> <td align="middle" width="589"><font size="5">"Naeloth"
by
Aisha</font> </td> <td>
<table width="100%" border="1" bordercolor="#00ff80" bgcolor="#d5f9b0"> <tr> <td>
In this land there stood a city, named Naeloth, on the island of Hythloth.
Many were the vassals who pledged allegiance to the lord of Naeloth and a shiver went down the
spine of all men who heard the name of the place whispered..
At this time, the lord of Naeloth was named Xirzin. As all rulers do in time, he finally surrendered
his power...
But as Xirzin gave his throne, the new lord - A superstitious man - Refused to sit it.
"Your throne is yours, milord - I shall sit as your advisor, now and forever."
And so he did - The great black throne of Naeloth remained empty
Whilst the advisors seat was ever occupied.
Naeloth grew stronger and stronger still, under this new stewart.
It's coffers laden with gold both plundered and offered in tribute.
And like all men with power, this Stewart fell in love and found a bride.
But yet, he was troubled. Each night as he slept, he saw before him the same haunting nightmare
Two rats tore at a great serpent and fought each other for the ripe and lush flesh.
So the stewart of Naeloth sought the advice of a witch who rumored had it dwelt within that
dank cave that gives the isle it's home.
He explained his troubles to this withered crone, retelling the tale in excruciating detail...
And she slowly nodded and spake thus; 'The serpent is your city, Stewart. Two rats unworthy of it
will feast on it's flesh and tear it to pieces'.
And it was true that the serpent was the sigil of Naeloth.
This prophecy troubled the stewart - As it rightly should..
"What rats would dwell within my realm and seek to tear it apart? Who would lust so dearly for
the seat of an advisor?"
Now, many things this stewart knew - To lead men in battle, to charm visitors and read signs and
portents...
But how to avoid fate, what man or woman knows this?
After a great deal of thought, the stewart called his wife to him and he spake
"The words of this witch troubles me deeply. Should our realm be torn asunder, I will have failed
my task to my lord and a bondsman who's oath is void is a bondsman who's life is void."
"I shall travel the realm and seek these rats, that I may prevent this to come to pass."
And with these words, he donned his cloak and mounted his steed and rode away from Naeloth.
Now, as was custom in Naeloth, the wife took the title of Elamshinae Dalharess
in the tongue they spoke, it meant 'Favored Daughter'
Like her husband, she would only serve, not rule from the black basalt throne.
Time passed...
Vassals pledged themselves to Naeloth, the coffers grew rich and richer
And in time, it seems the stewart and his curious edict that none would sit the black basalt
throne was forgotten.
His wife took other men to share her bed and styled herself with many great titles
And in time, she grew to long for even that one, last forbidden title.
And so it was that she sent forth heralds one day and announced that she would crown herself
the queen of Naeloth.
A hundred vassals, kings and queens in their own right, had gathered for the ceremony.
And only the ominous thunder could be heard as she ascended the steps to the black basalt throne
But then, as she laid her gloved hand on the arm rest.. A sound, at last!
The doors burst open and a thunderous roar emerged from the gates
"Child, that seat is not for you!"
Through the gates, in the eyes of all the vassals of the would-be queen, strode Xirzin
First lord of Naeloth and the rightful heir to the black basalt throne.
The assembled vassals grew excited, whispering to one another and wondering
For they had sworn oaths both to Naeloth and to Xirzin.
Within mere moments, the entire scene was reduced to chaos
The assembled lords and ladies, dignitaries of the finests houses of the land had drawn their sword
and begun to chant their spells
And in the middle of it all clashed would-be-queen and rightful king, for the black basalt throne.
The sounds spread out from the great hall to the commoners amassed outside
Who, in turn, began to raise their voices for their chosen lord or lady
Within the day, Naeloth was in the grip of civil war as men and women declared for Xirzin or the
queen.
For days, the turmoil clashed - The coffers grew thinner and thinner as they raided them again
and again, for money to hire mercenaries
Vassal after vassal sensed weakness and broke free from their serfdom
And at long last, the city lay in ashes, only those few buildings from stone remaining.
The survivors scattered from the place and now only the wind echo through the once great
streets of Naeloth...
Only the wind now sits the black, basalt throne.
</td></tr></table>
And here we had another first - for Aisha's first appearance at Story Night won first prize!
Well done indeed!
And Hoffs? I believe that two vultures are out and about in the lands, stalking thee for some carelessly tossed words. But, of course, you can not believe all you hear - especially at Story Night!
Yancey found another scroll hidden about his person - which is no small feat, considering how he dresses - and ended the eve with this tale of wonder, woe and wagging.
</td> </tr> </table> <table bordercolor="#00ff00" width="100%" bgcolor="#e7b46d" border="1"> <tr> <td> <p align="center"><font size="5">Baba Yaga
by
Yancey Deflorio</font></p></td> <td width="255">
<table bordercolor="#0000ff" width="100%" bgcolor="#d1fd82" border="1"> <tr> <td>
who of small children would make a meal
Her eyes were cold and her skin was gray
upon a mortar and pestal she would fly away
Her laugh would make a grown men faint with fear
and within the shadows would she appear
A witch that evil grew legendary in fame
Baba Yaga was that witches name
I went to see her long ago
to tell her of a maiden that I loved so,
but her love was not for me
and to Baba Yaga I went to see
My friends tried to warn me from such a foul place
and told me that the Devil was better than to see Baba's face
for in the darkest swamp does Baba Yaga live
and nothing but evil are the gifts that she gives
I ignored the advice and ignored their tales
I stepped in the darkness following the trails
to the swamp that no one returned
to tell Baba Yaga of the love which I burned
I followed the trail for many a day
deeper in the swamps where no sane man would stray
after weeks in the swamp I saw a fence of bones
I knew then I had found Baba Yagas home
Despite my fear I called her by name
I then heard her answer and felt ice in my veins
Then she appeared from the door of her home
picking her steel teeth with a chewed fingerbone
Her mouth then parted in a hideous grin
as she told me my tale from beginning to end
With an evil chuckle and a sinister grin
she sent her zombies for some items to begin
She cast a spell to capture my lady's heart
and bound it to mine so we could never part
Upon a lock of my love's hair and mine ,she cast her spells
and told me, together we would be upon the mornings bells
Baba Yaga's clawed hands touched me and I fell into a swoon,
and awoke the next morning in my true love's bedroom
She suddenly awoke and shrieked in delight
and clasped in her arms I was held tight
I tried to speak, yet no words could come
and I looked in horror at what I had become
I now mourn my fate as I lay by this warm log
She loves me now more than I was man now that I am her dog
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