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[News] Death, Diamonds, Bandits and Bards!

Discussion in 'UO Siege Perilous' started by Guest, Apr 5, 2006.

  1. Guest

    Guest Guest

    <table width="100%"> <tr> <td> <table width="100%" bordercolor="#ff8000" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="2"> <tr> <td width="100"> <p align="right"> [​IMG]</p> </td> <td align="middle" bgcolor="#fdb837"> [​IMG] </td> <td> <p align="left">[​IMG]</p> </td> </tr> </table>
    [​IMG] ast night, Wispwood shire was a busy place!

    I arrived slightly earlier than usual, and it is a good thing that I did!

    For, as luck would have it, I arrived just in time to witness a ceremony!
    Last night, was a special night, for Ariel.

    Grot began by greeting everyone, and, after a short ceremony, issued the invitation to her, to become a full citizen of the Shire!

    <p align="center"> [​IMG]

    </p> <p align="left">Ariel gladly accepted, and after a short speech, and lots of fireworks, we all congratulated Ariel.
    I heard some mutterings from the back that it wasn't a real ceremony unless someone died, but,
    whether that be true or not, no one did.
    </p> <p align="center">[​IMG]</p> <p align="left">

    We then made our way to the tavern, for the usual story telling!
    A dark bird perched on my head, and refused to be moved, as Yancey recited the fine work that he had brought that night.

    <table width="90%" bgcolor="#ffffb0" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td width="100">[​IMG]</td> <td> <p align="center"><font size="4">"The Raven King"
    by
    Yancey DeFlorio</font></p></td></tr></table>
    <table width="90%" bgcolor="#ffffaa" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td>[​IMG]heir bellies taut with hunger,
    The ravens called upon their King.
    Their nests were filled with hatchlings,
    Hungry young forever needing food.
    Distraught, the ravens called upon their king.

    The times are all too good, they said:
    Death's harvest runs too thin.
    The kings of men are all at peace;
    They wage no wars to feed our young.
    Thus cried the ravens to their King.

    The ravens were unhappy;
    The Raven King was sad.
    A King must do what he must do
    To keep his people fed.
    And so he took the Form of Man.

    The tavern stood in Zhandivar;
    It reeked of grease and stale beer.
    Some drunken sots lay sleeping
    Whilst others sang in tuneless song.
    Nobility roistered there.

    A noble voice called for beer;
    Some noble boots stomped the floor;
    A noble quarrel spilled some blood;
    A noble hand pursued a wench.
    Lord Marek roistered there.

    A landless man, a younger son -
    No wealth nor land to call his own,
    Unfit for law, unfit for church,
    No wars in which to whet his sword.
    Come cry, my friends, for younger sons.

    The tavern door was opened;
    A stranger stood upon the sill.
    All dressed in black,
    His nose a noble beak,
    The stranger stood upon the sill.

    His raptor eye surveyed the scene,
    Espied Lord Marek holding court.
    A bloodless smile creased his lips;
    And so the stranger entered in.
    A quiet fell upon the room.

    His bearing said for all to see
    I am death for he who questions me.
    No sword could cut the silence
    As he walked across the room.
    Lord Marek had an unexpected guest.

    Come sit with us, Lord Marek said
    You have the look of one who's seen
    Much stranger lands than we have known.
    Come share a brew and tell your tale.
    The stranger took a seat.

    You are wise, the stranger said
    For I have seen the fairest lands
    <script>Whose boldness cavils not at war.
    Or so it seemed to me.

    But hark, why do I speak of wealth?
    I see you\'re from a noble house
    Of Zhandivar; no other land
    Is half so fair or half so rich.
    With lying tongue the stranger spoke.

    Lord Marek flushed and said
    Speak not to me of Zhandivar
    For I would hear of other lands
    Of folk who live as I do not.
    His eyes were lit with hidden greed.

    Beyond the bounds of Zhandivar
    Began the stranger dressed in black
    There lies a land where all is green
    Of crystal streams and verdant vales.
    A land that men call Alderman.

    It is a land that\'s triply blessed,
    By fertile soil and bounteous game,
    By mines that yield gold and gems
    By maidens fair as any man could wish.
    Blessed is the land of Alderman.

    A peaceful land is Alderman;
    Its rulers never dream of war
    They have no need for blood and death
    The soldiers trade is scarcely known.
    Thus spoke the stranger dressed in black.

    It is not wise of them, in truth,
    To leave their land with no defense.
    Some band might fall upon their realm
    And reft away their fatted wealth.
    So spoke the stranger dressed in black.

    That matters not to such as you;
    What need have you of wealth from war.
    You\'re the scion of a noble house;
    The wealth of Zhandivar is yours.
    The stranger\'s bait was truly cast.

    Lord Marek cried in hot despair:
    My brother holds the mansion seat;
    My throne is but a tavern bench;
    My blood is pure; my wealth is naught.
    Come cry, my friends, for younger sons.

