PLAYER BLURBS.
|
|
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Nameless Wizard at egor_13_1999@yahoo.com
"I am Halfling.
We are the clever, neither strong nor tall, nor overly
skilled at Magic. We are the curious, the ingenious, the
solver of riddles. Openers of things left closed and
finders of things not yet lost. Small we may be as others
account such, but steadfast and enduring, perhaps the
equal of the Dwarven are we in this. What we lack in
power we make up with skill and accuracy and
dexterity." Fond
of simple jests at all times; We are particularly
fond of "Tickle-fights" and will continue to
torment our opponents until they beg for mercy or wet
their pants. We are generally reserved when around the
taller races, and will only relax when everyone is
seated; The reason for this is not because we are
intimidated by the 'Big Folk', it is because we hate
being stepped on! We
are however, generally quite at ease around Gor'Togs for
some unknown reason, and it is not at all uncommon to see
a couple hanging about (usually outside because they
won't fit in the Door) Halfling functions and Partys. We
can make many useful as well as beautiful things. Most
Olvi look at "Whittling" (as we call it) or
Carving (as you may call it) as a social activity and
enjoy having others around to talk to as we "Whittle
Wood". However, we generally have little desire for
the making or working of Magical or Mechanical Devices,
and tend to spend our time carving Ornate Walking Canes,
Fancy Smoking Pipes, or Decorative, yet functional,
Children's Toys. We
have a fancy for dressing in strong colors and are Fond
of yellows, greens, purples, reds, and blues; The
brighter the better is the common theme when it comes to
clothing. We are generally hospitable and take
exceptional delight in parties, and in presents, which we
give away freely and eagerly accept. A
Note Of Warning For The Big Folk: Although
there are Halfling settlements, Throughout the Realms (RiverHaven
Halfling Quarter), Arthe Dale is the home of Halflings.
Although there are a few Cottages most Olvi prefer to
live in Knolls. Knolls are created by digging Holes in
the sides of the hills; "Not
a nasty, Dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms, A Halfling's knoll is his Castle and is a direct measure of his social status in his community.
Halflings are short
(3' to 4'), free-spirited folk who are quick and light of
foot, and especially known for their curiosity. While not
strong or known for being able to keep to one subject for
long, the Halflings make up for this in their incredible
reflexes and agility, and surprisingly good stamina.
{1} Common
appearance: Male and Female. Halfling
feet! Halfling feet are hairy, thick skinned and they
are quite the source of pride for our race.
Halflings are a hard-working race of peaceful citizens.
Their communities are similar to those of humans,
although they usually contain many burrow homes in
addition to surface cottages. Halflings average 3 feet
in height, have ruddy complexions, with sandy to dark
brown hair, and blue or hazel eyes. Their dress is often
colorful but serviceable, and they like to wear caps or
tunics. In addition to their own language, many halflings
also speak the common tongue, gnome, goblin, and orcish.
Halflings will fight with great ferocity in defense of
good or their homes. They are very skilled with both the
sling and the bow and use these weapons to great
advantage in battle. Their tactics often involve feints
to draw their attackers into the open where they can be
subjected to a volley of fire from cover. Cheerful and outgoing, halflings, take great pleasure
in simple crafts and nature. Their fingers, though short,
are very dexterous allowing them to create objects of
great beauty. Halflings shun water and extremes in
temperature, preferring to settle in temperate pastoral
countrysides. They get along well with humans.
Halflings hunt occasionally, but prefer breads,
vegetables and fruits, with an occasional pheasant on the
side. They have a life expectancy of 100 years on the
average.
A taller (4'+) and slimmer halfling with fair skin and
hair, tallfellows are somewhat rare among the halfling
folk. Tallfellows generally speak the language of elves
in addition to those listed previously and greatly enjoy
their company. They live 180 years on average.
These halflings are shorter and stockier than the more common hairfoots. Stouts take great pleasure in gems and fine masonry, often working as jewelers or stone cutters. They rarely mix with humans and elves, but enjoy the company of dwarves and often speak their language fluently. Like dwarves, stouts have infravision.Their ties with the dwarven folk have spilled over into their combat tactics, with many stouts employing hammers and morningstars in combat. Stouts also have no fear of water and, in fact, many are excellent swimmers. Stouts can reach an age of 140 or more years.
Wet site wet site, dry sites I won't attend If you read event announcements Wet site, wet site, this rain is getting me down The fighters are using snorkles Wet site, wet site, I'm no longer feeling nice
SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED-Bertram of Bearington (Tune: "There Were Three Bonnie Lassies, Came from the Isle of Wight") (nb: "Wearin' O' the Green" works, too) There was a bonnie lassie, and she had brothers three; She did love a foreign lord, who came from Coventry. Her brothers did not like this and they told her to her face, "We're fearful, bonnie sister, the family you'll disgrace. For you're a highborn Scottish lass, of noble highland birth, And we don't think no foreign laird can give you what you're worth!" She said, "He is a valiant lord - he'll show you what he's got, You'll see the stuff he's made of - he'll out-Scottish any Scot!" "We'll set him tests of honor," the brothers they declared, "And if he canna do them, we'll surely know he's scared, In fact we clearly doubt that he'll escape from them alive, And so we'll set the contest - the trials will be five." The first contest was golfing, in which the lord did fine. He killed a dozen hedgehogs while shooting the back nine. He double-bogied every hole, his ball went wide and far, But when they counted hedgehogs, they found he'd broken par! The second one was piping, in which he held his own, He outdid all the brothers, for on and on he'd drone. He kept his pipes a'skirlin' 'til they all were out of breath, The reason - not his diaphragm - it's just that he's tone deaf! The next trial was sword dancing - with bare feet & bare sword, And in this painful trial, he proved a mighty lord. "Good brothers I don't understand - you said this would be hard! They made me wear my armor when I learned to galliard!" The fourth contest was drinking, the knight showed them his stuff. He chug-a-lugged from six more jugs when they had cried, "Enough!" He planned to take the excess home, he put it in a pail... "It makes a welcome change," he said, "from luke-warm English ale!" The fifth and final contest, this valiant knight was told, Was to eat a hag-gis [pause] while it was still COLD! The knight he ate a score of them, he said "Good friends come here. I'll have another score, but - this time with Worcestershire!" When the trials were over, her kin said "Sister dear, Though he has won the contest, you may not wed, we fear. For when we were out golfing, he proved his mind's unsound. The man, he must be crazy, he loaned me half a crown!" "Begone you silly spendthrift, to you I won't be wed. The way you throw your gold around, you must have lost your head!" The knight he quit the highlands and returned to Coventry, The lass she wed a highland man, kept Scottish lovers, three. Thus it goes in Scottish lands, the sexes both are bawds, Where half of them are bastards, and all of them tightwads! This tale is nearly over and I'm singin' on one lung, But to conclude the moral, at last it must be sung... CLOSING (to the tune of "Scotland the Brave") O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h, (sound like a set of pipes starting up) (1) Scotland it is the land, please (2) Baa baa baa baa baa baa baa For lusty lairds and lassies, Baa baa baa baa baa baa baa Though England may be moral Though England may be moral SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED! SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED! SCOTLAND THE BRAVEHark when the night is fallin', hear, hear the pipes a-callin' Loudly and proudly callin' down thru the glen There where the hills are sleepin', now feel the blood a-leapin' High as the spirits of the old highland men! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland the mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river, Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! High in the misty highlands, out by the purple islands, Brave are the hearts that beat beneath Scottish skies! Wild are the winds to meet you, staunch are the friends that greet you Kind as the light that shines from fair maiden's eyes! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river, Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! Far-off in sunlit places, sad are the Scottish faces, Yearnin' t'feel the kiss of sweet Scottish rain! Where tropic skies are beamin', love sets the heart a-dreamin', Longin' and dreamin' for the homeland again! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shinin' river, (lousy weather) Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! Hot as a burning ember, flaming in bleak December Burning within the hearts of clansmen afar! Calling to home and fire, calling the sweet desire, Shining a light that beckons from every star! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river, Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! TRY A MINSTREL-Andregor Starseeker (Tune: unknown) Don't follow a warrior with armour that shines His attention's for fighting first, second for wine You'll haul armour to please him and polish it fine When you want your reward, he'll be snoring like swine! CHORUS: But a minstrel is gentle, his touch it is light He knows how to entertain throughout the night! He's never too tired, or too bruised from a fight! A minstrel's quick tongue can make you feel right! Don't chase after a married man, 'twill soon make you tear You'll be stuck in the closet when his lady is near When the challenge is gone, you'll be dumped on your ear But a minstrel can help you restore your good cheer! Don't service a King, it's like fighting the air! With a Kingdom to rule, you're the -least- of his cares! His Throne and his glory won't be yours to share, And you're -dead- if you bring him an unscheduled heir! Don't sleep with the nobles, unless you've no pride, They've one place for a woman, and that is inside! From cooking and cleaning, you'll soon want to hide Till a minstrel does find you and away you will ride! Don't sleep with a Viking, let me tell you why: Their swords are all rusty, their bed's never dry, They'll leave for a year in the wink of an eye, And you know they're not lonely when docking time's nigh! Stay away from the rich men, they act just like boys You'll never be more than just one of their toys! They'll cast you aside if you make too much noise A minstrel's soft caring is the sweetest of joys! WILLIE MACINTOSH(The Burning of Auchendown) (Child 183) recorded by the Silly Sisters As I cam by Fidduch-side, on a May morning, I spied Willie Macintosh, and hour before the dawning: Turn again, turn again, turn again I bid ye! If ye burn Auchendown, Huntley he will heid ye! Hunt me or heid me, that sall never fear me! I sall burn Auchendown before the life leaves me! As I cam in by Auchendown, on a May morning, Auchendown was in a blaze, an hour before the dawning! Crawing, crawing, for a' your crowse crawing... Ye brunt your crop and tint your wings an hour before the dawning! YA GOT TROUBLE (RIGHT HERE IN CALAFIA)-Lloyd ap Taliesin y Felinfoel Copyright (C) 1991, James Woodyatt Savagely filked [without remorse] from the Music Man (Insert the name of any four syllable barony with an attitude problem) Well, either you are closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge, Or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster... indicated by the presence of a beer tavern in your community. Well, ya got trouble my friends, I say trouble right here in Calafia. Why sure I'm a storyteller, I'm always mighty proud, I say I'm mighty proud to say it. I consider that the hours I've spent in front of a crowd are golden... Helped me cultivate horse sense, and a cool head and a keen eye. Ya ever try to give an iron clad leave to yourself from a royal command performance? But just as I say it takes judgement, brains and maturity to get a harp argent for singing sixteenth century sea shanties, I say that any boob... Can get drunk and murder the lyrics to a Broadway showtune... And I call that sloth. And the first big step on the road to the depths of degrada[tion]... I say first... medicinal wine from a teaspoon, then beer from a keg. And the next thing you know your son's singing filks and wearing a cavalier hat, And listening to some egotistical Norman, here to tell all about country dancing, Not a wholesome courtly dance, No!, but a dance where you actually touch your partner's hands. Ya like to see some big, ugly Welshman drooling on Your daughter's arm, make your blood boil, well I should say... Now friends, let me tell you what I mean... Ya got one, two, five, ten, fifteen, twenty ounces in a pint. Ounces that mark the difference between a nobleman and a tinker, With a capital 'T', and that rhymes with 'B', and that stands for Beer. And all week long your Calafian youth'll be piddling away, I say your young men'll be piddling.... Piddling away their noon-time, supper-time, chore-time too, Just get the beer in the tankard Never mind getting the dandelions pulled, the tent flap patched or the beefsteak pounded. Never mind hauling any water 'til you parents are caught with the dishes all dirty on a Saturday night And that's trouble. Oh, yes we've got lots and lots trouble I'm thinking of smalls in their little clothes, shirt tail young ones, peeking in the tavern window after sundown Trouble! Folks! Right here in Calafia! Gotta find a way to keep the young ones moral after all. Now, I know all you folk are the right kind of parents, So I'll be perfectly frank with you. Would you like to know what sort of conversation goes on when they're loafin' around that tavern? They'll be puttin' down Guinness; they'll be puttin' down Blackbush; Drinking that Connemara Dew like alcohol fiends! And braggin' all about how they're gonna cover up a telltale breath with a bit of raw clove, One fine night, they leave the tavern, headed for the dance in Bedlam, Libertine men and scarlet women and belly dancing with shameless music That will grab your son, your daughter, in the arms of a jungle animal instinct. Mass hysteria! Friends, the idle brain is the devils playground, Trouble! (Oh! We got trouble!) Right here in Calafia! (Right here in Calafia!) Trouble with a capital 'T', and that rhymes with 'B', and that stands for Beer. (That stands for beer!) Oh yes, we've got trouble. (Our children have got trouble!) Right here in Calafia! (Right here!) Remember the code of chivalry and the golden rule. Mothers of Calafia. Heed this warning before it's too late. Watch for the telltale signs of corruption. When your son leaves the pavilion, does he roll his sleeves up above the elbow? Is there a disgusting sludge in the bottom of his tankard that looks like it came from an Exxon spill? Is there a book of Irish folk songs hidden under his pillow? Is he starting to memorize jokes, and one-liners that the peerage would never approve of? Are certain ideas creeping into his mind? Ideas like, "Who cares if I never get an award.... ever." And, "The king's an idiot!" Aha! And, "Big deal if I get banished!" Well, if so my friends, You got trouble! (Oh! We got trouble!) Right here in Calafia! (Right here in Calafia!) That drink with water and the barley and the hops is the devils tool. (The devil's tool.) Yes, we've got trouble, trouble, trouble. (Our children have got big, big trouble.) With a capital 'T', (With a capital 'T') And that rhymes with 'B', (And that rhymes with 'B') And that stands for Beer. (That stands for beer!) YESTERDAY-Saavogg Haraldsson Yesterday...all my troubles seemed so far away Now it looks as though they're here to stay Oh, I believe in yesterday.... Suddenly...I'm not half the man I used to be There's a shadow hanging over me Oh, yesterday came suddenly! Why he had to strike squarely there, he wouldn't say Right between my knees; how I long for yesterday! Yesterday...love was such an easy game to play Now I have to look the other way I believe in yesterday! Yesterday...ladies were so easy to impress Now I need an icy cold compress! I believe in yesterday! OAK, ASH, AND THORN-Rudyard Kipling Of all the trees that grow so fair Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, (All of a Midsummer's morn!) Surely we sing of no little thing In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. CHORUS: Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, (All of a Midsummer's morn!) Surely we sing of no little thing In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Oak of the clay lived many a day Or ever Aeneas began. Ash of the Loam was a lady at home When Brut was an outlaw man. Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town (From which was London born); Witness hereby the ancientry Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Yew that is old in churchyard-mould He breedeth a mighty bow, Alder for shoes do wise men choose And beech for cups also. But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled And your shoes are clean outworn Back ye must speed for all that ye need To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth Till every gust be laid To drop a limb on the head of him That anyway trusts her shade. But whether a lad be sober or sad, Or mellow with ale from the horn, He will take no wrong when he lieth along 'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, Or he would call it a sin; But-we have been out in the woods all night, A-conjuring Summer in! And we bring you news by word of mouth- Good news for cattle and corn- Now is the Sun come up from the South With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs (All of a Midsummer's morn)! England shall bide 'till Judgment Tide By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! THE MINSTREL BOY-Thomas More The minstrel boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you'll find him. His father's sword he has girded on His wild harp slung behind him. "Land of song," sang the warrior bard, "Tho all the world betrays ye, One sword at least thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee." The minstrel fell, but the foeman's chains could not keep his proud soul under. The harp he bore ne'er spoke again For he tore its cords asunder... And said "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery, Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They ne'er shall sound in slavery." IN MIDDLE EARTH-John Painter (Tune: "Penny Lane") In Middle Earth there is a tavern on the Eastern Road. There travelers will find its tables full of cheer. And when the innkeeper brings the beer, He may lend an ear. In Middle Earth well hidden deep in the Old Forest's trees Tom Bombadil maintains a house of cobbled stone To which he brings Goldberry home From the River's edge -- to his bed. Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun Where the seedling of Telperion is planted: Elsewhere back In Middle Earth there is a Hobbit in a Hobbit-hole. He keeps it clean although it's dug into the ground. And though he spends a lot of time in town, Still he's been around. In Middle Earth there is a wizard with a staff of oak. His flowing beard is colored like new-fallen snow. His fireworks light up the fields below, And his smoke-rings glow. Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun A wonder where the northland waters run ere Sunlight Elsewhere back In Middle Earth a wizard smokes his pipe contentedly. We see a Hobbit walking, humming, to the inn. And then old Bombadil rushes in From the River's edge -- to his bed. Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun Where the seedling of Telperion is planted..... Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun A wonder where the northland waters run ere Sunlight.... (fade ad lib) COLD IRON-Rudyard Kipling Gold is for the Mistress, Silver for the Maid Copper for the Craftsman, cunning at his trade "Good", cried the Baron, sitting in his Hall, But Iron, Cold Iron, is the Master of them all. So he made rebellion, `gainst the King his Liege Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege "Nay", said the Cannnoneer on the castle wall, But Iron, Cold Iron, shall be Master of you all. Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong When the cruel cannonballs laid them all along He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall, And Iron, Cold Iron, was the Master over all. Yet his King spake kindly, ah, how kind a Lord What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword "Nay", said the Baron, mock not at my fall, For Iron, Cold Iron, is the Master of men all. Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a Crown As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small, For Iron, Cold Iron, must be Master of men all. Yet his King made answer, few such Kings there be Here is bread and here is wine, now sit and sup with me Eat and drink in Mary's Name, while I do recall, How Iron, Cold Iron, can be Master of men all. He took the wine and blessed it, he blessed and broke the bread With his own hands he served them, and presently he said See these Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall, Show Iron, Cold Iron, to be Master of men all. Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong Balm and oil for weary hearts, all cut and bruised with wrong I forgive thy treason, I redeem thy Fall, For Iron, Cold Iron, must be Master of men all. Crowns are for the valiant, scepters for the bold Thrones and power for mighty men, who dare to take and hold "Nay", said the baron, kneeling in His Hall, But Iron, Cold Iron, is the Master of men all. Iron out of Calvary, is the Master of men all THE COURT SONG-Aed of Avingdor Well I went to an event about a couple of months back I had myself a good time. Fighting and playing, flirting with the girls At least the ones who didn't mind. And after the day, and after the feast, We all went off to the court. Then the herald got up, he opened his mouth He said, "I think it's time to start." Then he said: CHORUS: "Wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wa." And I said, "Huh?" And then the King said "Wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wa." And I said, "Huh?" And my friend said, "What did he say?" I said, "Hey, I don't know, how 'bout you?" And then the Queen said "Wanna wanna wanna wanna wa." And we all said, "Huh?" Well we all sat there in the back of the room We tried to make the best of our plight. Folks got up, they all got scrolls, It really was a wonderful sight. And there were folks that we knew, and some who we don't But for our group it was a good day. And then the herald got up, he opened his mouth And this is what I heard him say. Then he said: Well a friend of mine from the front of the room Yelled "Hey stupid! They just called you!" I got up, I went to the front But I didn't know what I should do. Well the herald helped out, and the King and the Queen Were real nice as they gave me my scroll. When I got back I said, "Did you hear?" But my friends they had to be told. Cause they heard: Now I still go to events, I have a good time And I flirt with what ladies I can. And after the day, and after the feast, I go off to court with a plan. Yes I still sit in the back, I have a good chat And I talk about the fun of the day. Cause whatever the night, it's always in sight But this is all I hear them say......... Yes, they say: CHASTITY BELT-Anonymous Oh say, gentle maiden, may I be your lover Condemn me no longer to mourn and to weep Struck down like a hart, I lie wounded and fainting So let down your drawbridge, I'll enter your keep CHORUS: Enter your keep, nonnie nonnie Enter your keep, nonnie nonnie Let down your drawbridge, I'll enter your keep Alas, gentle errant, I am not a maiden I'm married to Sir Oswald the cunning old Celt He's gone to the wars for a twelve-month or longer And taken the key to my chastity belt Fear not gentle maiden for I know a locksmith To his forge we will go, on his door we will knock And try to avail us of his specialised knowledge And see if he's able to unpick the lock Alas, sir and madam, to help I'm unable My technical knowledge is of no avail I can't find the secret to your combination The cunning old bastard has fitted a Yale I'm back from the wars with sad news of disaster A terrible mishap I have to confide As my ship was passing the Straits of Gibralter I carelessly dropped the key over the side Alas and alack I am locked up forever When up steps a page-boy, says "Leave it to me" If you will allow me to enter your chamber I'll open it up with my duplicate key DEATH AND THE LADYAs I walked forth one day, one day I met an old man by the way His head was bald and his beard was grey His clothing made of the cold earth and clay His clothing made of the cold earth and clay I said "Old man, what man are you? What country do you belong to?" "My name is Death, as heard of me All kings and princes bow down unto me All kings and princes bow down unto me" "My name is Death, can not you see Lords, Dukes and Ladies bow down unto me And you are one of those branches three And you fair maid must come along with me And you fair maid must come along with me" I'll give you gold and jewels so rare I'll give you costly rich robes to wear I'll give you the combs that hold my hair If you will let me live but another short year If you will let me live but another short year Fair Lady lay your robes aside No longer glory in your pride And now sweet maid make no delay Your time has come and you must away Your time has come and you must away On that same night this fair maid died And on her tombstone these words enscribed Here lies a poor distress-ed maid By Death so cruelly she was betrayed By Death so cruelly she was betrayed THE RIDDLE SONG-15th century music by John Rutter I have a young sister far beyond the sea And many be the dowries that she sent me She sent me a cherry withouten any stone And so she did the dove withouten any bone She sent me a briar withouten any rind She bade me love my lemman without longing Now how can any cherry be without stone And how can any dove be withouten bone How can there be a briar withouten any rind And how can I love my lemman without longing? When the cherry was a flower, then had it no stone When the dove was an egg, then had it no bone When the briar was onbred, then had it no rind When the maiden has that she loveth, she is without longing FROM THE TOMB-H.P. Lovecraft Come hither my lads with your tankards of ale And drink to the present before it shall fail Pile each on your platter a mountain of beef For 'tis eating and drinking that brings us relief So fill up your glass For life will soon pass When you're dead you'll ne'er drink to your King or your lass! Anacreon had a red nose, so they say But what's a red nose if you're happy and gay? Gad split me! I'd rather be red while I'm here Than white as a lily - and dead half a year! So Betty, my miss Come and give me a kiss! In Hell there's no innkeeper's daughter like this! Young Harry, propped up just as straight as he's able Will soon lose his wig and slip under the table But fill up your goblets and pass them around Better under the table than under the ground! So revel and chaff As ye thirstily quaff Under six feet of dirt 'tis easy to laugh! The fiend strike me blue! I'm scarce able to walk! And damn me if I can stand upright or talk! Here. landlord, bid Betty to summon a chair I'll try home for a while, for my wife is not there! So lend me a hand I'm not able to stand But I'm gay whilst I linger on top of the land! PIRATE FLAG RISINGWords: David Weingart 1993 Music: "Bad Moon Rising" (Creedence Clearwater Revival) I see the pirate flag rising, I see trouble on the way Check out that ship on the horizon, I think we'd better start to pray CHORUS: Don't get caught tonight, for they're bound to take our lives There are pirates on the rise I see that skull and crossbones flowing, I think our end is coming soon I see those cutlasses a-glowing, I hear the cannons going BOOM! CHORUS Let's try and get those guns together, I just am not prepared to die Fighting for all our lives together, there are pirates on the rise CHORUS AN ASSASSIN'S LOTWords: Roger Burton-West Music: Sir Arthur Sullivan, /A Policeman's Lot/ (from /The Pirates of Penzance/) Date: 17 October, 1994 Spoken: It is most distressing to us to be the agents whereby our fellow-creatures are deprived of that vitality which is so dear to all -- /but we should have thought of that before we joined the guild/. When the dragon's not a-lying on his money (on his money) Or plotting how to reave a town or two (town or two) He prefers to bask on ledges where it's sunny (where it's sunny) And to poison him seems very cruel to do (cruel to do) Even vampires can be kindly to their mothers (to their mothers) Though we often have to stake them in the sun (in the sun) And taking one consideration with another (with another) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one) With than-atogenic duty to be done (to be done) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one) When the paladin's not slaying orcs and liches (orcs and liches) Or trashing evil temples by the score (by the score) He often may go fishing under bridges (under bridges) Where a dagger's blade makes sure he slays no more (slays no more) When the necromancer resurrects his brother (-ects his brother) Killing both of them is rarely any fun (any fun) And taking one consideration with another (with another) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one) With than-atogenic duty to be done (to be done) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one)
Lisanara's Songs archive:
Ode to a Friend Listen my Lord, to the tale I shall
sing, His notes in my mind, dost he helped me
to find, His crest of the Dragon, as blue as the
night, Into the dark, he would play all his
art, He chanted so higher, climbing love's
lost Spiral, Blue Dragon Tale Glittering Sun of distant past Flying high into azure skies His proud kingdom is in turmoil Beconing among Veeshan's brood Scales of blue, Blood of red Wars does start with gods of new Now their fate hangs in balance Great blue dragon lead the way Shrilling arrows pierced the skin Ruby red his scales have turned After death of Dragons old And now in this present day Rememberance time of old The coming of Day The sun shines on the great trees As the sun beckons the light In the moonlight we were free In its place we have laid Now the sun rises again What a grand event it is Freeport Travel the land, lend thee a hand, Look at the sky, I wish I could fly, Powerful wizards, animal herds, The wonderful market, please take a
ticket, Incredible guilds, that all so builds, Ode to Prexus All hail the sea king, Look at his crashing waves, Look over the side and do not hide, Look up to the sunlit skies, Sail on the many oceans, It's time to dream my fine marine, So set sail on the open sea, There's treasures on these isles, So All HAIL the lord Prexus, Selo's Grace Wak up my young adventurer Pick up your pack and all you lack Come fly away on selo's grace The roads ahead are winding down Travel the fields, forest and seas, So until the sun slowly fades Waji and Andalus' weeding. She is of aspen leaves in spring
sunlight he comes from the fury of crashing
waves City of Qeynos is where he had docked His heart dost pounded for her elven
grace Both of diffrent worlds yet with the
same joy Both hearts as one at the end of the
day Silverwynd Beauty of silver Story behind this name First came the sun Then rised the moon Added the forest Wood elf sprang Tunare gave a name That is the story Vyjra, Mistress of Neriak From within the gates of Neriak Widow Black as she is known, Maelstrom eyes of inner strength Sacred torture she would breed She experiments on the living, Undead creatures twitch in wait, To all good creatures I say Beware, Lady Vyjra is Neriak's True Heir! Devir Burning soul of darkness' flame Father watches over son Fighting wars with Freeport's knights Darkened skies of valley smoke Tall elven tress they will kill This their vision they would bring Dark Embrace I sometimes ream of a love The nector and poison You hold me tightly with your lips Push me down to the floor Holding me down with your words You're forcing me to say: I don't care about my race bite down into my neck Burning passion that I feel Make me blind to all truth This will be my only life Only then will you look But in the end I have won When I lie beside you Slowly your heart opens I love you my wild dark spirit
|
|||||||
Contact Al von Gore at gorboy@yahoo.com
"I am Halfling.
