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Discussion in 'UO Siege Perilous' started by imported_Daan Mor, Mar 8, 2006.
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challenge had been made, the gauntlet thrown down, and many gathered to see who would walk away with not only the prize gold of the Shire's story night, but also the gold offered by Yancey DeFlorio, to any who could best him in the spinning of stories! Spyderbite's purse was also loose that night, as he casually tossed yellowish pieces of paper about the place!
However, as it came to the time to start telling the tales, none stirred from their seats. Not wishing to have to present thee with a page's worth of decriptions as to how the patrons sat, I started things going, with another from my ongoing saga, and took to the stage.
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"Cows" Chapter XI
"Dupre's Flight - a ballad"
Blind Otto </td> <td width="100"> </td> </tr> </table>
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nd in this day, it did come to pass that the
strange events were ordered stricken from the
history books, by royal decree.
However, the mad bard Meek Jogger did compose this ballad,
and kept it from the eyes of many,
until it was found, after his death, hidden within his lyre.
And so, I give thee, the ballad of Dupre's flight.
Tranquility filled the fields that morn,
nary a breeze to sway the long grass.
Birds rejoiced at this day, new born,
while the morning mist wafted past.
Morning dew glistened on the leaves,
and all was peaceful and still.
Small field mice stirred within wheat sheaves,
as the sun emerged over the hill.
All was peaceful that early hour,
in the valleys west of the great throne,
dawn's golden kiss opening each small flower,
and breathing life into each seed freshly sown.
Such peace and tranquility is rare,
and should be treasured indeed.
Lest over the hilltop comes Dupre, sans mare,
for a cow didst eat his steed!
Dupre, the mighty leader of old,
sung of in many a bard's tale,
had lost his men, and lost his sword,
and fled faster then any autumn gale!
Any great man will reach that day,
when his limitations stand out so clear,
it's on that day, he can choose to run away,
or stand firm, and face his fear.
Dupre, when faced with a talking steel bull,
decided that he wasn't paid enough,
for the surrounding lands were indeed full
of the battered forms of those bold and tough.
He fled across the hills and dales,
he claims, to sound the alarm.
But an observent farmer who heard his wails,
swore 'twas to save himself from harm!
But the metalic creature simply observed,
as the warrior fled across the hills,
far more interested in watching the herd,
than adding to the recent spate of kills.
Dupre sprinted onwards, though, sure of death behind,
his mind torn betwixt words of excuse,
and his quest - safety to find!
But then he fell... the ground was loose...
Into a hidden lair he trips,
far beneath the ground,
with many a forlorn wail from his lips,
accompanied by a strange, plummeting sound!
For in years gone by, it was told,
that there dwelt a hidden race,
who carved tunnels in rock so cold,
and left holes all about the place!
Downwards into one such hole,
did heroic Dupre land,
utterly shaken, body and soul,
before a portal, quite unplanned.
"We are Drow." - "Drow ourselves."
"Indeed, Drow are we."
thus spake three darkish elves,
who were Drow, it seemed to be.
"No human man ith welcome here!"
Spake the first, with a lisp.
Grasping Dupre by the ear,
he threw him portal-wards, just like this.
Dupre quivered and balked,
as the portal whisked him far away,
Where Controllers and their students walked,
and plotted to rule, one far off day.
He was caught, and languished in their cells,
while they tried to convince Lord Brit
That their tale was more than just vile smells,
and Dupre was indeed in the s
"Hit him once again!" cried the jailor, most cruel,
"for his lies about cows of steel!"
"He'll take me, will this swine, for a stupid fool?"
"His flesh, this whip will peel!"
While Dupre bled, the metalic ones did ruminate,
and trudge all about the land,
no grave threat this,nor bovine hate,
but rather a scheme less grand.
The metal bull did gather all,
and they began to travel,
down the path towards Vesper's hall,
as the mystery would soon unravel.
Elsewhere, upon a cold stone roof,
shivered Kirsta, nude cow herder,
Trying to decide if 'twas madness or truth,
or merely the shock of her mother's murder.
Were the memories of her past her own,
or simply a protective snare,
to keep her safe from sword and stone,
until she could rightly prepare?
What was she, then, could she trust a beast so great,
or discard it's words as lies?
And yet, while violation and death she'd anticipate,
tho nude, it treated her better than most guys.
Should she risk escape, and flee,
back to her home, all mundane and petty?
Or take this bull, trust the words said he,
accept she was indeed, a cow named Betty.
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Next, I had good reason to be glad that my loyal scribe had not accompanied me this eve, for Daan Mor's winning tale of the eve featured characters with certain recognisable traits. Fortunately, he assures me tis all fiction.