    Come my friend and drink with me
    And tell me more of easy wealth
    That might be won by dangerous men.
    Where lies this land of Alderman?
    So spoke the poor and greedy lord.

    Within the greasy tavern walls
    The lord and stranger spoke
    In softened tones to plot
    ",1] ); //--></script> Where wealth lies free for noble men
    Whose boldness cavils not at war.
    Or so it seemed to me.

    But hark, why do I speak of wealth?
    I see you're from a noble house
    Of Zhandivar; no other land
    Is half so fair or half so rich.
    With lying tongue the stranger spoke.

    Lord Marek flushed and said
    Speak not to me of Zhandivar
    For I would hear of other lands
    Of folk who live as I do not.
    His eyes were lit with hidden greed.

    Beyond the bounds of Zhandivar
    Began the stranger dressed in black
    There lies a land where all is green
    Of crystal streams and verdant vales.
    A land that men call Alderman.

    It is a land that's triply blessed,
    By fertile soil and bounteous game,
    By mines that yield gold and gems
    By maidens fair as any man could wish.
    Blessed is the land of Alderman.

    A peaceful land is Alderman;
    Its rulers never dream of war
    They have no need for blood and death
    The soldiers trade is scarcely known.
    Thus spoke the stranger dressed in black.

    It is not wise of them, in truth,
    To leave their land with no defense.
    Some band might fall upon their realm
    And reft away their fatted wealth.
    So spoke the stranger dressed in black.

    That matters not to such as you;
    What need have you of wealth from war.
    You're the scion of a noble house;
    The wealth of Zhandivar is yours.
    The stranger's bait was truly cast.

    Lord Marek cried in hot despair:
    My brother holds the mansion seat;
    My throne is but a tavern bench;
    My blood is pure; my wealth is naught.
    Come cry, my friends, for younger sons.

    Come my friend and drink with me
    And tell me more of easy wealth
    That might be won by dangerous men.
    Where lies this land of Alderman?
    So spoke the poor and greedy lord.

    Within the greasy tavern walls
    The lord and stranger spoke
    In softened tones to plot
    <script>They sought the spoils of Alderman.

    A younger son is still a lord
    And rich compared to lesser men
    Some rascals met his call to arms,
    Thieves and thugs who fancied wealth.
    A lord\'s a captain after all.

    They laid their plans and gathered arms
    Prepared to trek beyond the bounds
    Of Zhandivar and then to seek
    The ripened plum of Alderman.
    Their thievish plot was near undone.

    Behold the King of Zhandivar!
    Behold his royal spies!
    Their ears are everywhere!
    And plots are always overheard.
    Majesty reserves the right of war.

    The King was wroth and called
    Lord Marek to the throne
    And straight away forbade
    This raid on Alderman.
    No wars save mine the King declared.

    Lord Marek bowed before the King
    And owned his fault and vowed
    His little army would disband,
    And he would be a man of peace.
    The King replied, Be sure it\'s so.

    To his tavern Lord Marek went
    To his bench Lord Marek went
    Drinking beer, Lord Marek wept,
    Mourning plots, Lord Marek wept.
    A thief that mourned unstolen wealth.

    To the tavern the stranger came
    All dressed in black the stranger came
    Do not mourn, the stranger said
    Our plan\'s not dead, the stranger said
    The wealth of Alderman will yet be ours.

    Thou art noble and nobles hunt
    Take a hunting party out
    Beyond the gates of Zhandivar
    Where other folk may join you there
    To help you hunt some greater game.

    Why that be so, Lord Marek said,
    Beyond the gates of Zhandivar
    His Majesty need never know
    What hunting parties chance to do.
    Some voices moaned within the vaults.

    Hunters dressed in motley
    Cantered through the gates,
    Their faces flushed with drink,
    Their voices raised in song.
    With them rode a man in black.

    The guards who manned the gates
    Smiled to see such foolish folk
    ",1] ); //--></script> Their war to win some easy wealth.
    They sought the spoils of Alderman.

    A younger son is still a lord
    And rich compared to lesser men
    Some rascals met his call to arms,
    Thieves and thugs who fancied wealth.
    A lord's a captain after all.

    They laid their plans and gathered arms
    Prepared to trek beyond the bounds
    Of Zhandivar and then to seek
    The ripened plum of Alderman.
    Their thievish plot was near undone.

    Behold the King of Zhandivar!
    Behold his royal spies!
    Their ears are everywhere!
    And plots are always overheard.
    Majesty reserves the right of war.

    The King was wroth and called
    Lord Marek to the throne
    And straight away forbade
    This raid on Alderman.
    No wars save mine the King declared.

    Lord Marek bowed before the King
    And owned his fault and vowed
    His little army would disband,
    And he would be a man of peace.
    The King replied, Be sure it's so.

    To his tavern Lord Marek went
    To his bench Lord Marek went
    Drinking beer, Lord Marek wept,
    Mourning plots, Lord Marek wept.
    A thief that mourned unstolen wealth.