We are the clever, neither strong nor tall, nor overly
skilled at Magic. We are the curious, the ingenious, the
solver of riddles. Openers of things left closed and
finders of things not yet lost. Small we may be as others
account such, but steadfast and enduring, perhaps the
equal of the Dwarven are we in this. What we lack in
power we make up with skill and accuracy and dexterity." Fond
of simple jests at all times; We are particularly
fond of "Tickle-fights" and will continue to
torment our opponents until they beg for mercy or wet
their pants. We are generally reserved when around the
taller races, and will only relax when everyone is
seated; The reason for this is not because we are
intimidated by the 'Big Folk', it is because we hate
being stepped on! We
are however, generally quite at ease around Gor'Togs for
some unknown reason, and it is not at all uncommon to see
a couple hanging about (usually outside because they
won't fit in the Door) Halfling functions and Partys. We
can make many useful as well as beautiful things. Most
Olvi look at "Whittling" (as we call it) or
Carving (as you may call it) as a social activity and
enjoy having others around to talk to as we "Whittle
Wood". However, we generally have little desire for
the making or working of Magical or Mechanical Devices,
and tend to spend our time carving Ornate Walking Canes,
Fancy Smoking Pipes, or Decorative, yet functional,
Children's Toys. We
have a fancy for dressing in strong colors and are Fond
of yellows, greens, purples, reds, and blues; The
brighter the better is the common theme when it comes to
clothing. We are generally hospitable and take
exceptional delight in parties, and in presents, which we
give away freely and eagerly accept. A
Note Of Warning For The Big Folk: Although
there are Halfling settlements, Throughout the Realms (RiverHaven
Halfling Quarter), Arthe Dale is the home of Halflings.
Although there are a few Cottages most Olvi prefer to
live in Knolls. Knolls are created by digging Holes in
the sides of the hills; "Not
a nasty, Dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms, A Halfling's knoll is his Castle and is a direct measure of his social status in his community.
Halflings are short
(3' to 4'), free-spirited folk who are quick and light of
foot, and especially known for their curiosity. While not
strong or known for being able to keep to one subject for
long, the Halflings make up for this in their incredible
reflexes and agility, and surprisingly good stamina. {1} Common
appearance: Male and Female. Halfling
feet! Halfling feet are hairy, thick skinned and they
are quite the source of pride for our race.
Halflings are a hard-working race of peaceful citizens.
Their communities are similar to those of humans,
although they usually contain many burrow homes in
addition to surface cottages. Halflings average 3 feet
in height, have ruddy complexions, with sandy to dark
brown hair, and blue or hazel eyes. Their dress is often
colorful but serviceable, and they like to wear caps or
tunics. In addition to their own language, many halflings
also speak the common tongue, gnome, goblin, and orcish.
Halflings will fight with great ferocity in defense of
good or their homes. They are very skilled with both the
sling and the bow and use these weapons to great
advantage in battle. Their tactics often involve feints
to draw their attackers into the open where they can be
subjected to a volley of fire from cover. Cheerful and outgoing, halflings, take great pleasure
in simple crafts and nature. Their fingers, though short,
are very dexterous allowing them to create objects of
great beauty. Halflings shun water and extremes in
temperature, preferring to settle in temperate pastoral
countrysides. They get along well with humans.
Halflings hunt occasionally, but prefer breads,
vegetables and fruits, with an occasional pheasant on the
side. They have a life expectancy of 100 years on the
average.
A taller (4'+) and slimmer halfling with fair skin and
hair, tallfellows are somewhat rare among the halfling
folk. Tallfellows generally speak the language of elves
in addition to those listed previously and greatly enjoy
their company. They live 180 years on average.
These halflings are shorter and stockier than the more common hairfoots. Stouts take great pleasure in gems and fine masonry, often working as jewelers or stone cutters. They rarely mix with humans and elves, but enjoy the company of dwarves and often speak their language fluently. Like dwarves, stouts have infravision.Their ties with the dwarven folk have spilled over into their combat tactics, with many stouts employing hammers and morningstars in combat. Stouts also have no fear of water and, in fact, many are excellent swimmers. Stouts can reach an age of 140 or more years.
Wet site wet site, dry sites I won't attend If you read event announcements Wet site, wet site, this rain is getting me down The fighters are using snorkles Wet site, wet site, I'm no longer feeling nice
SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED-Bertram of Bearington (Tune: "There Were Three Bonnie Lassies, Came from the Isle of Wight") (nb: "Wearin' O' the Green" works, too) There was a bonnie lassie, and she had brothers three; She did love a foreign lord, who came from Coventry. Her brothers did not like this and they told her to her face, "We're fearful, bonnie sister, the family you'll disgrace. For you're a highborn Scottish lass, of noble highland birth, And we don't think no foreign laird can give you what you're worth!" She said, "He is a valiant lord - he'll show you what he's got, You'll see the stuff he's made of - he'll out-Scottish any Scot!" "We'll set him tests of honor," the brothers they declared, "And if he canna do them, we'll surely know he's scared, In fact we clearly doubt that he'll escape from them alive, And so we'll set the contest - the trials will be five." The first contest was golfing, in which the lord did fine. He killed a dozen hedgehogs while shooting the back nine. He double-bogied every hole, his ball went wide and far, But when they counted hedgehogs, they found he'd broken par! The second one was piping, in which he held his own, He outdid all the brothers, for on and on he'd drone. He kept his pipes a'skirlin' 'til they all were out of breath, The reason - not his diaphragm - it's just that he's tone deaf! The next trial was sword dancing - with bare feet & bare sword, And in this painful trial, he proved a mighty lord. "Good brothers I don't understand - you said this would be hard! They made me wear my armor when I learned to galliard!" The fourth contest was drinking, the knight showed them his stuff. He chug-a-lugged from six more jugs when they had cried, "Enough!" He planned to take the excess home, he put it in a pail... "It makes a welcome change," he said, "from luke-warm English ale!" The fifth and final contest, this valiant knight was told, Was to eat a hag-gis [pause] while it was still COLD! The knight he ate a score of them, he said "Good friends come here. I'll have another score, but - this time with Worcestershire!" When the trials were over, her kin said "Sister dear, Though he has won the contest, you may not wed, we fear. For when we were out golfing, he proved his mind's unsound. The man, he must be crazy, he loaned me half a crown!" "Begone you silly spendthrift, to you I won't be wed. The way you throw your gold around, you must have lost your head!" The knight he quit the highlands and returned to Coventry, The lass she wed a highland man, kept Scottish lovers, three. Thus it goes in Scottish lands, the sexes both are bawds, Where half of them are bastards, and all of them tightwads! This tale is nearly over and I'm singin' on one lung, But to conclude the moral, at last it must be sung... CLOSING (to the tune of "Scotland the Brave") O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h, (sound like a set of pipes starting up) (1) Scotland it is the land, please (2) Baa baa baa baa baa baa baa For lusty lairds and lassies, Baa baa baa baa baa baa baa Though England may be moral Though England may be moral SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED! SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED! SCOTLAND THE BRAVEHark when the night is fallin', hear, hear the pipes a-callin' Loudly and proudly callin' down thru the glen There where the hills are sleepin', now feel the blood a-leapin' High as the spirits of the old highland men! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland the mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river, Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! High in the misty highlands, out by the purple islands, Brave are the hearts that beat beneath Scottish skies! Wild are the winds to meet you, staunch are the friends that greet you Kind as the light that shines from fair maiden's eyes! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river, Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! Far-off in sunlit places, sad are the Scottish faces, Yearnin' t'feel the kiss of sweet Scottish rain! Where tropic skies are beamin', love sets the heart a-dreamin', Longin' and dreamin' for the homeland again! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shinin' river, (lousy weather) Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! Hot as a burning ember, flaming in bleak December Burning within the hearts of clansmen afar! Calling to home and fire, calling the sweet desire, Shining a light that beckons from every star! Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame! High may your proud standards gloriously wave! Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river, Land of my heart, forever, Scotland the brave! TRY A MINSTREL-Andregor Starseeker (Tune: unknown) Don't follow a warrior with armour that shines His attention's for fighting first, second for wine You'll haul armour to please him and polish it fine When you want your reward, he'll be snoring like swine! CHORUS: But a minstrel is gentle, his touch it is light He knows how to entertain throughout the night! He's never too tired, or too bruised from a fight! A minstrel's quick tongue can make you feel right! Don't chase after a married man, 'twill soon make you tear You'll be stuck in the closet when his lady is near When the challenge is gone, you'll be dumped on your ear But a minstrel can help you restore your good cheer! Don't service a King, it's like fighting the air! With a Kingdom to rule, you're the -least- of his cares! His Throne and his glory won't be yours to share, And you're -dead- if you bring him an unscheduled heir! Don't sleep with the nobles, unless you've no pride, They've one place for a woman, and that is inside! From cooking and cleaning, you'll soon want to hide Till a minstrel does find you and away you will ride! Don't sleep with a Viking, let me tell you why: Their swords are all rusty, their bed's never dry, They'll leave for a year in the wink of an eye, And you know they're not lonely when docking time's nigh! Stay away from the rich men, they act just like boys You'll never be more than just one of their toys! They'll cast you aside if you make too much noise A minstrel's soft caring is the sweetest of joys! WILLIE MACINTOSH(The Burning of Auchendown) (Child 183) recorded by the Silly Sisters As I cam by Fidduch-side, on a May morning, I spied Willie Macintosh, and hour before the dawning: Turn again, turn again, turn again I bid ye! If ye burn Auchendown, Huntley he will heid ye! Hunt me or heid me, that sall never fear me! I sall burn Auchendown before the life leaves me! As I cam in by Auchendown, on a May morning, Auchendown was in a blaze, an hour before the dawning! Crawing, crawing, for a' your crowse crawing... Ye brunt your crop and tint your wings an hour before the dawning! YA GOT TROUBLE (RIGHT HERE IN CALAFIA)-Lloyd ap Taliesin y Felinfoel Copyright (C) 1991, James Woodyatt Savagely filked [without remorse] from the Music Man (Insert the name of any four syllable barony with an attitude problem) Well, either you are closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge, Or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster... indicated by the presence of a beer tavern in your community. Well, ya got trouble my friends, I say trouble right here in Calafia. Why sure I'm a storyteller, I'm always mighty proud, I say I'm mighty proud to say it. I consider that the hours I've spent in front of a crowd are golden... Helped me cultivate horse sense, and a cool head and a keen eye. Ya ever try to give an iron clad leave to yourself from a royal command performance? But just as I say it takes judgement, brains and maturity to get a harp argent for singing sixteenth century sea shanties, I say that any boob... Can get drunk and murder the lyrics to a Broadway showtune... And I call that sloth. And the first big step on the road to the depths of degrada[tion]... I say first... medicinal wine from a teaspoon, then beer from a keg. And the next thing you know your son's singing filks and wearing a cavalier hat, And listening to some egotistical Norman, here to tell all about country dancing, Not a wholesome courtly dance, No!, but a dance where you actually touch your partner's hands. Ya like to see some big, ugly Welshman drooling on Your daughter's arm, make your blood boil, well I should say... Now friends, let me tell you what I mean... Ya got one, two, five, ten, fifteen, twenty ounces in a pint. Ounces that mark the difference between a nobleman and a tinker, With a capital 'T', and that rhymes with 'B', and that stands for Beer. And all week long your Calafian youth'll be piddling away, I say your young men'll be piddling.... Piddling away their noon-time, supper-time, chore-time too, Just get the beer in the tankard Never mind getting the dandelions pulled, the tent flap patched or the beefsteak pounded. Never mind hauling any water 'til you parents are caught with the dishes all dirty on a Saturday night And that's trouble. Oh, yes we've got lots and lots trouble I'm thinking of smalls in their little clothes, shirt tail young ones, peeking in the tavern window after sundown Trouble! Folks! Right here in Calafia! Gotta find a way to keep the young ones moral after