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Chapter II - "Flies"
Daan Mor </td> <td width="100"> </td></tr></table>
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he sight of his friends lifeless corpse haunted Caelan as he walked away;
he needed to leave this doomed city.
But how? Britain was besieged on all sides by the gibbering hordes of Despise,
gnawing, clawing at the gates, relentless in their animal desire for human blood.
He knew the mages could offer no help, the reagent stocks had long since run dry,
used in the healing of the guards and the fields of fire and poison which had
surrounded the city in the early days of the siege.
There must be a way out he thought,
wracking his mind for any small clue as to how to reach the outside world.
The sewers! he exclaimed out loud,
but quickly realised the main entrance had been sealed shut,
in order that the monsters could not enter the city via them.
Surely he could enter by way of the houses themselves, he thought.
Quickening his pace towards the houses which still stood, he crashed through the front door,
frantically looking around for a hatch or stairwell leading down.
"Flies" spoke a voice to his left "Flies for her eyes... "
Such was his haste and concentration on scanning the floor;
he had not noticed there was another occupying this dusty house.
Caelan turned to face the wizened old man
"Do you have a cellar sir?" he looked upon the man and thought that maybe this was
the embodiment of the siege: He was old, malnourished,
and with his long white hair and beard matted about his face, probably unwashed for weeks.
"Flies. Do you understand me? Flies for her eyes. Or do I have to tell you again?"
The man was obviously mad, many were in the city,
the constant bombardment of flames and lightning from the titans
made it very hard to keep a level head these days.
"Enough, please just tell me does this house have access to the sewers? "
Caelan scanned the room once more.
"Aye. "The old man lifted his hand, pointing into the corner from a dank blue robe.
"But you had best take some flies. "His other hand contained a jar,
full of small dark specks, which Caelan could only assume to be the flies in question.
Caelan followed the direction of his finger, and saw the edge of a trapdoor
peeking from underneath a book covered desk.
He walked to it, beginning to move the assorted literature, when the man spoke again
"I wouldnt go down there, but I do, but only with the flies, its not right.
Shes not right. Youll not go down there! Please dont go. Take the flies, they will help you. "
Caelan was confused, who was this she the man spoke of?
He didnt have long to think about it as he noticed
the small spark of the beginnings of a fireball erupt in the old mans hand
"Dont go, I wont let you, I wo..." the aged mage slumped forward in his chair,
was he dead?
Caelan checked his pulse,
no, and still breathing, must just be asleep.
Taking his chance, Caelan rushed to the trapdoor, and knocking the desk to one side,
opened it. The musty fumes assaulted his senses, as did the utter darkness.
He reached around, grabbing a lantern from the desk where the mage was still out cold,
and quickly lit it, holding it down into the open trapdoor.
Swinging the lantern around he could not see anything more,
he would have to get further down the wooden steps to be able to
shed light on the whole of the room.
A few tentative steps down, still nothing, then he saw it, her, an elf.
She cowered in the corner, her pale blue skin sullied
from where she had touched the crumbling dusty walls of the cellar.
"Who are you?" she asked, wide eyed "Please, no more flies... "
Caelan looked at her, still unsure of the place of the old mages jar in this riddle.
"You have nothing to fear from me. But what are these flies you speak of? "
"He feeds me flies, all day, all of the time..." She whimpered
"he used to be so kind, back when he was a simple miner, but I fear the dark arts
have tainted him. He will get better though, I know it. "
Caelan still did not understand "Why would the old mage feed you flies? "
"He thinks if I do not eat them, I will lose my eyes, and end up blind, as he is. "She replied.
"We must leave here. Is there a way into the sewers from this cellar? "
"I cannot leave him, he will regain his mind, I know it. Its just a matter of time. "
"You are confused m'lady" answered Caelan "We must both leave this city before it is too late"
"Hmmm" replied the elf
"Perhaps you could find help for him in another town? "
"Cove is reputed to have the best healers on Sosaria..." Caelan said
"Aye! Then that is what I shall do! We will find him medicine for his madness in Cove! "
the elf seemed more cheerful now, she had obviously been waiting for an excuse to escape,
without the guilt of abandoning her liege. "This way. "
Behind a pile of crates was an oaken door, leading down into a long,
dimly lit passage running downhill from the cellar.
"Where does this tunnel lead? "Caelan asked,
they seemed to have been walking for a very long time, directly north by his reckoning.
"I do not know, but my master spoke of it occasionally,
something about flies, I forget exactly what, he did tend to speak of them a lot "
The roof of the tunnel was low, and Caelans plumed guardsmans helm scraped it,
bringing down small showers of dust and soil.
After what seemed like an eternity the tunnel began to slope upwards,
and a faint light could be seen.