    To the tavern the stranger came
    All dressed in black the stranger came
    Do not mourn, the stranger said
    Our plan's not dead, the stranger said
    The wealth of Alderman will yet be ours.

    Thou art noble and nobles hunt
    Take a hunting party out
    Beyond the gates of Zhandivar
    Where other folk may join you there
    To help you hunt some greater game.

    Why that be so, Lord Marek said,
    Beyond the gates of Zhandivar
    His Majesty need never know
    What hunting parties chance to do.
    Some voices moaned within the vaults.

    Hunters dressed in motley
    Cantered through the gates,
    Their faces flushed with drink,
    Their voices raised in song.
    With them rode a man in black.

    The guards who manned the gates
    Smiled to see such foolish folk
    <script>Beyond the gates of Zhandivar.
    They didn\'t know the game the hunters sought.

    Along the royal road the hunters rode,
    Past caravans bringing wealth
    To Zhandivar. From time to time
    They were joined by other men
    Until they formed a fearsome company.

    At their head Lord Marek rode
    On his right hand rode the color guard.
    The sun was bright, the sky was blue,
    Omens of fortune yet to come.
    The stranger rode upon his left.

    On they rode until they came
    To where the realm of Zhandivar
    Came to an end and other lands
    Began and lay before the company.
    A fork was in the road.

    Be advised by me the stranger said,
    Take the right fork, not the left fork;
    Take the high road, not the low road.
    The left fork leads to Liapram;
    They do not welcome strangers there.

    The high road is untravelled
    No one dwells along that path.
    We can make our way to Alderman
    Unseen, escaping hostile eyes.
    And so surprise the folk of Alderman.

    And so they took the high road
    Along the mountain ridge
    Above the pretty valleys
    Where beauty ran untouched.
    Unseen by them, beauty ran untouched.

    Unseen by hostile eyes
    They rode along that path
    Their hearts were filled with hopeful greed
    And songs of war were on their lips.
    There was a gate across the road.

    The gate was guarded by a pass.
    On the left side the rock was sheer.
    On the right side the rock was sheer.
    And in the center stood the gate.
    Afore that gate there stood a beast.

    A patchwork beast, a bit of this and that,
    Stood guard and would not let them pass.
    No force of arms, no clever ruse,
    Could ever get them past.
    And then the beast began to speak.

    The rumble of its roar
    Was soft as summer\'s breeze
    And this is what it said,
    &quot;Tell me, men of Zhandivar,
    Where doth the Raven pray?&quot;
    ",1] ); //--></script> These simpletons who went to hunt
    Beyond the gates of Zhandivar.
    They didn't know the game the hunters sought.

    Along the royal road the hunters rode,
    Past caravans bringing wealth
    To Zhandivar. From time to time
    They were joined by other men
    Until they formed a fearsome company.

    At their head Lord Marek rode
    On his right hand rode the color guard.
    The sun was bright, the sky was blue,
    Omens of fortune yet to come.
    The stranger rode upon his left.

    On they rode until they came
    To where the realm of Zhandivar
    Came to an end and other lands
    Began and lay before the company.
    A fork was in the road.

    Be advised by me the stranger said,
    Take the right fork, not the left fork;
    Take the high road, not the low road.
    The left fork leads to Liapram;
    They do not welcome strangers there.

    The high road is untravelled
    No one dwells along that path.
    We can make our way to Alderman
    Unseen, escaping hostile eyes.
    And so surprise the folk of Alderman.

    And so they took the high road
    Along the mountain ridge
    Above the pretty valleys
    Where beauty ran untouched.
    Unseen by them, beauty ran untouched.

    Unseen by hostile eyes
    They rode along that path
    Their hearts were filled with hopeful greed
    And songs of war were on their lips.
    There was a gate across the road.

    The gate was guarded by a pass.
    On the left side the rock was sheer.
    On the right side the rock was sheer.
    And in the center stood the gate.
    Afore that gate there stood a beast.

    A patchwork beast, a bit of this and that,
    Stood guard and would not let them pass.
    No force of arms, no clever ruse,
    Could ever get them past.
    And then the beast began to speak.

    The rumble of its roar
    Was soft as summer's breeze
    And this is what it said,
    "Tell me, men of Zhandivar,
    Where doth the Raven pray?"
    <script>They stood perplexed, this company,
    Knowing not whereof the beast did speak.
    Until at last their captain
    Stood forth and said,
    &quot;We do not know. We never knew.&quot;

    &quot;Tis passing well and passing poor,&quot;
    The patchwork beast replied,
    &quot;Pass on, this path will take you down
    Into the land of Alderman
    Where you must do what you must do.&quot;

    On they rode and down they rode
    From mountain heights into a land
    Of crystal springs and verdant vales,
    It was the land of Alderman.
    No one saw the stranger disappear.

    No force of soldiers barred their way
    No hand was raised as they went by
    Until they sacked a village
    And Violated the maidens found within.
    And so began the pillage of Alderman.

    Across that land, to and fro
    Lord Marek\'s martial company
    Pillaged gentle folk and stole
    Their honor, wealth, and lives.
    It were noble deeds they did.