all. Now, I know all you folk are the right kind of parents, So I'll be perfectly frank with you. Would you like to know what sort of conversation goes on when they're loafin' around that tavern? They'll be puttin' down Guinness; they'll be puttin' down Blackbush; Drinking that Connemara Dew like alcohol fiends! And braggin' all about how they're gonna cover up a telltale breath with a bit of raw clove, One fine night, they leave the tavern, headed for the dance in Bedlam, Libertine men and scarlet women and belly dancing with shameless music That will grab your son, your daughter, in the arms of a jungle animal instinct. Mass hysteria! Friends, the idle brain is the devils playground, Trouble! (Oh! We got trouble!) Right here in Calafia! (Right here in Calafia!) Trouble with a capital 'T', and that rhymes with 'B', and that stands for Beer. (That stands for beer!) Oh yes, we've got trouble. (Our children have got trouble!) Right here in Calafia! (Right here!) Remember the code of chivalry and the golden rule. Mothers of Calafia. Heed this warning before it's too late. Watch for the telltale signs of corruption. When your son leaves the pavilion, does he roll his sleeves up above the elbow? Is there a disgusting sludge in the bottom of his tankard that looks like it came from an Exxon spill? Is there a book of Irish folk songs hidden under his pillow? Is he starting to memorize jokes, and one-liners that the peerage would never approve of? Are certain ideas creeping into his mind? Ideas like, "Who cares if I never get an award.... ever." And, "The king's an idiot!" Aha! And, "Big deal if I get banished!" Well, if so my friends, You got trouble! (Oh! We got trouble!) Right here in Calafia! (Right here in Calafia!) That drink with water and the barley and the hops is the devils tool. (The devil's tool.) Yes, we've got trouble, trouble, trouble. (Our children have got big, big trouble.) With a capital 'T', (With a capital 'T') And that rhymes with 'B', (And that rhymes with 'B') And that stands for Beer. (That stands for beer!) YESTERDAY-Saavogg Haraldsson Yesterday...all my troubles seemed so far away Now it looks as though they're here to stay Oh, I believe in yesterday.... Suddenly...I'm not half the man I used to be There's a shadow hanging over me Oh, yesterday came suddenly! Why he had to strike squarely there, he wouldn't say Right between my knees; how I long for yesterday! Yesterday...love was such an easy game to play Now I have to look the other way I believe in yesterday! Yesterday...ladies were so easy to impress Now I need an icy cold compress! I believe in yesterday! OAK, ASH, AND THORN-Rudyard Kipling Of all the trees that grow so fair Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, (All of a Midsummer's morn!) Surely we sing of no little thing In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. CHORUS: Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, (All of a Midsummer's morn!) Surely we sing of no little thing In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Oak of the clay lived many a day Or ever Aeneas began. Ash of the Loam was a lady at home When Brut was an outlaw man. Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town (From which was London born); Witness hereby the ancientry Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Yew that is old in churchyard-mould He breedeth a mighty bow, Alder for shoes do wise men choose And beech for cups also. But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled And your shoes are clean outworn Back ye must speed for all that ye need To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth Till every gust be laid To drop a limb on the head of him That anyway trusts her shade. But whether a lad be sober or sad, Or mellow with ale from the horn, He will take no wrong when he lieth along 'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, Or he would call it a sin; But-we have been out in the woods all night, A-conjuring Summer in! And we bring you news by word of mouth- Good news for cattle and corn- Now is the Sun come up from the South With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs (All of a Midsummer's morn)! England shall bide 'till Judgment Tide By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! THE MINSTREL BOY-Thomas More The minstrel boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you'll find him. His father's sword he has girded on His wild harp slung behind him. "Land of song," sang the warrior bard, "Tho all the world betrays ye, One sword at least thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee." The minstrel fell, but the foeman's chains could not keep his proud soul under. The harp he bore ne'er spoke again For he tore its cords asunder... And said "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery, Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They ne'er shall sound in slavery." IN MIDDLE EARTH-John Painter (Tune: "Penny Lane") In Middle Earth there is a tavern on the Eastern Road. There travelers will find its tables full of cheer. And when the innkeeper brings the beer, He may lend an ear. In Middle Earth well hidden deep in the Old Forest's trees Tom Bombadil maintains a house of cobbled stone To which he brings Goldberry home From the River's edge -- to his bed. Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun Where the seedling of Telperion is planted: Elsewhere back In Middle Earth there is a Hobbit in a Hobbit-hole. He keeps it clean although it's dug into the ground. And though he spends a lot of time in town, Still he's been around. In Middle Earth there is a wizard with a staff of oak. His flowing beard is colored like new-fallen snow. His fireworks light up the fields below, And his smoke-rings glow. Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun A wonder where the northland waters run ere Sunlight Elsewhere back In Middle Earth a wizard smokes his pipe contentedly. We see a Hobbit walking, humming, to the inn. And then old Bombadil rushes in From the River's edge -- to his bed. Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun Where the seedling of Telperion is planted..... Middle Earth beneath the stars below the Sun A wonder where the northland waters run ere Sunlight.... (fade ad lib) COLD IRON-Rudyard Kipling Gold is for the Mistress, Silver for the Maid Copper for the Craftsman, cunning at his trade "Good", cried the Baron, sitting in his Hall, But Iron, Cold Iron, is the Master of them all. So he made rebellion, `gainst the King his Liege Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege "Nay", said the Cannnoneer on the castle wall, But Iron, Cold Iron, shall be Master of you all. Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong When the cruel cannonballs laid them all along He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall, And Iron, Cold Iron, was the Master over all. Yet his King spake kindly, ah, how kind a Lord What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword "Nay", said the Baron, mock not at my fall, For Iron, Cold Iron, is the Master of men all. Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a Crown As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small, For Iron, Cold Iron, must be Master of men all. Yet his King made answer, few such Kings there be Here is bread and here is wine, now sit and sup with me Eat and drink in Mary's Name, while I do recall, How Iron, Cold Iron, can be Master of men all. He took the wine and blessed it, he blessed and broke the bread With his own hands he served them, and presently he said See these Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall, Show Iron, Cold Iron, to be Master of men all. Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong Balm and oil for weary hearts, all cut and bruised with wrong I forgive thy treason, I redeem thy Fall, For Iron, Cold Iron, must be Master of men all. Crowns are for the valiant, scepters for the bold Thrones and power for mighty men, who dare to take and hold "Nay", said the baron, kneeling in His Hall, But Iron, Cold Iron, is the Master of men all. Iron out of Calvary, is the Master of men all THE COURT SONG-Aed of Avingdor Well I went to an event about a couple of months back I had myself a good time. Fighting and playing, flirting with the girls At least the ones who didn't mind. And after the day, and after the feast, We all went off to the court. Then the herald got up, he opened his mouth He said, "I think it's time to start." Then he said: CHORUS: "Wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wa." And I said, "Huh?" And then the King said "Wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wa." And I said, "Huh?" And my friend said, "What did he say?" I said, "Hey, I don't know, how 'bout you?" And then the Queen said "Wanna wanna wanna wanna wa." And we all said, "Huh?" Well we all sat there in the back of the room We tried to make the best of our plight. Folks got up, they all got scrolls, It really was a wonderful sight. And there were folks that we knew, and some who we don't But for our group it was a good day. And then the herald got up, he opened his mouth And this is what I heard him say. Then he said: Well a friend of mine from the front of the room Yelled "Hey stupid! They just called you!" I got up, I went to the front But I didn't know what I should do. Well the herald helped out, and the King and the Queen Were real nice as they gave me my scroll. When I got back I said, "Did you hear?" But my friends they had to be told. Cause they heard: Now I still go to events, I have a good time And I flirt with what ladies I can. And after the day, and after the feast, I go off to court with a plan. Yes I still sit in the back, I have a good chat And I talk about the fun of the day. Cause whatever the night, it's always in sight But this is all I hear them say......... Yes, they say: CHASTITY BELT-Anonymous Oh say, gentle maiden, may I be your lover Condemn me no longer to mourn and to weep Struck down like a hart, I lie wounded and fainting So let down your drawbridge, I'll enter your keep CHORUS: Enter your keep, nonnie nonnie Enter your keep, nonnie nonnie Let down your drawbridge, I'll enter your keep Alas, gentle errant, I am not a maiden I'm married to Sir Oswald the cunning old Celt He's gone to the wars for a twelve-month or longer And taken the key to my chastity belt Fear not gentle maiden for I know a locksmith To his forge we will go, on his door we will knock And try to avail us of his specialised knowledge And see if he's able to unpick the lock Alas, sir and madam, to help I'm unable My technical knowledge is of no avail I can't find the secret to your combination The cunning old bastard has fitted a Yale I'm back from the wars with sad news of disaster A terrible mishap I have to confide As my ship was passing the Straits of Gibralter I carelessly dropped the key over the side Alas and alack I am locked up forever When up steps a page-boy, says "Leave it to me" If you will allow me to enter your chamber I'll open it up with my duplicate key DEATH AND THE LADYAs I walked forth one day, one day I met an old man by the way His head was bald and his beard was grey His clothing made of the cold earth and clay His clothing made of the cold earth and clay I said "Old man, what man are you? What country do you belong to?" "My name is Death, as heard of me All kings and princes bow down unto me All kings and princes bow down unto me" "My name is Death, can not you see Lords, Dukes and Ladies bow down unto me And you are one of those branches three And you fair maid must come along with me And you fair maid must come along with me" I'll give you gold and jewels so rare I'll give you costly rich robes to wear I'll give you the combs that hold my hair If you will let me live but another short year If you will let me live but another short year Fair Lady lay your robes aside No longer glory in your pride And now sweet maid make no delay Your time has come and you must away Your time has come and you must away On that same night this fair maid died And on her tombstone these words enscribed Here lies a poor distress-ed maid By Death so cruelly she was betrayed By Death so cruelly she was betrayed THE RIDDLE SONG-15th century music by John Rutter I have a young sister far beyond the sea And many be the dowries that she sent me She sent me a cherry withouten any stone And so she did the dove withouten any bone She sent me a briar withouten any rind She bade me love my lemman without longing Now how can any cherry be without stone And how can any dove be withouten bone How can there be a briar withouten any rind And how can I love my lemman without longing? When the cherry was a flower, then had it no stone When the dove was an egg, then had it no bone When the briar was onbred, then had it no rind When the maiden has that she loveth, she is without longing FROM THE TOMB-H.P. Lovecraft Come hither my lads with your tankards of ale And drink to the present before it shall fail Pile each on your platter a mountain of beef For 'tis eating and drinking that brings us relief So fill up your glass For life will soon pass When you're dead you'll ne'er drink to your King or your lass! Anacreon had a red nose, so they say But what's a red nose if you're happy and gay? Gad split me! I'd rather be red while I'm here Than white as a lily - and dead half a year! So Betty, my miss Come and give me a kiss! In Hell there's no innkeeper's daughter like this! Young Harry, propped up just as straight as he's able Will soon lose his wig and slip under the table But fill up your goblets and pass them around Better under the table than under the ground! So revel and chaff As ye thirstily quaff Under six feet of dirt 'tis easy to laugh! The fiend strike me blue! I'm scarce able to walk! And damn me if I can stand upright or talk! Here. landlord, bid Betty to summon a chair I'll try home for a while, for my wife is not there! So lend me a hand I'm not able to stand But I'm gay whilst I linger on top of the land! PIRATE FLAG RISINGWords: David Weingart 1993 Music: "Bad Moon Rising" (Creedence Clearwater Revival) I see the pirate flag rising, I see trouble on the way Check out that ship on the horizon, I think we'd better start to pray CHORUS: Don't get caught tonight, for they're bound to take our lives There are pirates on the rise I see that skull and crossbones flowing, I think our end is coming soon I see those cutlasses a-glowing, I hear the cannons going BOOM! CHORUS Let's try and get those guns together, I just am not prepared to die Fighting for all our lives together, there are pirates on the rise CHORUS AN ASSASSIN'S LOTWords: Roger Burton-West Music: Sir Arthur Sullivan, /A Policeman's Lot/ (from /The Pirates of Penzance/) Date: 17 October, 1994 Spoken: It is most distressing to us to be the agents whereby our fellow-creatures are deprived of that vitality which is so dear to all -- /but we should have thought of that before we joined the guild/. When the dragon's not a-lying on his money (on his money) Or plotting how to reave a town or two (town or two) He prefers to bask on ledges where it's sunny (where it's sunny) And to poison him seems very cruel to do (cruel to do) Even vampires can be kindly to their mothers (to their mothers) Though we often have to stake them in the sun (in the sun) And taking one consideration with another (with another) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one) With than-atogenic duty to be done (to be done) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one) When the paladin's not slaying orcs and liches (orcs and liches) Or trashing evil temples by the score (by the score) He often may go fishing under bridges (under bridges) Where a dagger's blade makes sure he slays no more (slays no more) When the necromancer resurrects his brother (-ects his brother) Killing both of them is rarely any fun (any fun) And taking one consideration with another (with another) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one) With than-atogenic duty to be done (to be done) An assassin's lot is not a happy one (happy one)