Caelan hurried to the exit, over taking the elf,
such was his desire to see where he had surfaced, throwing his lantern to the floor of the passage
He found himself in what was some kind of mountain pass, or a network of them,
running in all directions.
Where was he?
He heard the calls of creatures, but he could not make out what,
low and chitinous,
they seemed to be all around too,
perhaps hiding around the twists and turns of this rock-maze.
Then again, louder this time, right behind him,
Caelan spun to face it, and was shocked by what he saw,
almost dropping the horsemans long knife to the ground in his dismay.
A mangled mass of blue carapace and claws stood behind him,
small wings sprouting from its back as he watched.
"Nooo!!" He cried, unsure whether to swing his sword or run.
He chose the former,
even if it had been the mages assistant, it was no longer.
I strongly suggest ye avoid certain elven scribes for the immediate future, Daan. Spend thy prize money on thick walls and good security, and perhaps a fierce guard-wolf or two...
Moving onwards, from flies to the Spyder...
My pardon, Spyderbite, but I did not hear the title of thy tale. I hope the one I have provided will suffice.
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he sword maiden tossed her head to the side
attempting to clear her vision from the scarlet
locks of her hair that had fallen before her eyes.
She dare not let loose of the wicked Elven scimitar
in her hands. She concentrated on the path before her.
Ignoring the beads of sweat that rolled down her brow.
The Elven warrior became suddenly aware at just how
uncomfortable the combination of human and elven
armor was, and longed for her leafed sleeves and
and gloves. She resisted the urge to tug at the strap
of the leather bustier. 'How was that these human
women, standing a full handspan taller than she, were
so less endowed than the maidens of her kind?' she
thought in frustration.
The Elven sword maiden forced herself to focus on
her objective. The opening before her which she had
fought with much effort to reach. Drake and Dragon
alike had charged but fallen before her and the long
jagged Elven blade.
She dared a glance back at her
companions who followed carefully from a distance.
All three were human. One rode a fierce black Mare
and led a tamed Wyrm behind him. She felt slightly
relieved to see the majestic white dragon beside
the man. Just beyond the Wyrm, the Mage sat upon her
chestnut steed, spells of healing and summoning
prepared. She sparkled in an aura of power; readied
for the challenge they faced. Only four strides behind
her, another man walked, almost protectively. She
glanced at his blade, dripping in venomous toxins.
Too long for a dagger, yet too short for a sword.
He caught her observing the weapon and smiled at her.
A chill ran down her spine as he bared two menacing
fangs at the Elf. The smile didn't frighten her.
It thrilled her, and she grinned back at the Vampire
displaying two sharp incisors of her own. He only
gestured onward to her, turning his knife so as not
to lose a drop of the expensive poison it was laden
The sword maiden shook her head and moved towards
the clearing ahead. She held a hand up to the others
in her party. A sign for them to hold back while she
investigated. Eager for battle she edged closer to
the opening in the granite walls. The onslaught of
Dragons and Drakes had excited her. She longed for
a fiercer opponent though. And her insticts told her
that such a beast lie just beyond those walls.
The Mage, Animal Master and Vampire watched as the
armor clad Elf maiden made her way between the
rock walls and into the clearing beyond. As she
dissapeared into the enclave, all three took a deep
breath and waited.
An unearthly scream of such ferocity echoed about the
rock walls around them causing debris to fall upon
the three companions. They strained to peer through
the cloud of dust for any sign of the Elven maiden.
The Vampire growled and made for the entrance, but was
stopped in his tracks by a spell of Paralysis. He
struggled, fangs bared in rage, at the Mage behind him.
"Stay put", was all she said.
The Animal Master suddenly pointed at the rock enclave,
"I think she's coming now!", he called out.
As if summoned, the Elf maiden burst from the smoke
and debris in a dead run towards them. The three
awaiting her smiled and breathed a sigh of relief at
the site of her.
Their contentment was short lived however. Behind her,
charged a Dragon of pure gold in hue, larger and more
powerful than they'd ever witnessed before. The Vampire
held out his arms to the Elf, but she ran past him and
Confused, the three looked at each other, and then at
the massive beast before them. As it roared at the
three companions, all they could hear above the Dragon's
voice were the screams of the swords maiden called
"OW OW OW.. GET IT OFF.. GET IT OFF.. OOOOH THIS IS
To be continued...
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an ode to Eirlys
Tigsalot </td> <td width="200"> </td></tr></table>
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his id dedicated to my female, Eirlyse
Reflections as I sit and wonder,
I sit and stare,
Wondering why you care.
Hallowed emptiness filled by me,
What? I imagine, do you see?
Do you see the real me?
The one who cries when you walk away?
Who fears when you're not looking?
Too afraid to cling?
Too afraid to lose?