    Maidens passed from man to man
    Children gutted for bloody sport
    Temples sacked for gilded dross
    Green fields running free with blood.
    So many a noble deed was done.

    The gentle King called forth the guard
    The farmers armed themselves with scythes
    In battle Marek killed and killed
    And lost his company, one by one.
    Sated, Marek knew that he must leave.

    Back they went onto the high road,
    Back they went, laden fat with wealth
    Back they went, their weapons ripe with gore
    Back they went to Zhandivar.
    No beast nor gate would bar their way.

    The clouds were black behind their back,
    The pretty valleys darkened as they passed
    The beauty fled from such as they
    These bloody men from Zhandivar.
    Lord Marek\'s company didn\'t care.

    Back they went to Zhandivar
    One returned for every three
    That started out to win some wealth
    Some stolen wealth from Alderman.
    The Royal Army awaited them.

    ",1] ); //--></script>
    They stood perplexed, this company,
    Knowing not whereof the beast did speak.
    Until at last their captain
    Stood forth and said,
    "We do not know. We never knew."

    "Tis passing well and passing poor,"
    The patchwork beast replied,
    "Pass on, this path will take you down
    Into the land of Alderman
    Where you must do what you must do."

    On they rode and down they rode
    From mountain heights into a land
    Of crystal springs and verdant vales,
    It was the land of Alderman.
    No one saw the stranger disappear.

    No force of soldiers barred their way
    No hand was raised as they went by
    Until they sacked a village
    And Violated the maidens found within.
    And so began the pillage of Alderman.

    Across that land, to and fro
    Lord Marek's martial company
    Pillaged gentle folk and stole
    Their honor, wealth, and lives.
    It were noble deeds they did.

    Maidens passed from man to man
    Children gutted for bloody sport
    Temples sacked for gilded dross
    Green fields running free with blood.
    So many a noble deed was done.

    The gentle King called forth the guard
    The farmers armed themselves with scythes
    In battle Marek killed and killed
    And lost his company, one by one.
    Sated, Marek knew that he must leave.

    Back they went onto the high road,
    Back they went, laden fat with wealth
    Back they went, their weapons ripe with gore
    Back they went to Zhandivar.
    No beast nor gate would bar their way.

    The clouds were black behind their back,
    The pretty valleys darkened as they passed
    The beauty fled from such as they
    These bloody men from Zhandivar.
    Lord Marek's company didn't care.

    Back they went to Zhandivar
    One returned for every three
    That started out to win some wealth
    Some stolen wealth from Alderman.
    The Royal Army awaited them.

    <script>Behold the Royal wrath!
    No war save mine the King had said!
    Lord Marek\'s head is mine, he said!
    His Majesty was displeased.

    The Army seized the company
    It took their arms and all their goods
    And all the stolen treasure
    That they had won in Alderman.
    The executioner took their heads.

    A messenger took the low road
    Through Liapram and other lands.
    He bore a golden box that held
    The head of Marek in apology
    To the King of Alderman.

    In Alderman the fields grow
    A grimmer crop than ripened grain
    A crop of men to feed the birds.
    The Raven King was now content;
    He didn\'t need the Form of Man.

    See Notes on The Raven King for commentary.
    Copyright © 1998 by Richard Harter
    This page was last updated November 1, 1998.

    </div>",0] ); D(["ce"]); //--></script> Behold the King of Zhandivar!
    Behold the Royal wrath!
    No war save mine the King had said!
    Lord Marek's head is mine, he said!
    His Majesty was displeased.

    The Army seized the company
    It took their arms and all their goods
    And all the stolen treasure
    That they had won in Alderman.
    The executioner took their heads.

    A messenger took the low road
    Through Liapram and other lands.
    He bore a golden box that held
    The head of Marek in apology
    To the King of Alderman.

    In Alderman the fields grow
    A grimmer crop than ripened grain
    A crop of men to feed the birds.
    The Raven King was now content;
    He didn't need the Form of Man.


    <font size="2">See </font>Notes on The Raven King</font><font size="2"> for commentary.
    Copyright © 1998 by Richard Harter
    </font></td></tr></table> </p> 
    Angharad came forward next, with a work that Yancey took to be a personal tribute, no matter how hard everyone tried to convince him that it was not.

    <table bordercolor="#804000" width="90%" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td> <p align="right">"The Bard"     </p></td> <td width="100"> <p align="center">[​IMG]</p></td> <td>      by Angharad</td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#804000" width="90%" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_music.jpg"> [​IMG] ith a mist, a swirl, a cloak of fog,
    Winter encircled the darkened bog.
    The chill, damp air smelled of faint decay,
    Reminiscent of rites gone badly astray.
    As owl played counterpoint to muffled tread,
    The grey-wrapped wood seeped dull and dread.

    The traveller rode on, forbearing to dwell.
    Long had she journeyed, through dank lands and fell.
    Surcease she sought; a rest from travail -
    A stall for her steed and escape from road's wale.
    Numb were her hands, a match for her thought -
    Then reaching a clearing, her clouding breath caught...