Lisanara's Songs archive:
Ode to a Friend Listen my Lord, to the tale I shall
sing, His notes in my mind, dost he helped me
to find, His crest of the Dragon, as blue as the
night, Into the dark, he would play all his
art, He chanted so higher, climbing love's
lost Spiral, Blue Dragon Tale Glittering Sun of distant past Flying high into azure skies His proud kingdom is in turmoil Beconing among Veeshan's brood Scales of blue, Blood of red Wars does start with gods of new Now their fate hangs in balance Great blue dragon lead the way Shrilling arrows pierced the skin Ruby red his scales have turned After death of Dragons old And now in this present day Rememberance time of old The coming of Day The sun shines on the great trees As the sun beckons the light In the moonlight we were free In its place we have laid Now the sun rises again What a grand event it is Freeport Travel the land, lend thee a hand, Look at the sky, I wish I could fly, Powerful wizards, animal herds, The wonderful market, please take a
ticket, Incredible guilds, that all so builds, Ode to Prexus All hail the sea king, Look at his crashing waves, Look over the side and do not hide, Look up to the sunlit skies, Sail on the many oceans, It's time to dream my fine marine, So set sail on the open sea, There's treasures on these isles, So All HAIL the lord Prexus, Selo's Grace Wak up my young adventurer Pick up your pack and all you lack Come fly away on selo's grace The roads ahead are winding down Travel the fields, forest and seas, So until the sun slowly fades Waji and Andalus' weeding. She is of aspen leaves in spring
sunlight he comes from the fury of crashing
waves City of Qeynos is where he had docked His heart dost pounded for her elven
grace Both of diffrent worlds yet with the
same joy Both hearts as one at the end of the
day Silverwynd Beauty of silver Story behind this name First came the sun Then rised the moon Added the forest Wood elf sprang Tunare gave a name That is the story Vyjra, Mistress of Neriak From within the gates of Neriak Widow Black as she is known, Maelstrom eyes of inner strength Sacred torture she would breed She experiments on the living, Undead creatures twitch in wait, To all good creatures I say Beware, Lady Vyjra is Neriak's True Heir! Devir Burning soul of darkness' flame Father watches over son Fighting wars with Freeport's knights Darkened skies of valley smoke Tall elven tress they will kill This their vision they would bring Dark Embrace I sometimes ream of a love The nector and poison You hold me tightly with your lips Push me down to the floor Holding me down with your words You're forcing me to say: I don't care about my race bite down into my neck Burning passion that I feel Make me blind to all truth This will be my only life Only then will you look But in the end I have won When I lie beside you Slowly your heart opens I love you my wild dark spirit
|
|||||||
This
is where to learns all abouts Smokings Cigars and Pipes.
What you needs for Smokings,
It
also a good idea to get a Cigar Box or Tobacco Pouch {For
holdings your Cigars or Tobacco}, But it's not absolutely
neccesary. You
can gets everything you need in the Town of RiverHaven at
the Tobacco Hut called The Fine Leaf's End. Or you can
just keeps your fingers and toes crossed and get them
from Treasure Boxes. How to Light Cigars or Tobacco
After
it's Lit you pick it up and Smoke the Cigar. If it
Tobacco then you gotta pick it up and put it in your
Pipe and smoke it. You
may have heards we can makes "pictures" with
our exhaled smoke. As
for Pictures, Me is hopings, that someday, some nice
Guardian Mage will show up and teach us to make different
ones than what we got now. Halflings are a hard-working
race of peaceful citizens. Their communities are similar
to those of humans, although they usually contain many
burrow homes in addition to surface cottages.
Halflings average 3 feet in height, have ruddy
complexions, with sandy to dark brown hair, and blue or
hazel eyes. Their dress is often colorful but
serviceable, and they like to wear caps or tunics. In
addition to their own language, many halflings also speak
the common tongue, gnome, goblin, and orcish.
Halflings will fight with great
ferocity in defense of good or their homes. They are very
skilled with both the sling and the bow and use these
weapons to great advantage in battle. Their tactics often
involve feints to draw their attackers into the open
where they can be subjected to a volley of fire from
cover. Cheerful and outgoing,
halflings, take great pleasure in simple crafts and
nature. Their fingers, though short, are very dexterous
allowing them to create objects of great beauty.
Halflings shun water and extremes in temperature,
preferring to settle in temperate pastoral countrysides.
They get along well with humans.
Halflings hunt occasionally, but
prefer breads, vegetables and fruits, with an occasional
pheasant on the side. They have a life expectancy of 100
years on the average.
A taller (4'+) and slimmer
halfling with fair skin and hair, tallfellows are
somewhat rare among the halfling folk. Tallfellows
generally speak the language of elves in addition to
those listed previously and greatly enjoy their company.
They live 180 years on average.
These halflings are shorter and stockier than the more common hairfoots. Stouts take great pleasure in gems and fine masonry, often working as jewelers or stone cutters. They rarely mix with humans and elves, but enjoy the company of dwarves and often speak their language fluently. Like dwarves, stouts have infravision.Their ties with the dwarven folk have spilled over into their combat tactics, with many stouts employing hammers and morningstars in combat. Stouts also have no fear of water and, in fact, many are excellent swimmers. Stouts can reach an age of 140 or more years.
DOS, A BEER-Lord Sir Lady Greywalker (Tune: "Do re mi") Dos a beer, a Mexican beer. Ray the guy we sent for beer. Me the guy, he got the beer for. Fa, a long long way for beer. So, I think I'll have a beer. La, la la la la la la. Ti, no thanks I'll have a beer and that brings us back to Dos Dos Dos Dos SEVEN DRUNKEN NIGHTS-Echoes of Erin (I know this is incomplete - if you have the missing verse, as the Echoes do it, please send it to me) Seven Drunken Nights Trad. [Anything in brackets is a crowd cue..as in, HEY, WIFE!] (Anything in parentheses is a spoken cue for the wife.) Husband: As I went home on Monday night, [MONDAY NIGHT?] as drunk as drunk could be. I saw a horse outside the door, where my old horse should be. I called my wife and I said to her:[HEY, WIFE!] Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that horse outside the door, where my old horse should be? Wife: Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me. H: Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but a saddle on a sow, sure, I never saw before. H: As I went home on Tuesday night,[TUESDAY NIGHT?] as drunk as drunk could be. I saw a coat behind the door, where my old coat should be. I called my wife and I said to her:[HEY, WIFE!] Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that coat behind the door, where my old coat should be? W: Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. That's a woolen blanket that my mother sent to me. H: Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but buttons on a blanket, sure, I never saw before. H: As I went home on Wednesday night,[WEDNESDAY NIGHT?] as drunk as drunk could be. I saw a pipe upon the chair, where my old pipe should be. I called my wife and I said to her:[HEY, WIFE!] Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that pipe upon the chair where my old pipe should be. W: Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. That's a lovely tin-whistle, that my mother sent to me. H: Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but tobacco in a tin-whistle, sure, I never saw before. H: As I came home on Thursday night,[THURSDAY NIGHT?] as drunk as drunk could be. I saw two boots beside the bed, where my old boots should be. I called my wife and I said to her:[HEY, WIFE!] ([WHADDAYA WANT, YA DRUNKEN BUM?]) Will you kindly tell to me, who owns them boots beside the bed where my old boots should be. W: Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. They're two lovely flower pots my mother sent to me. H: Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but laces in flower pots I never saw before. H: As I came home on Friday night,[FRIDAY NIGHT?] as drunk as drunk could be. I saw a head upon the bed, where my old head should be. I called my wife and I said to her:[HEY, WIFE!] ([WHADDAYA WANT, YA DRUNKEN BUM?]) Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that head upon the bed, where my old head should be. W: Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. That's a lovely head of cabbage, that my mother sent to me. H: Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but a mustache on a cabbage, sure, I never saw before. (Winn Dixie brand....) H: Now as I came on Sunday night,[SATURDAY NIGHT?] [LIVE!] as drunk as drunk can be, I saw a man running down the street, as naked as could be! So I called to me wife and I said to her:[HEY, WIFE!] ([WHADDAYA WANT, YA DRUNKEN BUM?] (I'M BUSY!) would ya kindly tell to me, who was that man running down the street with the great, big, hairy.....knees? W: You're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, still you cannot see, That's just a tax collector, that the Queen sent to...service me... (With the long form....and the extension.) H: Well, it's many the day I've travelled, a hundred miles or more, but a tax collector satisfied, I never saw before! The Sick Note or... Paddy's LamentDear sir, I write this note to you, to tell you of my plight. For at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight. My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly grey, And I write this note to say why Paddy's not at work today. While working on the castle wall, some bricks I had to
clear. Now clearing all these bricks by hand, it seemed so
very slow. And so, when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like
lead. The barrel broke my shoulder as towards the ground it
sped, Now when those bricks had fallen from the barrel to
the floor, The force of this collision, halfway up that castle
block, I lay there groaning on the ground, I thought I'd past
the worst; The barrel was now free to fall and it started down
once more Dough - For beerby Effin Wlystie
|
||
Contact Princess at WOW_PRINCESS@HOTMAIL.COM
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Nameless Wizard at gunblade_z@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Aleric at billduck40@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Fantell Lightbringer at suriv_00@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Nameless Wizard at elfangwor@yahoo.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Dread Lord at kjenks2000@aol.com
blurb2
The Infinity Split
As Told By The Old Ones
Everything was black. Black and untouched. Infinite. Time and space had no meaning here and oblivious of these strange concepts an entity came to awareness. The Infinity Entity. Awareness is a strange thing as one must realize the state of awareness before being truly aware. The entity, well occupied with itself, eventually got aware. It took an aeon or two but that didn`t matter; time had no meaning.
Thus the entity was. Knowing of it self, of its' self, it probed deeper inside, only to find itself. The entity was all alone inside and concluded where there is inside there must be outside. Intrigued by the prospect of outside it wandered to the very border of itself. Only now it realized the concept of space and being infinite, it knew.
Thus the entity was space. Within an instant the blackness was the entity. Crawling it filled the infinite space. Puzzled the entity grabbed and lounged but couldn't cross its' own confines. Painstakely it withdrew from the border of infinity, deciding to trail one step behind.
Thus the entity was time. After another aeon it got bored of following behind its own infinity and decided to accelerate time. Grief fell upon the entity as it realized, time wouldn't bow to the infinity entitys' whims. Terrified the entity raced after the border of the blackness but with each step closer the darkness grew one step. Tired of the endless chase the entity decided to rest. Soon it fell asleep.
