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Tales at the Golden Unicorn: A Retelling

Discussion in 'UO Siege Perilous' started by Angharad Longbow, Aug 3, 2006.

  1. Although selections were few at Wispwood's Taletelling at The Golden Unicorn last eve, their quality was unimpeachable, and a goodly crowd gathered to cheer the telling of them:

    <blockquote><hr>

    First of the eve was Aeric Horn, wi' the stirring "The Squire's Joust"

    Sir Red...the Knight of Valor
    Made sure he drew the Black
    A right good man, a fightin' man
    None better at yer back.

    His mount reared up a flailin
    And Black he got the jump
    A gallopin', and gallopin'
    Knocked Red clean past the stump.

    And now White Knight Sir Honor
    Fixed helmet, lance and shield
    He paced around, then raced around...
    Best charger on the field.

    Sir Black he was a waitin
    Like a wordless spectre he
    The speed of them, the both of them!
    Sent Sir Honor to his knees.

    And now the Blue Sir Honesty
    A stalwart strappin' lad
    A nod to the lasses, a grin for the lasses
    Sparklin', shinin' and armorclad.

    The Black stood on the ready
    Nary breath,and no fatigue
    Black faster now, Blue slowin' down
    For Blue there's no relief.

    Now Black he stands center
    Like a crow in empty fields
    "Is there no one, is there no one
    Who'll do anything 'cept yield?"

    A young man stepped up to the gate
    A spry and earnest son
    He suited up, then mounted up
    "Sir Black, you've not yet won!"

    A Shield he got from Valor
    Lance from Honor, helm from Blue
    He faced the Black, then raced the Black
    And beat the Black it's true.

    The squire's face.. full of resolve
    His dare beyond belief
    With the force of all, Evil falls
    And we all can live in peace.

    [/ QUOTE ]

    <blockquote><hr>

    Hoffs took the stage next, wi' a preamble for her moving piece:
    Ah, where to begin...Earlier today, whilst searching through some old chests, I came upon a brief poem written many, many seasons past and never before told. In these days when war is glorified, it is all too easy to forget those whose lives it destroys; the villagers, the crafters, the young, the innocent. For a while recently, The Shire of Wispwood was home to a somewhat wild man of The Highlands. Uncouth he was, oft drunk, and always looking for a fight. But he was courteous in his own way. He pursued my affections for a time, and seemed aghast that I did not return them in kind. Although he has long gone from us now, vanished into the night, I offer this poem as some degree of explanation. I have no title for it.

    We sat against the wooden desks, our letters and numbers to learn.
    We sat before the tutor's gaze, his face and words so stern.
    The wide-eyed boy with the cheeky grin, mocking the teacher's style,
    Met the eyes of a nervous, brown-haired lass, who couldn't help but smile.

    We toiled amidst the fields of barley, the summer crop to harvest.
    We toiled beneath a blazing Ra, the furnace at its harshest.
    As strength and vigour failed a young body, to continue I was loathe,
    You lay me in the shade to rest, and took the work of both.

    We lay among the folds of pasture, the heather at our feet.
    We lay amidst the ebbing twilight, the waxing moon to greet.
    As silvery emulsion swept the meadow and bathed our burning skin,
    We embraced the fires of flaming passion, and love flowed deep within.

    We stood inside the shrine of joining, before the ankh of stone.
    We stood together hand-in-hand, as the hierophant opened his tomb.
    The words of binding pierced the veil, there witnessed by every ear,
    The rite of souls united, always to adhere.

    We sheltered inside our house of oak, built by your steady hand.
    We sheltered from the winter tempest, as white shrouds covered the land.
    By orange firelight you lovingly fashioned, a cot so fine to see,
    To mark that day in months to come, when two would turn to three.

    We listened to the bells ring loud, upon the tower afore,
    We listened not to New Year's chiming, but to the heralds of war.
    The plague of evil had descended, the world was torn asunder.
    In the valleys the torches flickered like lightning and the battle drums roared like thunder.

    We embraced beside the old town gates, my arms clinging on so tight.
    We embraced under a morning sun that seemed to shed no light.
    You joined the others in the ranks, both villager and warrior fell in,
    And tears rolled from my aching eyes, like mountain streams in spring.

    I gazed upon the stark, grey sentinels, each marking a place of sorrow.
    I gazed upon the ruins of today, and the yawning chasm of tomorrow.
    Beneath my feet, under body now barren, two graves marked side-by-side,
    With memories that will blaze forever, and a grief that will never subside.

    [/ QUOTE ]

    <blockquote><hr>

    Closing out the eve was yours truly, wi' "The Spellcaster"

    The wizard, watchful, waits alone
    Within his tower of cold, grey stone
    And ponders in his wicked way
    What evil deeds he'll do this day.
    He's tall and thin, with wrinkled skin;
    A tangled beard hangs fron his chin.
    His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes set deep -
    He scarcely eats, he needs no sleep.

    His fingers wave arcane commands;
    Ten bony sticks on withered hands.
    His flowing cloak is smirched with grime -
    He's worn it since the dawn of time.
    Upon his hat, in silver lines,
    Are pictured necromantic signs;
    Symbols of the awesome power
    Of the wizard, alone in cold, stone tower.

    He scans his mystic stock in trade -
    Charms to fetch a daemon's aid,
    Seething stews of purplish potions,
    Throbbing thaumaturgic lotions,
    Supernatural tracts and tomes
    Replete with lore of elves and gnomes,
    Tailsmans, amulets and willowy wand
    To summon spirits from far beyond.

    He spies a bullfrog by the door
    And stooping, scoops it from the floor
    He flicks his wand - the frog's a flea
    Through elemental sorcery
    The flea hops once, the flea hops twice,
    The flea becomes a pair of mice
    That dive into a bubbling brew
    Emerging as one ****atoo.

    The wizard laughs a hollow laugh -
    The soaking bird's reduced by half
    And when, perplexed, it begins to squawk,
    The wizard turns it into chalk
    With which he deftly writes a spell
    That makes the chalk a silver bell
    Which tinkles in the ashen air
    Till *flash*...a fire burns brightly there

    He gestures with an ancient knack
    To try and bring the bullfrog back.
    Another *flash!*...no flame now burns
    As once again the frog returns.
    But when it bounds about in fear,
    The wizard shouts, 'Begone from here!",
    And midway through a frightened croak
    It vanishes in clouds of smoke.

    The wizard smirks a fiendish smirk,
    Reflecting on the woes he'll work
    As he consults a dusty text
    And checks which hex he'll conjure next.
    He may pluck someone off the spot
    And turn him into...who knows what?
    Should you encounter a toad or a lizard,
    Look closely...it may be the work of a wizard!

    [/ QUOTE ]
     
  2. Slifer

    Slifer Guest

    Sorry I couldnt bless you guys with my hippie story..
     
  3. absimiliard

    absimiliard Guest

    *Riding in on a foul smelling beast Lindi stops for a moment.*

    Good story. Think next week come I. Have good story tell I.

    Bring savage tribes Wispwood. Smoke peace pipe that night with all.

    *Rides off*
     
  4. Guest

    Guest Guest

    Great stories! Thank you for retelling them for us Angharad. [​IMG]