    For there she beheld a most welcoming sight:
    From casements ahead, light spill'd into night;
    Music and woodsmoke mingl'd mid-air,
    Consorting wi' scent of savory fare.
    Dismounting swiftly, she lengthened her stride,
    Desirous to learn what might lay inside.

    Her cloak she shook out and hung on carved chair.
    She'd turned to the bar, before 'coming aware
    Of the bewitching sound of ancient lore
    As told from the soul of a troubador.
    Regarding the stage, her heart leapt, dancing,
    Nae e'en pausing to question the chancing.

    As firelight flicker'd on aged beams above,
    The minstrel sang pure and truly, of love;
    Of love denied and love's full embrace,
    Loves pursued and love lost wi'out trace -
    Illicit passions and innocent trysts -
    As she sat rapt, entranced, and list'.

    Compellingly, the bard did croon,
    E'er ensorceling wi' his tune;
    A mystery wov'd within the lay
    As pure enchantment he did play.
    And as dark turned dawn, her blood did sing
    In harmony, wi' heart took wing.
    </td></tr></table>
    I have since heard tell that Angharad's winning piece was written in less than a day! Well done! Well done indeed!

    A visitor to our fair lands, from the lands of Legend came to tell of a night filled with fear and danger!

    <table border="1" width="90%" bgcolor="#8080ff" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle">
    "Death's Midnight Ride"
    by
    Fernola Grain
    </td> <td width="100">[​IMG] </td> </tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="90%" bgcolor="#8080ff" align="center"> <tr> <td>

    [​IMG]  woke from my sleep on an autumn night
    To a most erie sound indeed.
    Was the sound of Death, rolling in -
    More specifically, the sound of Death's steed.

    I closed my eyes in hopes he'd ride passed
    And that is what he did,
    But curiosity killed the cat -
    And out of bed I bid.

    I had to know to where he rode,
    Where was his journey to end -
    I threw over my shoulders a black cloak
    So into the night I would blend.

    I listened intently into the night
    Through the sounds of the owls and wind,
    Trying to find just which direction
    My nighttime journey would send.

    I heard the sound of hooves in the North
    Thinking North was the way, twas best -
    I heard the sound all around me now
    Complete from the South, East and West.

    Death had me surrounded in the depths of the night
    And me, with no where to turn -
    I fell to my knees, beginning to sweat
    And now, my stomach started to churn -

    I had no sword, I had no shield,
    Not even a tunic or helm -
    Nothing but the black of my cloak
    To protect me in Death's wooded realm.

    The hoofbeats grew closer, Death knew I was there,
    Perhaps even huddled and weak.
    He was looking for me, with a wry ole grin
    It was now me that Death did seek.

    I found my footing and ran here and there,
    Looking for somewhere to hide,
    But Death drew closer, the sounds were louder
    It was time I wish I could bide.

    I fell to the ground once more with intent,
    And drew the black cloak over my head -
    I lay in waiting for Death to ride by
    Wishing I had not left my bed.

    The ground shook as Death drew closer,
    I felt twigs and the like shake around,
    I held my breath deep inside -
    My fingers clutching the ground.

    Death was next to me, the breath of his steed
    Beating down on the top of my cloak.
    I prayed to my God that Death would move on,
    But he didn't, instead Death spoke -

    "Oh, young lass, no need to hide,
    It is not you tonight that I sought,
    But I tell you tonight, this very night -
    For another it's time that you bought -

    "I must come again some other night
    To find the one I came for
    But if you follow me again, you naive lil girl
    It will be soon that I knock at your door."
    </td> </tr> </table>
    This being Siege, none of us feared a knock at the door, much less death, but it was a masterful rendition, none the less!
    Pray, come again, good Fernola - ye are most welcome!

    As there has been much demand, threatening, and chewing of the cud of late, I took this chance to present the thirteenth episode of my ongoing, yet going nowhere, epic.

    <table bordercolor="#000000" width="90%" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td width="100">[​IMG]</td> <td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_cowhide_001.jpg"> <p align="center"><font face="Arial" color="#800080" size="5">"Cows"

    Chapter XIII

    By
    Blind Otto</font>
    </p></td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#000000" width="90%" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td>[​IMG]t had been several hours since Tau had left,
    leaping off to rejoin his herd.

    Kirsta shivered,
    pulling the tattered robe she had found around her.
    So much had changed in just one day.
    She was now an orphan,
    her mothers life snuffed out beneath the giant hoof of a giant cow.
    She had been guardian to a race of creatures from beyond the stars.
    to pieces for spare parts, much as she might use the springs from a
    broken sextant to repair an old clock.

    Her mothers death had not yet sunk in. She realised that.
    She was still numb from the shock of the strange events.
    As she made her was slowly down through the old building,
    and tried to determine which town they had landed in.