Thus the entity was the elements. In the restless slumber the needs, hopes and fears of the entity manifested and became physical bodies. Soon bubbles of fire, earth, water and air drifted in the blackness, attached to the entity through fine nearly invisible strings. Whenever these bubbles collided, new, bigger and more diverse enclaves emerged. Colorful and bristling with energy the biggest of all enclaves stabilized, drawing smaller bubbles into them. This took another aeon, but the infinity entity didn't notice.
Thus the entity was life. Still asleep the entity grew more restless and still more dreams emanated from it. More complex and fragile these dreams needed a fixed environment to exist and clung to the bubbles. There were infinite numbers of bubbles and the new creations became creatures within these bubbles. Soon, in infinite scale, all bubbles were crowded by creatures but still the entity was asleep.
Thus the entity was sentience. More and more vicious were the dreams of the entity and the results from these dreams led to a constant struggle for dominance over the bubbles. First creatures tried to hide or run from the new, vicious creatures but eventually they tried to resist. And in some, by far not all, bubbles they succceded. They established their own order of life and the thread holding these bubbles to the entity got even thinner.
Thus the entity was the spirits. The free bubbles grew in themselves and without the entity's input they developed and diversified. Only the most wise of the creatures in these bubbles remembered a time when there was another, a bigger, a far more powerful being and through ways only vaguely mundane they were able to contact this being.
Thus the entity was magic. The wise creatures, the sentient creatures finally were able to contact the entity and with a sudden jerk it awoke. In this moment several of the thin strings were cut and in great tumbling fires and bursts these unfortunate bubbles were destroyed. It quickly became clear that the bubbles were dependant from the entity. Once the thread was lost, the bubbles inevitably died. The infinite being, the entity, knew it was chained to these bubbles as these bubbled were chained to it.
Thus the entity was death. Carefully and without haste the entity set itself up to maintain, to holdfast, the existing bubbles. Not only saw it its' duty but also the beauty of the bubbles. It tended each and everyone with great care and was fascinated by the quick change in the bubbles. Soon. all too soon, the bubbles were crowded with creatures and the elements started to decay, to rot and to wither. Existence was miserable and never would the resources suffice for all. After long and serious thinking the entity decided to end some creatures' lives. And the dying begun.
Thus the entity was good. Though killing the entity was caring. Only creatures who suffered from seriously damaged or broken bodies were killed. In the first millenias the death toll was high but with time the circumstances grew better and all creatures were provisioned. Unfortunatly the most vicious creatures realized there advantage and damaged bodies on purpose. The entity, deeply involved in its task, simply removed them from the bubbles and carried on.
Thus the entity was evil. After some time it realized the abuse and the deeds by the vicious creatures and acted in anger. Quickly it severed the threads to those bubbles where the vicious creatures prevailed. All of them died. But soon it realized the falseness of its actions and groveled in deep sorrow. Never again should its' unawareness lead to death.
Thus the entity split. Concluding the ways and deciding on a way the infinity entity split itself. Each bubble should be monitored by one of its manifestations. And as the infinity split occured the powers of infinity split also. Each shard of infinity remained in power of the elements, the spirits, the life and the death. But it lost control over the two newest traits, good and evil. No longer could it judge and see the truth.
Thus there is a champion. To maintain a guard nontheless the infinity split opted to crown a champion of order and chaos, a master of luck and death. This champion should act as representative of the infinty entity. As each bubble has a portion of the entity each bubble has a champion of the infinity split. To this day.
This champion is I. All those seeking to oppose me should consider that the true powers of the universe echo in my voice, the voice of your shepherd.
Beware, sheep.
Lord Steelmind - ruler of Nazir.
Contact Lord Steelmind at marja246@student.liu.se
The Wizard in the Street Who now will praise the Wizard in the street With loyal songs, with humors grave and sweet -- This Jingle-man, of strolling players born, Whom holy folk have hurried by in scorn, This threadbare jester, neither wise nor good, With melancholy bells upon his hood? The hurrying great ones scorn his Raven's croak, And well may mock his mystifying cloak Inscribed with runes from tongues he has not read To make the ignoramus turn his head. The artificial glitter of his eyes Has captured half-grown boys. They think him wise. Some shallow player-folk esteem him deep, Soothed by his steady wand's mesmeric sweep. The little lacquered boxes in his hands Somehow suggest old times and reverenced lands. From them doll-monsters come, we know not how: Puppets, with Cain's black rubric on the brow. Some passing jugglers, smiling, now concede That his best cabinet-work is made, indeed By bleeding his right arm, day after day, Triumphantly to seal and to inlay. They praise his little act of shedding tears; A trick, well learned, with patience, thro' the years. I love him in this blatant, well-fed place. Of all the faces, his the only face Beautiful, tho' painted for the stage, Lit up with song, then torn with cold, small rage, Shames that are living, loves and hopes long dead, Consuming pride, and hunger, real, for bread. Here by the curb, ye Prophets thunder deep: "What Nations sow, they must expect to reap," Or haste to clothe the race with truth and power, With hymns and shouts increasing every hour. Useful are you. There stands the useless one Who builds the Haunted Palace in the sun. Good tailors, can you dress a doll for me With silks that whisper of the sounding sea? One moment, citizens, -- the weary tramp Unveileth Psyche with the agate lamp. Which one of you can spread a spotted cloak And raise an unaccounted incense smoke Until within the twilight of the day Stands dark Ligeia in her disarray, Witchcraft and desperate passion in her breath And battling will, that conquers even death? And now the evening goes. No man has thrown The weary dog his well-earned crust or bone. We grin and hie us home and go to sleep, Or feast like kings till midnight, drinking deep. He drank alone, for sorrow, and then slept, And few there were that watched him, few that wept. He found the gutter, lost to love and man. Too slowly came the good Samaritan. I, Merlin, have derived my birth; All the elves that flit in air, Or skim the wave, my livery wear-- The spirits of the misty deep, Come at my call, my mandates keep; I can the nimble lightning bind, And chain the sharp and whistling wind: Or call from out the stormy north, The fell Borean tempests forth. To me futurity unveils, And destiny submits her scales: The gloomy caves of hell I tread, And hold dire converse with the dead! Along the dread Erebian coasts, I've wandered with the gleeting ghosts; Or mounted on the winged blast, Thro' heaven's etherial arch I've past. A Medieval Folksong The nightingale among them Sang sweet and loud and long, Until a greater voice than hers Rang out above her song. For suddenly, among the crags, Along the narrow vale, The echoes of a hunting horn Came clear upon the gale. The hunter stood beside me Who blew that mighty horn I saw that he was hunting The gentle unicorn -- But the unicorn is noble, He knows his gentle birth He knows that God has chosen him, Above all beasts of earth. The unicorn is noble; He keeps him safe and high, Upon a narrow path and steep, Climbing to the sky, And there no man can take him, He scorns the hunter's dart And only a virgin's mighy power Shall tame his haughty heart. What would be now the state of us, But for this unicorn? And what would be the fate of us, Poor sinners, lost, forlorn? Oh, may He lead us on and up, Unworthy though we be, Into His Father's kingdom, To dwell eternally! Fair the gift to Merlin given, Apple-trees seven score and seven; Equal all in age and size; On a green hill-slope, that lies Basking in the southern sun, Where bright waters murmuring run. Just beneath the pure stream flows; High above the forest grows; Not again on earth is found Such a slope of orchard ground: Song of birds, and hum of bees, Ever haunt the apple-trees. Lovely green their leaves in spring; Lovely bright their blossoming: Sweet the shelter and the shade By their summer foliage made: Sweet the fruit their ripe boughs hold, Fruit delicious, tinged with gold. Gloyad, nymph with tresses bright, Teeth of pearl, and eyes of light, Guards these gifts of Ceidio's son, Gwendol, the lamented one, Him, whose keen-edged, sword no more Flashes 'mid the battle's roar. War has raged on vale and hill: That fair grove was peaceful still. There have chiefs and princes sought Solitude and tranquil thought: There have kings, from courts and throngs, Turned to Merlin's wild-wood songs. Now from echoing woods I hear Hostile axes sounding near: On the sunny slope reclined, Feverish grief disturbs my mind, Lest the wasting edge consume My fair spot of fruit and bloom. Lovely trees, that long alone In the sylvan vale have grown, Bare, your sacred plot around, Grows the once wood-waving ground: Fervent valour guards ye still; Yet my soul presages ill. Well I know, when years have flown, Briars shall grow where ye have grown: Them in turn shall power uproot; Then again shall flowers and fruit Flourish in the sunny breeze, On my new-born apple-trees. so it came that Merrial found him in the square at Carron Town She walked through the fair in the light of a northern summer evening, looking for me. Of the hundreds of people around her, the thousands in the town and the thousands on the project, only I would serve her purpose. My voice and visage, mind and body, were her target acquisition parameters. I sat on the plinth of the statue of the Deliverer, and drained a bottle of beer and put it carefully down and looked around, screwing up my eyes against the westering sun. The music faded for a moment, then another band struck up, something rollicking and loud that echoed off the tall buildings around three sides of the square, and boomed out from the open side across the shore and over the water. The still sea-loch was miles of gold, the distant hills and islands stacks of black. The air was warm and shaking with the music and heavy with scent and sweat, alcohol-breath and weed-smoke. People were already dancing, swinging and swirling among the remaining stalls of the day's market. I caught glimpses and greetings from various of my workmates, Jondo and Druin and Machard and the rest, as they whirled past in the throng with somebody who might be their partner for the hour, or for the night, or for longer. For a moment, I felt intensely alone, and was about to jump up and plunge in and seek out someone, anyone, who would take me even for one dance. It was not normally this way; usually at such occasions through the summer I had got lucky. Like most of my fellow-workers, I was young and--of necessity--strong, and my vanity needed no flattery, and we were most of us open-handed strangers, and therefore welcome. But I was in a serious and abstracted mood, the coming autumn's study already casting its long shadow back, and in all that evening's gaiety I had not once made a woman laugh, and my luck had fled. She walked through that dense crowd as if it weren't there. I saw her before she saw me. Her long black hair was caught around the temples by two narrow braids; the tumbling waves of the rest showed traces of auburn in the late sun. That golden light and ruddy shadow defined her tanned and flushed face: the large bright eyes, the high cheekbones, the curve of her cheek and jaw, the red lips. She wore a gown of plain green velvet that seemed, and probably was, made to show off her strong and well-endowed figure. Her gaze met mine, and locked. Her eyes were large and a little slanted, and they caught my glance like a trap. There is, no doubt, some bodily basis for the crude cartoon of such moments--the arrow through the heart. A sudden demand on the sugar reserves of the cells, perhaps. It's more like a thorn than an arrow, and passes in less than a second, but it's there, that sharp, sweet stab. A moment later she stood in front of me, looking down at me quizzically, curiously, then she came to some decision and sat down beside me on the cold black marble. The hooves of the Deliver's horse reared above us. We stared at each other for a moment. My heart was hammering. She appeared younger, more hesitant, than she'd seemed with her first bold gaze. Her irises were golden-brown, ringed with green-blue. I could see a faint spatter of freckles beneath her tan. A fine gold chain around her neck suspended a rough mesh of gold wire containing a seer-stone the size of a pigeon's egg. It hung between her breasts, its small world flickering randomly in that gentle friction. An even thinner silver chain implied some other ornament, but it hung below where I could see. The dagger and derringer and purse on her narrow waist-belt were each so elegant and delicate as to be almost nominal There was some powerful undertone to her scent, whether natural or artificial I didn't know. 'Well, here you are,' she said, as though we'd arranged to meet at this very place. For a couple of heart-beats I entertained the thought that this might be true, that she was someone I really did know and had unaccountably, unforgiveably forgotten--but no, I had no memory of ever having met her before. At the same time I couldn't get rid of a conviction that I already knew her, and always had. 'Hello,' I said, for want of anything less banal. 'What's your name?' 'Merrial,' she said. 'And you are ...?' 'Clovis,' I said. 'Clovis colha Gree.' She nodded to herself, as though some datum had been confirmed, and smiled at me. 'So, colha Gree, are you going to ask me for a dance?' I jumped to my feet, amazed. 'Yes, of course. Would you do me the honour?' 