Wondering which to choose?
I sit and wonder as you stare,
Do you know what's really there?
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Yancey DeFlorio </td> <td width="140"> </td></tr></table>
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here moss coats grey rock
A storm gathers its airy wings
Three ravens seal the gate
A will of iron makes the lock
For the tomb of long forgotten kings
A raucous call, the time grows late
Where incandescent rotting wood
Drinks the storm tide's cloudy gift
A coracle lies beached
Its time no longer understood
Twas once a cauldron set adrift
Now broken ribs point stark and bleached
Where once the radiant brow shone forth
And harps glittered by secret fires
Illuminating poetry and song
A cold wind blows from the north
The cup is defiled by bands of liars
Whose rule extends for far too long
Where once the salmon leapt the fall
And hazel nuts enriched the brew
Wisdom flowed from every stream
Now dark factories spew their pall
A poison ruin where great trees grew
The old ways fading to a dream
Where once proud people sought the light
And made their mark on mighty stones
Lives are dulled by useless toil
Forced by those who've no such right
Claiming that which none can own
Tearing the people from the soil
Where once great heroes fought for life
And swords sang out with brilliant tone
Enriching earth with blood and bones
The land is gripped in pointless strife
Uprooted people slay their own
Oppressors kill from gilded thrones
Where dark, cold storms vent their wrath
Amongst hard bit grass and well pressed tracks
And salt stained woes would swell the tide
A battered cross stands by a path
Chipped and lichened, growing cracks
An abbey's stones lie scattered wide
Where once saints blessed the land
Keeping Brigid's flame alive
Tending to the sacred wells
The church is ruled with an iron hand
The bees burned in their hive
Heavens turned to garish hells
Atop a crumbling dolmen
The ravens cry to crooked fate
The web of wyrd lies in tatters
Destruction comes too often
Remembrance comes too late
The ancient gateway shatters
In gnarled oak the mystery lives
Suffused with captured starlight
In glittering leaves the faeries dance
The oakbound kings their dreaming captives
The realm's true shield shining bright
Protects the cup, the sword, the lance
A boat moves through the mists
Harp music across still water
A lady stands in the prow
The fair and mighty island still exists
And holds its own while empires totter
The old ways are reborn now
The thread is frayed, the trail faint
Glamourous dreams lead some astray
The cracked cauldron shall be mended
There is no record without some taint
Some we must create today
Yet the story hasn't ended
I saw the hosts gathering across the sea
In a land far, wild, and strange
Rallying small peoples to remembrance
Of ways ancient, wild, and free
I saw their shields glitter across the range
I saw them join forces in exubrant dance
I've seen them clinging with their roots
In the old country hiding in the earth
Waiting for a return to the old ways
Beneath the iron empire's boots
Like sleeping seeds seeking rebirth
In inevitable spring's luminous rays
Gathered to the light in secret temples of old
Ancestors guide the dreams of those who ken
Standing stones still vibrate with the land
Round modern hearthfires the stories are told
The stars yet mark the ways to mortal men
Waiting patiently for those who understand
So long as the vow of Amergin to Eriu is kept
The thread shall not be broken
The inmost temple none shall defile
The great ones of the land have slept
Waiting til the day the stone has spoken
To reenchant the emerald isle
The great vulture of the Shire took to the stage next, hoping that the change of garb to KSS blues would offer a change of fortune, no doubt. Still ,the tale that followed will certainly be good for the trade in thick oak doors and window shutters, in the weeks that follow!
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"The Cu Sidhe's Paw"
Hoffs </td> <td width="101"> </td></tr></table>
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nce upon a time, not far from here, there lived an old pair of farmers named Harry and Anna.
Together, they scraped a living by working a smallholding of a few acres.
Life was never easy for them.
Harry was always hard at work on the fields each day, preparing or tending his crops,
while Anna stayed at home to look after the house and care for the animals.
They lived from season to season, always one bad spell of weather from catastrophe.
The one great spark of light in their life was their son, Roger, a fine, strapping lad who now
worked at the mines near Rat Valley as well as giving valuable assistance at harvest times.
The couple doted on him, and with good reason, for the regular wage he brought in
at least kept the wolves from the door during the leanest times.
One April morning, Harry was up early ploughing one of the fields
ready for the spring crop of barley.
His plough was rough and crude and was pulled by his old but dependable mare, Geraldine.
As he was guiding the horse along,
the glimpse of something white in the soil caught his attention.
He stopped the horse and bent down to pick the object up.
It looked like some kind of hoof or paw from an animal, but not one that Harry recognized.
The skin of the appendage was smooth at the top with no discernible break.
Harry shrugged, placed the object into his pocket, and resumed his labours.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Harry had completed his tasks,
but instead of heading straight home he took a small detour to the nearby Empath Abbey.