    Before she could take ten steps down the overgrown cobbled street,
    a hand grabbed her shoulder.
    Again. Shed had enough of strange people,
    and hands where they should not be.
    Suddenly, furiously, she kicked out, backwards, connecting hard with
    the person behind her.

    "Ooooooooogggghhhhh" came the pained cry,
    followed by a thud, as a body hit the ground.
    She turned, to find a small, weedy looking man in a robe,
    curled up in a ball on the ground, his eyes bulging,
    and his complexion rapidly losing all colour.

    "Yes?" she asked snidely "can I help you with something, or do you
    go around grabbing all the young ladies you see? "

    "Nhhhgggggg" he spluttered, trying desperately to
    get into a more dignified position.

    His brain had a quick conversation with his groin, and decided
    that it wasnt going to allow any movement for quite a while.

    "Gggllrkkk 'm Filbercio" he gurgled.

    "That's nice." Kirsta replied. "You're also in pain.
    Would you like some more? "

    "Nooooo!" Filbercio screamed and spluttered at the same time,
    holding on tightly to his most valuable possessions, as Kirstas
    foot swung slowly backwards.

    "I'm an initiate for the Controllers! "

    Kirsta had heard little of the Controllers. They were not a topic
    that got much discussion on a farm. Now and then, in the
    town, shed heard mention of a bunch of red-robed monks
    who lived somewhere in the wilds, and who had strange
    ways about them but what strange ways were she had no idea.
    So, why was one here, grabbing her shoulder in a weed-infested road,
    in some unknown town? Looking from the weeds to him and back
    again, she felt she might have half the answer.

    "Yes? Should I be impressed? "she asked,
    while he squirmed on the ground, both eyes firmly on her foot.

    "Oh, yes!" Filbercio replied, the pain slowly easing
    "The Controllers are great!
    Theyve got machines and stuff, and one day, theyre going to
    Rule the World! "

    It was the way he said it.
    She could practically HEAR the capital letters
    in his words. She looked at him, thought a moment,
    looked again, and burst out laughing.

    "I know I will regret this, but I have to ask HOW?? "

    "Why, with our Golems of course! Great machines of war,
    that strike with crushing blows, and fearsome appearance!
    Designed and created by the greatest minds of our order!
    They will swarm forth from our hidden fortress in Trinsic,
    and strike down each and every army of the land!
    All will fall before our terrible might! "

    "Aye? And how does this have you
    grabbing my arm in dingy streets, then? "

    "You were with that creature, weren't you?
    Youv'e got its oil all over you! Dont deny it!
    You can tell me where more are! You can tell me!
    Then the great one will forgive me,
    and return me to my rightful status! Oh yes! I will be a hero,
    not an assistant to a sorter of cogs! Aye! "

    Kirsta looked at him in disbelief for a moment.

    Then her foot came down.

    Hard.

    "No". she said.

    And took off into the approaching night.
    </td></tr></table>
    Quentico then strode up, and, nailing the head of a recently slain Wakan Warrior to the dartboard, presented this piece:

    <table border="1" width="90%" bgcolor="#ff9f71" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle">
    "The Old Man and the Bandits"
    by
    Quentico
    </td> <td width="100">[​IMG] </td> </tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="90%" bgcolor="#ff9866" align="center"> <tr> <td>

    [​IMG] his is a modified reading from the Book of Fellowship
    Chapter III
    The Old Man and the Bandits - a question of Unity


    On the road leading out of Britain one day, I met a man bent with age
    however he still possessed keen wit.
    As I walked with him, he shared with me this tale and I in turn shall share it with all of thee.
    During a stroll through the woods one day, this man was kidnapped by a group of vicious bandits.
    WAKA I would wager
    The poor man had just left his nephew's family in Trinsic
    and had no one else in the world.
    Woe to them who have been kidnapped when they have
    no one to pay their ransom!

    The WAKA bandits soon began to loathe the old man and did make plans to kill him.
    One wanted to hang him
    Another wanted to stab him
    Still another wanted to burn him at the stake
    and yet another wanted to tie rocks around his waist and throw him in the river.
    So angry did they wav in their disagreement over what manner of violence to use
    that the man did escape from the bandits who were now too distracted with their brawling
    Upon noticing the escape of the old man, they continued to fight, this time over whose fault it
    had been
    until all of them lay dead, murdered by each other's hand.

    The old man was later reunited with his nephew's family and all were joyous of it.
    For a lesson he had learned:
    UNITY is essential for survival , and unlike those reckless WAKA bandits, he still wished to live
    for a good many years yet.
    </td> </tr> </table>
    I do hope someone removes that head. It is bad enough to present a tale in the midst of a blizzard of snowballs, never mind swarms of flies.

    We were honored with the presence of the Priestess Mjolniraa last night, as she spoke of her dream.