'Thank you,' she said. She took my hand in a warm, dry grasp and rose gracefully, merging that movement with her first step of the dance. It was a fast dance to a traditional air, 'The Tactical Boys'. Talking was impossible, but we communicated a great deal none the less. Another measure followed, and then a slower dance. We finished it a long way from where we'd started--fetched up close to the outside tables of the biggest pub on the square, The Carronade. Some of the lads from work were already at one of the tables, with their local girls. My mates gave me odd looks, compounded of envy and secret amusement; their female partners were looking lasers at Merrial, for no reason I could fathom. She was attractive all right, and looking more beautiful to my eyes with every passing second, but the other girls were not obviously less blessed; and she wasn't a harlot, unless she was foolish (harlotry being a respected but regulated trade in that town, its plying not permitted in the Square). Introductions were awkwardly made. 'What will you be having, Merrial?' I asked. She smiled up at me. She was, in truth, almost as tall as I, but my boots had high heels. 'A beer, please.' 'Fine. Will you wait here?' I gestured to a vacant place on the nearest bench, beside Jondo and his current lass. 'I will that,' Merrial said. Jondo shot me another odd look, a smile with one corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyebrows raised. I shrugged and went through to the bar, returning a few minutes later with a three-litre jug and a couple of tall glasses. Merrial was sitting where she'd been, ignoring the fact that she was being ignored. I put this unaccustomed rudeness down to some petty local quarrel, of which Carron Town--and the yard and, indeed, the project--had plenty. If one of Merrial's ancestors had offended one of Jondo's (or whoever's) that was no business of mine, as yet. The table was too wide for any intimate conversation to be carried on across it, so I sat down beside her, setting off a Newtonian collision of hips all the way along the bench as my friends and their girlfriends shuffled their bums away from us. I filled our glasses and raised mine. 'Slainte,' I said. 'Slainte, mo chridhe,' she said, quietly but firmly, her gaze level across the tilted rim. And cheers my dear to you, I thought. Again her whole manner was neither shy nor brazen, but as though we had been together for months or years. I didn't know what to say, so I said that. 'I feel we know each other already,' I said. 'But we don't.' I laughed. 'Unless when we were both children?' Merrial shook her head. 'I was not here as a child,' she said, in a vague tone. 'Maybe you've seen me at the project.' 'I think I would remember,' I said. She smiled, acknowledging the compliment, as I added: 'You work at the project?' I sounded more surprised than I should have been--there were plenty of women working on it, after all, in the catering and administration. 'Aye,' she said, 'I do.' She fondled the pendant, warming a fire within it, and not only there. 'On the guidance system.' 'Oh,' I said, suddenly understanding. 'You're a--an engineer.' 'I am a tinker,' she said in a level tone, using the word I'd so clumsily avoided. She spoke it with a pride as obvious, and loud enough to be heard. A snigger and a giggle passed around the table. I glared past Merrial's shoulder at Jondo and Machard. They shook their heads slightly, doubtfully, then returned to their conversations. Justice judge them. As a city man I felt myself above such rural idiocies--though realising her occupation had given even me something of a jolt. Whatever passed between us, it would be less or more serious than any fling with a local lass. I leaned inward, so that Merrial's shoulders and mine defined a social circle of our own. 'Sounds like interesting work,' I said. She nodded. 'A lot of mathematics, a lot of'--and this time she did lower her voice--'programming.' 'Ah,' I said, trying to think of some response that wouldn't reveal me to be as prejudiced as my work-mates. 'Isn't it very dangerous?' I resisted the impulse to look over my shoulder, but I was suddenly, acutely, aware of the massive presence of the hills around the town, their forested slopes like the bristling backs of great beasts in the greater Wood of Caledon. 'White logic,' Merrial explained. 'The right hand path, you know? The path of light.' She did not sound as though the distinction mattered a lot to her. 'Reason guide you,' I responded, with reflex piety. 'But--it must be tempting. The short cuts, yeah?' 'The path of power is always a temptation,' she said, with casual familiarity. 'Especially when you're working on a guidance system!' She laughed; I confess I shuddered. She fingered her talisman. 'Enough about that. I know what I'm doing, so it isn't dangerous. At least, not as dangerous as it looks from outside.' 'Well.' Despite the electric frisson her words aroused, I was as keen as she was to change the subject. 'You could say the same about what I do' 'And what do you do?' She asked it out of politeness; she already knew I was sure of that, without quite knowing why. 'I work in the yard,' I said. 'On the ship?' 'Oh, not on the ship!' A self-deprecating laugh, not very sincere (I was twenty-two years old at the time). 'On the platform. For the summer, I'm a welder.' She slugged back some beer. 'And the rest of the time?' 'I'm a scholar,' I said. 'Of history. At Glaschu.' This was a slight exaggeration. I had just attained the degree of Master of Arts, and my summer job was a frantic, frugal effort to earn enough to support myself for an attempt at a doctorate. Scholarship was my ambition, not my occupation. But I refused to call myself a student. Merrial looked at me with the sort of effortful empathy with which I'd favoured her self-disclosure. 'That sounds ... interesting,' she said. 'What part of history?' I gestured across the square, to the statue's black silhouette. Behind it, from the east, the first visible stars of the evening pricked the sky. 'The life of the Deliverer,' I said. 'And what have you learned?' She leaned closer, transparently more interested; her black brows raised a fraction, her bright dark eyes widening. Without thinking, I lit a cigarette; remembered my manners, and offered her one. She took it, grinning, and helped herself to to the jug of beer, then filled my glass too. 'You wouldn't think there'd be much new to learn,' she added, looking up through her eyelashes. I rose to the bait. 'Ah, but there is!' I told her. 'The Deliverer lived in Glasgow, you know. For a while.' 'A lot of places will tell you she lived there--for a while!' Merrial laughed. 'Aye, but we have evidence,' I said. 'I've seen papers written with her own hand, and signed. There is no controversy that it was her who wrote them. What they mean, now, that's another matter. And a great deal of other writing, printed articles that is, and material that is still in the--you know.' 'Dark storage?' 'Yeah,' I said. 'Dark storage. I wish--' Even here, even now, it was impossible to say just what I wished. But Merrial understood. 'There you go, colha Gree,' she said. 'The path of power is always a temptation!' 'Aye, it is that,' I admitted gloomily. 'You can look at them, labelled in her own hand, and you wonder what's in them, and--well.' 'Probably corrupt,' she said briskly. 'Not worth bothering with.' 'Of course corrupt--' She shook her head, with a brief, small frown. 'In the technical sense,' she explained. 'Garbage data, unreadable.' Garbage data? What did that mean? 'I see,' I said; seeing only that she'd just tried to explicate part of the argot of her profession; another unseasonable intimacy. 'All the same,' she went on, 'it must be strange work, history. I don't know how you can bear it, digging about in the dead past.' I had heard variations of this sentiment from so many people, starting with my mother, that exasperation welled within me and I'm sure showed on my face. She smiled as though to assure me that she didn't hold it against me personally, and added: 'The Possessors don't work only through the black logic, you know. They can get to your mind through their words on paper, too.' 'You speak very freely,' I said. For a woman, I didn't add. She took it as a compliment, and thus paid me one by not recognising the stiff-kneed priggishness that (I now realise, and blush) my remark represented. 'It's the tinker way,' she said, giving me another small shock. 'We talk as we please.' I couldn't come back on that, so I ploughed on. 'We have to understand the Possession,' I explained self-righteously, 'to understand the Deliverance.' 'But do we understand the Deliverance?' she asked, teasing me relentlessly. 'Do you, Clovis colha Gree?' 'I can't say,' I said--which was true enough, though ecological with the truth. 'Good,' Merrial said. 'We would not claim to understand it, and we knew the Deliverer better than most.' A sly smile. 'As you know.' I nodded, slowly. I knew all right. Despised and feared though they sometimes are, it is not for nothing that the tinkers are known as the Deliverer's children. They worked her will long ago, in the troubled times, and the benison of that work has protected them down the generations; that and--on a more cynical view--their obscure and irreplaceable knowledge. I had heard rumours--always disparaged by the University historians--of a firmer continuity, a darker arcana, that linked today's tinkers and the Deliverer, and that reached back to times yet more remote, when even the Possession was but a sapling, its shadow not yet covering the Earth. Her hand covered mine, briefly. 'Don't talk about it,' she said. So we talked about other things: her work, my work, her childhood and mine The glasses were twice refilled. She stood up, hefting the now empty jug. 'Same again?' I rose too, saying, 'I'll get them--' 'I insist,' she said, and was gone. I watched the sway of her hips, the way it carried over to swing her heavy skirt and ripple the torrent of hair down her back, as she passed through the crowd and disappeared through the wide door of The Carronade. My friends observed this attention with sardonic smiles. 'You're in for an interesting time, Clovis,' Jondo remarked. He stroked his long red pony-tail suggestively, making his girlfriend laugh again 'Looks like the glamour's got you.' Machard smirked. 'Seriously, man,' he told me. 'Take care. You don't know tinks like we do. They're faithless, godless, clannish and they don't settle down. At best she'll break your heart, at worst--' 'What is the matter with you?' I hissed, leaning sideways to keep the girls out of the path of my wrath. 'Come on, guys, give the lady a chance.' My two friends' expressions took on looks of insolent innocence. 'Ease off, Clovis,' said Machard. 'Just advice. Ignore it if you like, it's your business.' 'Too damn' right it is,' I said. 'So mind your own.' I spoke the harsh words lightly--not fighting words, but firm. The two lads shrugged and went back to chatting up their lassies. I was ignored, as Merrial had been. The late train from Inverness glided down the glen, sparks from the overhead wire flaring in the twilight, and vanished behind the first houses. A minute later I could hear the brief commotion as it stopped at the station, a few streets away. The clouds and the tops of the hills glowed pink, the same light reflecting off a solitary airship, heading west. Few lights were on in the town--half past ten in the evening was far too early for that--but the houses that spread up the side of the glen and along the shore were beginning to seem as dark as the pine forest that began where the dwellings ended. Farther up the great glen the side-lights and tail-lights of vehicles traced out the road's meander, and the dark green of the wooded hillsides met the bright green of the lower slopes, field joined to field, pasture to pasture all the way to where the haunches of the hills hid the view, and the land was dark. Somewhere far away, but sounding uncannily close, a wolf howled, its protracted, sinister note clearly audible above the sounds of the town and the revelry of the fair. The square was becoming more packed and noisy by the minute. The drinking and dancing would go on for hours. Jugglers and tumblers, fire-eaters and musicians competed for attention and spare cash, with each other and with the hawkers. The markets on summer Thursdays were locally called 'the fair', but only once a month did they amount to much, with a more impressive contingent of performers than were here now, as well as travelling players, whirling mechanical rides and, of course, tinkers; the last pursuing their legitimate trade of engineering and their less reputable, but often more lucrative, craft of fortune-telling. The train pulled away, trailing its sparks along the Carron's estuarial plain and around the Carron sea-loch's southern shore. Merrial returned with a full jug, a bottle of whisky, and a tray of small glasses. Without a word she placed the tray and the bottle in the middle of the table and sat down, this time opposite me. She filled our tall glasses, put down the jug and gestured to the whisky bottle. 'Help yourselves,' she said. My friends became more friendly towards her after that. We all found ourselves talking together, talking shop, the inevitable gossip and grumbles of the project, about this scandal and that foreman and the other balls-up; ironically, the girls seemed to feel excluded, and fell to talking between themselves. Merrial, showing tact enough for both of us, noticed this and gradually, now that the ice was broken, returned her conversation to me. Jondo and Machard took up again their neglected tasks of seduction or flirtation When, a couple of hours later, she asked me to see her home, their ribaldry was relatively restrained. # The square was noisier than ever; the only people heading for home, or for bed, were like ourselves workers on the project who, unlike the locals, had to work on the following day, a Friday. We walked through the dark street to the north of the square and across the bridge over the Carron River towards the suburb of New Kelso. Merrial stopped in the middle of the bridge. One arm was tight around my waist. With the other, she waved around. 'Look,' she said. 'What do you see?' On our right the town's atomic power-station's automation hummed blackly in the dark; to our right the fish-farms, warmed by the reactor's run-off, spread down to the shore. I looked to left and right, and then behind to the main town, ahead to New Kelso, across the loch to the other small towns. She smiled at my baffled silence. 'Look up.' Overhead the Milky Way blazed, the aurora borealis flickered, a communications aerostat glowed pink in a sun long since set for us. The Plough hung above the hills to the north. A meteor flared briefly, my indrawn breath a sound-effect for its silent passage. To the west the sky still had light in it: the sun would be up in four hours. 'I can see the stars,' I said. 'That's it,' she said, sounding pleased at my perceptiveness. 