The monks here were generally friendly and one in particular, Clennan, was particularly kind,
always willing to offer advice and even finding them the odd bushel when food was scarce.
Harry found Clennan in the conservatory tending some plants. The monk smiled at him.
"Good afternoon, Harold, what can I do for you? "
Harry doffed his cap and took the discovery from his pocket.
"Well, sir, I was hoping you could tell me what creature this here thing belongs to. "
Clennan examined the object.
"Ah, it is the paw of a Cu Sidhe,
a large canine creature that can be found in the lands far from here. "
"Well, sir, would it be worth anything? "asked Harry hopefully.
Clennan smiled. "Not really, mostly curiosity value.
Still, it is rumoured that some of these things have magical powers. "
He glanced at Harry from the corner of his eyes.
"They are supposed to grant the owner three wishes."
Harry's eyes widened. "Three wishes you say?"
Clennan placed a reassuring hand upon Harry's shoulder.
"There are many strange and arcane powers in this world, Harry. Some benign, others evil.
It is not our place to interfere. We should leave that to the sorcerers and wizards."
He placed the paw back into Harry's hand and looked him squarely in the eye.
"If you take my advice, you will put this thing back where you found it,
or better still take it to the promontory and cast it into the ocean. "
Harry left the Abbey and headed north along the path to the sea.
When he arrived at the headland he took out the paw and prepared to throw it away.
Yet something stopped him.
He was but a poor farmer. He had worked hard all his life,
and all he had to look forward to was an old age of creaking bones and short rations.
Why should he give up his chance of freedom?
What had he to lose?
A little later Harry arrived home. As he stepped though the wooden door,
Anna was bent over a pot on the stove, stirring it gently.
He left his hat and coat by the door and gave his wife a gentle kiss on the head
before sitting down at the table to remove his boots.
Anna turned around to face him. "I'm afraid there will be no bread with your stew tonight.
What we had left has all gone moldy, and we don't have no more flour,
unless we can ask Frank at the mill to loan us some more. "
Harry sighed, and pulled the paw from his waistcoat.
"What's that you got then? "asked Anna.
"Our deliverance", said Harry.
With that, he closed his eyes and clenched the paw firmly in his hand.
"Paw, he began, grant me my first wish. Let me be a wealthy man. "
He sat for a moment in anticipation, unable to open his eyes. Slowly, he did so.
There was no pot of gold; no chest full of diamonds and sapphires.
No gilded ornaments.
And he was still wearing the same, worn clothes.
The only thing that had changed was the laughing coming from his wife.
"Bah", thought Harry.
Some time later, Harry sat miserably at the table
while Anna continued preparing the evening meal.
Just then, the sound of hoof steps could be heard. Anna glanced at the sky.
"Hmm, sounds like our Roger. He's home a little early today."
Shortly after, a knock came at the door. Puzzled, Anna walked over and opened it.
A middle-aged, distinguished man with white hair and beard stood outside.
It was Mr Franklin, the oversear at the mines.
"My Lady, may I come in? "he intoned in a grave voice.
Anna stepped back from the door, speechless, and the man entered.
"Please, sit down, dear Lady." he continued.
Once Anna had taken her seat at the table, Mr Franklin cleared his throat and began again.
"Sir, madam; there is no easy way to say this, so I shall come straight to the point.
I regret to inform you that your son died today in an accident at the mines."
His words took a moment to filter through,
and both Anna and Harry sat bemused and unbelieving.
"No, no, it can't be. IT CAN'T BE! "whimpered Anna.
"I am sorry madam, but true it is. "
At last, the tears streamed from Anna's eyes and she buried her head in her husband's chest.
"What happened?" asked Harry, struggling to maintain his own composure.
"A tragic accident, sir. He became caught in the winching mechanism. Most tragic. "
"Did he suffer?"
The other man glanced nervously at the ground.
"I realise what a terrible blow this must be to you.
No parent should have to bury their children, certainly not an only child.
I assure you that the company will do all it can to support you in this time of need.
Although we have not yet fully investigated the cause of the accident,
given the circumstances we feel we should make an immediate contribution to your welfare."
He pulled a leather folder from his coat and from this came a small scrap of paper.
He placed it on the table.
"Of course, it will not mean much to you at the moment. "
He stared at the couple, now dumbfounded and incredulous.
"Well, unless I can be of further service.."
He paused for a response, saw none, then quietly left the house.
Harry and Anna stared at the piece of paper.
It was a bank check, made out to the sum of one thousand gold marks -
more than Harry would see in a lifetime of working his farm.
"NOOO!" cried Anna, banging her fist upon the table, then on Harry's chest.