    <table border="1" width="90%" bordercolor="#00ffff" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_brown_mist.jpg">
    "The Dream"
    by
    Mjolniraa
    </td> <td width="100">[​IMG] </td> </tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="90%" bordercolor="#00ffff" align="center"> <tr> <td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_brown_mist.jpg">

    [​IMG] his....is a dream

    I dreamed again, last night
    I saw them, th Serpent-Knights
    And their leader crownd with silver
    Rode regal, before
    Aye, he rode a shadowd charger
    Dragon-hardened, his leather armor
    And what Id mistaken for silver
    I saw now was his hair

    The path now- quite plainly
    Grass shimmered, sword-pointed
    Selene reflected the flame
    I set my self, trembling, boldly
    By what light I could see
    Death robe, garbed humility
    Shadow- life loomed behind
    I walkd then, I remember-
    Footsore, growing blisters
    In search of a Virtue
    I knew but could not Name

    We saild the Sea, seemd forever
    But Fire nor Ice conquered
    Cold forgd steel nor blue flame
    Winter mined stone lit by braziers
    Who walked alone, among her brothers
    Justice found: aye, and Compassion
    But the greatest:
    Love

    The dream ended, swum in Silver
    I will remember them forever
    Hold the faces of my brothers

    In the Tavern, to the Light


    </td> </tr> </table>
    Another gem was brought to us, by Galen Windholder.

    <table border="1" width="90%" bordercolor="#ff80c0" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_grey_mist.jpg">
    "Facetted"
    by
    Galen Windholder
    </td> <td width="100">[​IMG] </td> </tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="90%" bordercolor="#ff80c0" align="center"> <tr> <td background="http://uo.stratics.com/newspics/siege/blind_otto_siege_backgrounds_grey_mist.jpg">

    [​IMG] urn the crystal.
    Still, you and I are one.
    Turn the crystal.
    And I have no answer,
    And ever still, you and I are one.

    Joy,
    Pain,
    Surprise,
    Tender,
    Spiteful,
    Mischevous,
    Jealous...

    We are one.
    We turn together.
    We refelct one another.
    We shine through each other.
    We amplify the other.
    We join together.
    We are one.

    Facetted no longer,
    Yet infinitely.
    Do I mirror you still?
    </td> </tr> </table>
    I ended the eve with a second piece, from my early mining days, travelling the land with no magery of my own.

    <table bordercolor="#004080" width="90%" bgcolor="#b9ffff" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td> <p align="center">
    <font color="#ffd600" size="4">"You will have good days"
    by
    Blind Otto
    </font>
    </p></td> <td width="100">[​IMG]</td></tr></table>
    <table bordercolor="#004080" width="90%" bgcolor="#caffff" border="1" align="center"> <tr> <td>

    [​IMG]ye, you will have good days, I was once told,
    but this was not to be one of them. Not by any imaginings!</p>

    First, that ore elemental broke my spade, killed my pack horse,
    and sent me fleeing from the cave while it snacked on all the ore
    I had dug up that morning. That was not a good start, indeed.</p>

    Then, my fellow fleeing miner,
    who offered me a magic gate as a way of escape,
    did not send me to Britain as he claimed,
    but to the crossroads south of Yew, instead!
    Fool.
    Or perhaps it was deliberate, and that was his 'pet' elemental...</p>

    Either way, thinking myself to be on the road somewhere
    north of Britain,
    as he had promised, I followed the road in a south-eastern
    direction,
    thinking this would bring me to the smithy on the edge of town.
    Needless to say, it did not.</p>

    After walking some way, I found myself under a large bridge,
    or building,
    which seemed to be an abandoned guard outpost.
    I knew of nothing like that near Britain,
    and it was now that I first started doubting the sincerity
    of my 'rescuer'.
    Still, I travelled on - for, as they say,
    all roads lead to Britain.
    This one didn't.</p>

    I heard angry voices ahead,
    and thought it best to step off the road,
    and found a thick bush to hide in.
    Soon, a foul smell reached my nose, like rotting flesh.
    I heard a zombie shuffle past,
    followed by several of the undead.
    Not the common skeletons and wraiths that
    haunt the land's cemetaries -
    these were the feared high lords of the Undead,
    from their speech,
    from the clan of the UNDead. </p>

    I stayed in my bush, and tried to keep my knocking knees quiet.
    From their words, they were in pursuit of a vampire named Wyrm.
    I heard no sign of the creature, though, for which I am grateful.
    I would have been even more grateful for some cloth
    to hold over my face,
    for the stench was truly terrible!
    Do these creatures never bathe???</p>

    Thankfully, they passed on, and I slowly crawled out of the bush,
    in the opposite direction from where they had gone.
    After a LOT of crawling through the underbush,
    I encountered the side of a house, rather forcefully, with my nose.
    Voices came from within. It was not,
    as I had first feared, more of the undead,
    but instead a group of bandits I have head tell of in the taverns,
    called the 40 thieves. They were boasting about a recent plunder,
    but I could not make sense of their dialect.
    Still, they seemed happy -
    too happy to notice a blind miner crawling past their front door!</p>

    I eventually made my way back to the road,
    but decided not to follow it - I would have been too easy a target,
    given that this area was home to thieves and the undead!
    I continued into the bush,
    hoping to find something that would give me my bearings,
    and enable me to return home in one piece!</p>