'You can. We're in the very middle of a town of ten thousand people, and you can see the Milky Way. Not as well as you could see it from the top of Glas Bhein, sure enough, but you can see it. Why?' I shrugged, looking again back and forth. I'd never given the matter thought. 'No clouds?' I suggested brightly. She laughed and caught my hand and tugged me forward. 'And you a scholar of history!' 'What's that got to do with it?' She pointed to the street-lamp at the end of the bridge's parapet. Its post was about three metres high; its conical cowl's reflective inner surface sharply cut off all but the smallest upward illumination. 'Did you ever see lamps like that in pictures of the olden times?' she asked. 'Now that I come to think of it,' I said, 'no.' 'A town this size would have lamps everywhere, blazing light into the sky. From street-lamps and windows and shop-fronts. The very air itself would glow with it. You could see just a handful of stars on the clearest night.' I thought about the ancient pictures I'd peered at under glass. 'You know, you're right,' I said. 'That's what it looked like.' 'Some people,' Merrial went on, in a sudden gust of anger, 'lived their whole lives without once seeing the Milky Way!' 'Very sad,' I said. In fact the thought gave me a tight feeling in my chest, as if I were struggling to breathe. 'How did they stand it?' 'Aye, well that's a question you could well ask.' She glanced up at me. 'I thought you might know.' 'I never realised, to be honest.' 'And why don't we do it?' She gestured again at the electric twilight of the surrounding town. 'Because it would be wasteful,' I said. As soon as the words were out I realised I'd said them without thinking, and that it wasn't the answer. Merrial laughed. 'We have power to spare!' It was my turn to stop suddenly. We'd turned right and were going down a path past the power-station. I knew for a fact that it could, when called upon in a rare emergency--such as when extra heating was required to clear snow from a blizzard--produce enough electricity to light up Carron Town several times over. 'You're right,' I said. 'So why don't we do it? I've seen pictures of the great cities of antiquity, and you're right, they shone. They looked ... magnificent. Perhaps it was so bright they didn't need to see the stars--they had the city lights instead! They made their own stars!' Merrial was slowly shaking her head. 'Maybe it was all right for them,' she said. 'But it wouldn't be for us. We all get--uneasy, when we can't see the night sky. Don't you, just thinking about it?' I took a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh. 'Aye, you're right at that!' We walked on, her strides pacing my slower steps. 'You're a strange woman,' I said. She smiled and held my waist more firmly and leaned her head against my shoulder. I found myself looking down at her hair, and down at the scoop neckline of her dress and the glowing stone between her breasts. 'Sure I am,' she said. 'But so are we all, that's what I'm saying. We're different from the people who came before us, or before the Deliverer's time, and nobody wonders how or why. The feeling we have about the sky is just part of it. We live longer and we breed less, we sicken little, sometimes I think even our eyes are sharper, all these changes are hard-wired into our radiation-hardened genes--' 'Our what?' I felt the shrug of her shoulder. 'Just tinker cant, colha Gree. Don't worry. You'll pick it up.' 'Oh, I will, will I?' 'Aye. If you stay with me.' There was only one answer to that. I turned her around and kissed her. She clasped her lips to mine and slid her hands under my open waistcoat and sent them roving around my sides and back. I could feel them through my silk shirt like hot little animals. The kiss went on for some time and ended with our tongues flickering together like fish at the bottom of a deep pool; then she leaned away and gripped my shoulders and looked at me and said, 'I reckon that means you're staying, colha Gree.' Suddenly we were both laughing. She caught my hand and swung it and we started walking again, talking about I don't know what. Out on the edge of town we turned a corner into a little estate of dozens of single-storey wooden houses with chimneys. Some of the houses were separate, each with its own patch of garden; others, smaller, were lined up in not quite orderly rows Even in the summer, even with electricity cables strung everywhere, a smell of woodsmoke hung in the air. Yellow light glowed from behind straw-mat blinds. A dog barked and was silenced by an irritable yell. 'Hey, come on,' Merrial said, with an impish smile. I hadn't realised how my feet had hesitated, as the path had changed from cobbles to trampled gravel. 'Never been in a tinker camp before,' I apologised. 'We don't bite.' Another cheeky grin. 'Well, that is to say ...' 'You really are a terrible woman.' 'Oh, I am that, indeed. Ferocious--so I'm told.' 'I'll hold you to that.' 'I'll hold you to more.' She held me as she stopped in front of one of the small houses in the middle of the row, and fingered out a tiny key five centimetres long on a thong attached to her belt but hidden in a slit in the side of her skirt. The lock too seemed absurdly small, a brass circular patch on the white-painted door at eye level. 'So are you coming in, or what?' Lust and reason warred with fear and superstition, and won. I followed her over the polished wooden threshold as she switched on the electric light. I stood for a moment blinking in the sudden 40-watt flood. The main room was about four metres by six. Against the far wall was a wood-burning stove, banked low; above it was a broad mantelpiece on which a large clock ticked loudly. The time was half past midnight. On either side of the stove were rows of shelves with hundreds of books. In the left-hand corner a workbench jutted from the wall, with a microscope and an unholy clutter of soldering gear and bits of wire and tools. Rough, unpolished seer-stones of various sizes lay among them. The main table of the house was a huge oaken piece about a metre and a half square, with carved and castered legs. A crocheted cotton throw covered it, weighted at the centre by a seer-stone hemisphere at least thirty centimetres in diameter, so finely finished that it looked like a dome of glass. Within it, hills and clouds drifted by. Merrial stood by the table for a moment, reached up behind her head and removed a clasp from her hair, so that the two narrow braids fell forward and framed her face. Then she lifted the chain with the talisman, and the other, finer silver chain, from around her neck and deposited them on the table The place smelt of woodsmoke and pot-pourri and the bunches of flowering plants stuffed into carelessly chosen containers in every available corner. The wooden walls were varnished, and hung with an incongruous variety of old prints and paintings--landscapes, ladies, foxes, cats, that sort of thing--and tacked-up picture-posters related to the project. An open door led to a tiny scullery; a curtained alcove beside it took up the rest of that end of the room. I presumed it contained the bed. But it was to a big old leather couch in front of the stove that she drew me first. She half-leaned, half sat on the back of it, and began unbuttoning my shirt, then explored my chest with her lips and tongue--and teeth--as I applied myself to undoing the fastenings down the back of her dress, and working my boots off. As I kicked away the right boot the sgean dhu clattered to the floor. By this time she had unbuckled my belt, and with a shrug and a step we both shed our outer clothes, which fell to the floor in a promiscuous coupling of their own. Merrial stood for a moment in nothing but her long silk underskirt. I clasped her in my arms, her nipples hard, her breasts warm and soft, against my chest; and we kissed again. We moved, we danced, Merrial leading, towards the curtained alcove. She pulled away the curtain to reveal a large and reassuringly solid-looking bed. I knelt in front of her and pulled down her slip and knickers, and kissed her between the legs until she pulled me gently to my feet. I managed to leave my own briefs on the floor. We faced each other naked, like the Man and the Woman in the Garden in the story. Merrial half turned, threw back the bedcovers and picked up from the bed a long white cotton nightgown, which she shook out and held at arm's length for a moment. 'I won't be needing that tonight,' she grinned, and cast it to the floor, and me to the bed. # I woke in daylight, and lay for a minute or so basking in the warm afterglow, and hot after-images, of love and sex. Rolling over and reaching out my arm, I found that I was alone in the bed. It was still warm where Merrial had slept. The air was filled with the aroma of coffee and the steady ticking of the clock-- The time! I sat up in a hurry and leaned forward to see the big timepiece, and discovered with relief that it was only five o'clock. Thank Providence, we'd only slept an hour and a half. With the same movement I discovered a host of minor pains: bites on my shoulder and neck, scratches on my back and buttocks, aching muscles, raw skin ... The animal whose attacks had caused all this damage padded out of the scullery. 'Good morning,' she said. I made some sort of croaking noise. Merrial smiled and handed me one of the two steaming mugs she'd carried in. She sat down on the foot of the bed, drawing her knees up to her chin to huddle inside her sark, its high neck and long sleeves and intricate whitework giving her an incongrous appearance of modesty. I sipped the coffee gratefully, unable to take my eyes off her. She looked calmly back at me, with the smile of a contented cat. 'Good morning,' I said, finding my voice at last. 'And thank you.' 'Not just for the coffee, I hope,' said Merrial. I was grinning so much that my cheeks, too, were aching. 'No, not just for the coffee. God, Merrial, I've never--' I didn't know how to put it. '--done it before?' she inquired innocently. Coffee went up the back of my nose as I spluttered a laugh. 'Compared with last night, I might as well not have,' I ruefully admitted. 'You are--you're amazing!' Her level gaze held me. She showed not the slightest embarrasment. 'Oh, you're not so bad yourself, colha Gree,' she said in a judicious tone. 'But you have a lot to learn.' 'I hope you'll teach me.' 'I'm sure I will,' she said. 'If you want to stay with me, that is' She waved a hand, as if this were a matter yet to be decided. 'Stay with you? Oh, Merrial!' I couldn't speak. 'What?' 'Nothing could make me leave you. Ever.' I was almost appalled at what I was saying. I had not expected to hear myself say such words, not for a long time to come. 'How sweet of you to say that,' she said, very seriously, but smiling. 'But -' 'But nothing!' I reached sideways and put the mug on the floor and shifted myself down the bed towards her. Without looking away from me, she put her mug down too, on a trunk at the end of the bed, and rocked forward to her knees to meet me. We knelt with our arms around each other. 'I love you,' I said. I must have said it before, said it a lot of times through the night, but now there was all the weight in the world behind the words. 'I love you too,' she said. She clung to me with a sudden fierceness, and laid her face on my shoulder. A wet, salt tear stung a love-bite there. She sniffed and raised her head, blinking her now even brighter eyes. 'What's wrong?' I asked. 'I'm happy,' she said. 'So am I.' She regarded me solemnly. 'I have to say this,' she said, with another unladylike sniffle. 'Loving me will not always make you happy.' I could not imagine what she meant, and I didn't want to. 'Why are you saying this?' 'Because I must,' she said. Her voice was strained. 'Because I have to be fair with you.' 'Aye, sure,' I said. 'Well, now you've warned me, can I get on with loving you?' She brightened instantly, as though some arduous responsibility had been lifted from her shoulders. 'Oh yes!' she said, hugging me closer again. 'Love me as much as you like, love me forever!' She pulled back a little, looked down, then raised her gaze again to mine. 'But not right now,' she added, regretfully. 'You have to go.' 'Now?!' We had fallen out of our mutual dream into the workaday world, where we were two people who didn't, really, know each other all that well. 'Yes,' she insisted. 'You have to get back across town, get ... washed, and ready for work and catch the bus at half past six.' 'I can catch it from here.' 'The hell you can. People will talk.' 'They'll talk anyway.' 'People around here, I mean.' I climbed reluctantly off the bed. Merrial slipped lithely under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. 'What about you?' I asked, as I searched out and sorted my clothes. 'I'm an intellectual worker,' she said smugly as she snuggled down. 'We start at nine.' She watched me dress with a sort of affectionate curiosity. 'What have you got on your belt?' I patted the hard leather pouches and fastened the buckle. 'The tools of a tradesman,' I told her, 'and the weapons of a gentleman.' 'I see,' she said, approvingly. 'So when will I see you again?' I asked, as I recovered the sgean dhu and stuck it back down the side of my boot. 'Tonight, eight o'clock, at the statue? Go for something to eat?' I pretended to give this idea thoughtful consideration, then we both laughed, and she sat up again and reached out to me. We hugged and kissed goodbye. As I backed away to the door, grudging even a moment without her in my sight, a flickering from the big seer-stone caught my eye. I stopped beside the table and stooped to examine it. As I did so I noticed Merrial's two pendants: the talisman--the small seer-stone--now showing a vaguely organic tracery of green, and on the silver chain a silver piece about a centimetre in diameter which appeared to be a monogram made up of the letters 'G' and 'T' and the numeral '4'. The table's centre-piece was all black within, except for an arrangement of points of light which might have been torches, or cities, or stars. They flashed on and off, on and off, and the bright dots spelled out one word: HELP. I glanced over at Merrial. 'It's reached the end of its run,' I remarked. 'Reset it, then,' she said, sleepily from the pillow. I brushed the stone's chill surface with my sleeve, restoring it to chaos, and with a final smile at Merrial opened the door and stepped out into the cock-crowing sunlight. and she threw her arms around him that same night she drew him down.
Contact Alamopud at alamopud@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact MaGus at mario_g@enlaprepa.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Alexander at alex007ca@hotmail.com
Off to WOW Game Status Page.
Sponsor