"This is all your fault. That stupid fur thing of yours. That has killed our Roger."
She fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Harry shook his head and choked back tears. "We don't know that", he protested.
"But anyway, if it was the paw that killed him, then the paw can bring him back. "
He took out the paw and clenched it in his hand once more.
"Paw", he shouted, "grant me my second wish. Let my son live again."
Aa before, the earth did not move, the sky did not fall.
Only Anna's pitiful sobbing filled the room.
Time passed. The sun sank. Light faded into the folds of a moonless, grey dusk.
Harry and Anna remained at the table, huddled together; now silent.
Only the wisp of a faint wind and the occasional owl hoot broke the still.
Then there came another sound. Faint, but drawing nearer.
It was hooves again. The couple stood up, mouths agape.
Now a distant whinny reached their ears, the whinny of Solitaire, Roger's horse.
They rushed over to the door, flung it open and stepped out into the twilight.
They could just discern a figure riding slowly along the path.
Anna shrieked with glee. "Roger! Roger!" she cried.
The figure drew closer, and his arm waved in reply.
Yet all was not right.
Something was amiss.
The left leg was at an odd angle, bent out from the saddle.
And the arm that waved was not as it should be.
There was no hand, and only a stump filled the folds of cloth.
Then a voice spoke to them. It was not Roger's gentle drawl, but something far more sinister.
"Muthur, muthur", it spoke.
"Muthur, I hav *** howm. I am here for yu, muthur."
Anna screamed, and as she did Harry pulled her back into the house,
slamming the door closed behind them.
"Anna", he ordered, "be strong. Close the window shutters."
The woman babbled to herself as she moved to the windows by the stove
and Harry set about securing the door.
Anna drew the first wooden panel over the window and started to move the second,
but as she did a hideous visage appeared at the glass;
a face so twisted and disfigured that only a mother could recognize it.
The skin was red, blotched and peeling from the cheek bone.
The hair was patchy as if pulled from the scalp in clumps.
The nose was bent and cracked, the jaw broken and askew revealing missing or jagged teeth.
And one of the eyes was detached, hanging from the socket like a scabbard from a belt.
"Aaarrrrrgghhh!" she screamed as Harry came up behind her and slammed the shutter home.
As he tried calming the now hysterical woman, a crashing sound came from the door.
The metal bolts strained as the rhythmic thud began.
"Muthur. Fathur. Let me in. Let me tuch yu."
The door creaked and the metal locks groaned as the thumping intensified.
"MUTHUR. I AM BAK! "
The top-most bolt split from the door frame and crashed to the ground,
then a twisted, swollen hand with three fingers appeared from the outside.
In panic, Harry dived toward the table and clasped the paw in a vice-like grip.
"Paw", he demanded. "Grant me my final wish. Send this monster away!"
Silence returned, save for Anna's whimpering.
The owl screeched again and the wind sighed.
Harry lay gasping at the table, and when he drew his fist toward him and opened up his fingers,
the paw had vanished.
A few days later, the couple stood solemnly at the churchyard
as friends and villagers filed out, passing on their condolences.
Last to leave was Mr Franklin.
"Once again may I pass on the company's deepest sympathy." he began.
"However, I must tell you that our investigation shows that your son was working
in the winching mechanism without authorization, and therefore the blame was entirely his.
That being the case, we have seen fit to cancel the check we issued,
but you will of course receive all back pay and the usual entitlements. "
He gave a brief nod and went on his way.
If Anna and Harry were listening, they showed no sign.
After they had left, the grave digger began shoveling the dirt over the coffin
just as a light sprinkle of rain began.
"Gor blimey", he moaned. Just then, a grey-white object in the soil caught his attention.
He stooped down and picked up what looked like the paw of some kind of exotic animal.
"Har", he laughed. "looks like this could be my lucky day."
If there is one thing I have learned in all my years of mining, it is that if something comes out of the ground that ye did not expect to be there, it is probably in the ground for a good reason in the first place!</p>
Next, more a challenge than a tale, but quite fitting on this night of challenges and boasts!
We were doubly visited by royalty this eve, for not only had Queen Zen come to hear the tales, King Exador had come to speak!
</p> <table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffff00" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"No one expects the Spanish Inquisitor"
King Exador </td> <td width="155"> </td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffff00" border="1"> <tr> <td>
he quest I present to you is for the strongest of mind
The challenge will test your knowledge of this great land
Your skills of the blades, magic & lore are sure to be called on
The mastery of stone & fire may turn the tide of vile & hordes
This is no simple task and the weak shall fall by the way
My riddles & clues are sure to proclaim -
Finish my quest and my treasures are yours!
And lastly, a confusing tale, told by a madman, or at least one who has had too much ale and known too little of the love of a good woman...