    Soon, there was another smell. Not as bad as the undead,
    but bad enough that my blind eyes began to water.
    The gutteral snarling and speach from nearby told me what it was -
    Orcs!
    What a day - elementals, undead, thieves and now orcs!
    I felt in my pack, hoping to have something to offer them as friendship,
    but all that I had was my hammer,
    the broken handle of my spade, and an apple.
    I couldn't see orcs being happy to receive any of those,
    but at least the hammer might serve as a weapon,
    should things become desperate!</p>

    I continued crawling south, but that was of little use -
    I found a mountain in my way. The rock was good, ore bearing rock -
    if not for the orcs, it would have been a wonderful place to mine!
    But, there WERE orcs...</p>

    I turned east, which was yet another bad idea -
    a few minutes later, after crossing the road once more,
    I was in the middle of a ruined building,
    hearing the sounds of more undead nearby.
    One saw me, and came charging,
    but I managed to find another good bush to hide in, and he ran past,
    leaving me shaken and convinced that I would never get home!</p>

    so, back to crawling south I went,
    avoiding the skeletons and other undead.</p>

    As I said, a terrible day. </p>

    My next stop was a large camp, full of brigands.
    I made the mistake of thinking them to be gypsies,
    and asked them for help.
    If not for the arrival of several of the undead,
    I would have died there and then,
    but both parties felt that I was less of a challenge than the other group,
    so they took to slaughtering each other, and I fled back into the bushes.</p>

    Further south east, was another guard post, as deserted as the first.</p>

    Just as I was giving up hope, I heard the sounds of digging.
    Miners!' I thought - they will help a fellow miner!</p>

    The digging was not miners, but rather, a treasure hunter.
    Lillian, I think she said her name was.
    As I arrived, she dug up a chest,
    and I heard the growl and clatter of the chest's guardians.
    Next I knew, there was another skeleton trying to choke the life from me.
    Still, three swift blows from my hammer,
    and he was a pile of broken bones!</p>

    Thank thee for they help, good sir', the hunter said to me.
    take from the spoils as thy reward'.</p>

    No milady, I would not deny you your rightful gains'
    I said 'All I seek is to know where I am,
    and where the nearest town is.
    Assistance in arriving there would also be appreciated,
    as I am quite blind,
    and it is nothing short of a miracle that I have not
    died several times already this day!'</p>

    She was very helpful - she summoned a friend,
    who opened a moongate, which opened directly into the bank of Britain.
    It seemed that I had started my adventures three or four miles
    south of Yew's great Mill - would that I had gone north, instead of south!</p>

    All in one day - an elemental, undead creatures, thieves,
    more undead, orcs, even more undead, brigands, and I am still alive!
    Horribly scarred, and I think I have crawled through
    at least a mile of poison ivy, but I do yet live!</p>

    (Which is more than that buffoon who can't get his
    moongates right will be able to say the next time I meet him!)
    </p></td></tr></table>

     </p>

    [​IMG]ongratulations again to Angharad, and ye are all welcomed to return next week, for more fine tales, tunes, and torment!

    A small challenge to the bards of the land, based on something I heard done in a far off land:
    It is said, that fine melodies can be composed, by means of the various birthday bells that are found here and there.
    If any have composed such a piece, I am sure it would be greatly welcomed.
    If any have not - perhaps ye should try?

    In any case - if ye have stories, songs, jokes, ballads, or anything of that nature - bring it to the Shire!
    </p> </td> </tr> </table>
     
  2. *blushes* Thank you for your kind words sir but truth be known, Yancey has the way of it.
     
  3. Katharine

    Katharine Guest

    I remember when I became a citizen... man that was so long ago *chuckles* Let's see Rohan was there throwing snowballs like an idiot, Py, Mangar, Kronos, Fel yelling something or other but then again when wasn't he? hehe, Bruin, don't think Ash made it back for that.... *sighs*... so many names. Grot was GM then too, might have been his second term I think. Wow that was ages ago, he's old! [​IMG]

    Oh and a big congrats to Ariel on the citizenship, wish I could have been there but alas I was not invited [​IMG], and congrats to the winner this week as well. Seems Yancey gonna have to step it up next week to stay in the runnin. hehe
     
  4. <blockquote><hr>

    Seems Yancey gonna have to step it up next week to stay in the runnin. hehe

    [/ QUOTE ]Poor misinformed fallen creature, I do not believe I've heard psalms singing your praise. I do not take home the Shire's money as often as before, but here there be Gods. Bask in our glory. Bask in our presence. Smile in rapt wonder as our words take you to far off places, to see wonders in your mind's eye. Stare in awe as our words dance like fire in the hearth.

    But never tell a God, he doesn't do enough for you.
     
  5. Mandolin

    Mandolin Guest

    Great stories last night.. I missed a couple as I arrived late. I'm glad I made it in time to catch Ang's though. You out did yourself this time woman! Bravo!