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td align="middle">
"Body Heat" (18)
Kemo Ven Ayen </td> <td width="155"> </td></tr></table>
<table width="100%" bgcolor="#ffc6ff" border="1"> <tr> <td>
ow Do's thought been
Tis been an Epic sense We meet again
Do'st thou not known of the Kin that I have befriended?
Aghast Not Milord
But thou hadt thought to be met with a kindly manner indeed?
A touch yes so my good lord Twould been too long sense I saw your gaze
Twould be too long Sense I have Felt your touch
Hmmm But alas Here we are Eh My Mate
Alas Here we are
*fumbles down her skirt*
Twould not be doing what I best be thinking that you are doing
Perhaps not But Milday what a fine Lass thou't are
Milord Kemo thou't knows of my mine vows Surely Thou't not been gone that long
Perhaps my lady but What art a few vows amongst mortals when you have a god In thine sheets?
A god More like My god
Milady thou self I am no ***** nor your hands shalt touch my bousem
Tis that right Tis not your Bousem I am after *winks*
How dare you, Your words are of such distaste
My words might be of distaste but Mine mouth has good taste and Id love to taste you
This is proposperous I demand an Appology this instant
An appology? For what Looking into the eyes of a goddess?
*she looks a bit confused*
Perhaps milady I can alter your mind a slight bit by hmmm Undressing you a bit more with my eye
and then my hands *Winks*
*Slaps him across his face*
Well tis been a while sense I have had that
Not Long enough *she shouts*
Hmmm thou't art a trickey one milady
YOu havent seen tricky yet *she Scowls*
Milady if thou't shows such detest Why'd You stay for the torture?
Umm Ummm HMmm well I best be leaving *raises nose to the air and turns to walk away*
Milady Thou't would forget your bag just laying in front of me? *raises Her bag*
*she quickly turns and grabs her bag from Kemo's hands*
Milady Thou't has forgot something else
And that would be *In a rough voice*
A kiss *smiles Brightly*
Well I never she proclaimed
What do you mean you never, I calmly replied
We Did before we left as well as other things
*her mouth Dropped open in utter shock*
Thats right Assume the position I said laughing a lil bit
Now furrious she begins breathing heavy
So how's about we mosey on off to the Inn
*She begins biting her tounge in pure anger*
Come Now tis been quite a while Sense I have gazed into your eyes
while Being so amongst the inner workings of a fine lass such as you
*She reaches Into her bag revealing her best dagger*
What do thine propose to do with that?
Something I should have done a long time ago
*Kemo looks confused
She takes that dagger and Removes the part that has done all of Kemo's thinking
Now Bleeding losing lots of blood and nearly on deaths bed
kemo looks up at her and says
Soo how about a drink *winks* I still got a fist for ya.
On that discomforting note, we ended the eve, with most of the men watching the ladies nervously.
But, the hour was late, and so, we all left, enriched by the evening's tales, none more so than Daan!
It seems the Shirefolk will have to double their efforts, or their coffers will not stand firm, should the taxman ever decide to return to these shores!
Now, I fear I must hide all sharp objects, afore yon scribe reads Mr Mor's contribution to the evening!
</td> </tr> </table>
Not to be rude, but this is exactly why I don't come to Story Night every week... I'd be roastered! The lenght of most stories and poems and what not cracks me up. I guess I am too impatient
Can't there be a rule for the lenght of the stories and what not? At least then I know when the end is coming hehe.
Oh ha ha ha... hilarious Spyderboy
actually it was a really good story ... right up until the end ya punk!
Now, I fear I must hide all sharp objects, afore yon scribe reads Mr Mor's contribution to the evening!
[/ QUOTE ]
Erm, just woke up, and stepped outside... This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain scribe would it?
To Daan... A gracious winner ye are not sir. Methinks ye need to spend more time walking the path of humility! (well done anyway!)
To Fidessa... There are limits in place, generally 20 minutes maximum per story, but if there are a lot of people wanting to tell tales any given night, that has been known to come down to 10 minutes per story. I do find that the stories seem longer written down like this, than when told in the Tavern - possibly because of the atmosphere in the Tavern making time fly?
It would be nice to have some shorter pieces now and then - we have had in the past. It just seems that lately, many of the 'regulars' are working on their epics for some reason!
Perhaps we should have a haiku evening, or something like that? Hoffs? Kush? What say ye?
To Daan..again... Not her - she's in bed with the flu, and hasn't logged on for more than 5 minutes today. Plus, since she does have a tamer with at least 106 base skill, last I looked, you'd probably have a REAL wyrm if that was her! (she hasn't seen your tale yet!)
finally... is that a 3D client? For shame sir, for shame!
And now, having been awake for far too many hours... to sleep!
[/ QUOTE ]
Congrats Daan! I enjoyed all the stories last night.. good job everyone!
Drop me a note today, Daan, and I'll get you that check.
To Daan... A gracious winner ye are not sir. Methinks ye need to spend more time walking the path of humility!
[/ QUOTE ]
Awww, come on, It was my first win, ever, at anything, lemme enjoy it a little, I'll be humble when i'm not so chuffed
Thanks Otto, and congratulations to Daante.
I understand the view about story length, and I am the worst offender of all. I have extreme difficulty keeping a story to even twenty minutes as my normal writing style is quite padded and flowery. Unneccesary probably, but that is just the way I write. I also hate to split stories into parts unless it is of truly epic length with obvious break points. Also, my speech is delivered quite a bit slower than others, but this is because I have been requested to by a couple of people.
However, we do normally have a fair mix of story length, and Otto does deliver his contributions most speedily so they do not last as long as you might think, Fidessa.
It should be remembered, though, that those who tell the longest tales, at least in number of words, are also the ones who you can rely on each week. Without Yancey and Otto, there may be weeks when Story Night would be over in around half an hour.
Still, with Iantown organizing a regular story event on European time, perhaps they would like to request shorter contributions. But as I say, the problem here is that without a large number of contributers, which is very rare, you may find the event ends far too soon.
I love everyone's stories.... but I like to read them here, not in game.
Nicely done all.
It would appear we have gained some measure of fame in the Halls of U. The Bards of their land have learned the words yet they have no rhyme nor meter.
I think the story length is fine. I show up to relax and be entertained, if it takes 20 mins then so be it. If they were long bad stories I may feel otherwise. I think the quality of the stories offered by the "regulars" week in and week out more than justifies the time.
This may be a small thing, but could my fellow front rowers try to be more selective when they speak. I'm just saying that sitting up front comes with the responsibility of not speaking over the story teller.
Congrats to Daan Mor, enjoy the title they're coming for it next week me thinks. Also to Yancey who is equally noble in defeat as in victory.
You my dear, obviously haven't had the pleasure of listening to one of Gilfonds rather brief tales.
Just kidding, Gil!!!
I really enjoyed my first story night and want to especially thank Queen Zen for the gate and McAndrews and Lady Ariana for making me feel so welcome.
I must confess I wasn't paying enough attention to Kemo's "Body Heat". If I had realized how offensive it was I would have never clapped I understand now why he was getting booed off stage. Alas, I found it much more interesting to check out everybody that was there and what they were wearing.
Sorry if my departure upstairs distracted from Spyderbytes talented tale. That ale McAndrews gave me was really taking effect and I had to find my way to the lady's room.
Congratulations on your win Daan. Although most of it was over Amber's newborn head. I have yet to encounter "flies" in this game and I know nothing of the elven scribe Otto speaks of. But even with my lack of experience it was well written. However, your lack of humility will make me think twice before voting for you again
Thanks to all who participated for a wonderful evening.
P.S. A special thank you to Lady Ariana for your hospitality and for helping to equip me with bandages and bow. I will think of you fondly as I train and use these valuable resources. I will certainly try to remember to always equip myself with bow in hand next time I venture out ( Those pesky vampire bats .)
You my dear, obviously haven't had the pleasure of listening to one of Gilfonds rather brief tales.
Just kidding, Gil!!!
[/ QUOTE ]
Aw come on... Gil's tales are short... like umm... what half an hour? Thats not so bad.
He isn't afraid to tell a tale. Which is more than can be said about most.
Thank CWS for another fine evening.
Amber Willow your spirit in these lands is a blessing. There are many in these lands willing to help out those like you.
Congratulations to Daan Mor, whose story leaves me anticipating the details of the blue elf and if it was her that turned into the big blue fly covered thing.
After the readings, some of us ventured out and decided that after next Tuesday's Story Night, we should plan on visiting Iantown's Swimming Pool and Hot Tub to rest the mind and body.
However, as I am WAKA *crosses self*, some of my guildmates may not be in such a restful mood as those wishing to rest in the hot and cold waters of the pools.
I will be making gates after storynight, (guess I need to speak with someone in Iantown about all this -- Ohhhh and I know a terrific entertainment act by .....Fiurg Strongarm ... he does the most amazing thing) feel free to jump through with either a bathing suit and towel or some other combination of items.
A whole night have fun for half the price!
Oh Yes -- Where was Gilfond?
And hell if i can get this sig to change@
Amber Willow your spirit in these lands is a blessing. There are many in these lands willing to help out those like you.
[/ QUOTE ] *Grins from ear to ear* I have found many in this community to be a mutual blessing. Someday I will do the same for other newbies venturing into Siege.