Sunday, April 3, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The first draft of what follows
The Gods of Thule
In the great unfathomable nothing there was The great Wyrm. The serpant that swallows itself. Of this great wyrm came Od, Vil, and Ve the three that were one. From the Great Wyrm sprang other beings as well. The great Jotuns who did battle with The Three and a benevolant Ciel-dor, who lived in peace with the three and often aided The Three in there doings.
It is unclear why (much speculation lies here) but it is known that Od, Vil, and Ve begain to strive against one another. The Three tore them selves apart and from this epic struggle (Some say with the help of the Ciel ) emerged only Od. With the devine corpses of his brother and sister (Ve) Od created Hel-Od, that in old Thule they called Urd.
Urd being dualistic in nature begain to bring forth offspring deep within hill and dale. Strange creatures, Dvergr and the Trol, Kob-olds, and Gobs all prospered on and in the newly formed Urd. Then it was that the Ciel begain to fashion creatrures of thier own from the stuff of Urd. Birds, and beasts, trees, grasses, and flowering plants, and a race that looked much like themselves which in old Thule they called the Jel-dor. This knowledge they shared with Od. In turn he crafted his prodgeny called then Tul-or.
The fairest of these was called Bryg. Od soon became fascinated by Bryg, and so enamoured he became that by his devine nature he raised her up and she became his wife. By Od Bryg bore Brag finest of voice and verse, and the twins Tyr, and Tor, who constantley slay each other only to rise every morning with the coming of thier sister Sol, also was Hel who crawled into a deep cave at her birth and never comes to the surface, and Him, who watches for the end of time, and Ran who built her place in the sea and Ur, of the mountain folk and Best who loved the animal creatures of the Ciel thus giving them his name the generic word 'beasts', (father of the animal'kin) and thier sister El the hunter who slew Bests favorite lover. Then came Lok who loved Hel. From them come the Kel-dur. For Lok was no son of Ods but that of a crafty Ciel who tricked Bryg unto his bed.
And a host of others followed, heroes and gods alike but these are the chief among them.
V.
For a game I play
Creation, the Thular Perspective
As Told by Vakr and Thrull
In the time before the world was made chaos ruled the great Void, blind and unknowing of its own existence. But chaos was not alone, for also within the Void there turned Orm, the knowing circle, unbroken and wise to all that was. Yet all that was was Orm, the Void, and Chaos. As Chaos expanded into the darkness, forever reaching into the nothingness, Orm's influence began to wane and he knew he must also grow, for it is upon him to maintain balance in all things. So it was that Orm imagined himself a great maw to feed upon all that existed within the Void. Yet Orm himself was all that existed. Chaos had no material form. Orm was fire, and earth, and water, and life. Orm was light, and time itself. The circle of his form began to feed upon itself and thuswise did Orm become the Great Wyrm that swallows itself, leading all things back to their beginning, if a beginning there ever was. Though Orm consumed only himself, he grew. It was Chaos, unknowing and unlawful, which had unwittingly permitted something to come from nothing. For when chaos reigns and nothing makes sense, the nonsensical restores the balance by breaking the basic laws of existence. This is magic.
First from the body of Orm came Od, Vil, and Ve, the three that were one. Yet from Chaos emerged the imbalancing force of Desire. This chaotic force infected all that Orm created and tore the three assunder so that at last they began to strive against one another. Ever did Chaos exert its mighty influence upon Orm's growth and other beings sprang unsommoned from the flesh of the Great Wyrm as well. As he formed from his breath the benevolent Ciel-dur, who often aided the Three in their doings, so also from the peaks of his spine emerged the great Jotuns, who did battle with the Three. Though mostly pure of intention, self-righteous too were the Ciel-dur, and some say they saw their likeness most closely in Od and came to his aid. It was Od alone who emerged from the epic struggle of The Three.
With the divine corpses of his brother Vil and his sister Ve, Od created Urd. The two were again one, and Urd, being conflicted and restless in nature, began in secret to fashion offspring of his own. These he kept hidden deep within his body and strange creatures they were. Duergar and Trolls. Kobolds and Goblins. All prospered in the darker regions of Urd's form, but the imbalancing nature of their very existence spawned chaotic forces of magic deep within him. Urd suffered greatly during this time. Mountains arose from his flesh as molten lava sprung forth from his veins. His skin cracked and brackish waters seeped forth until it filled his deep and grievous wounds. And at the last the spirits of air left his lungs and hung above him in the dark sky, often weeping upon his still face. Yet somewhere deep within his body the heart of Urd still beats.
It was then that Od, so grieved by his sibling-child's demise, bid the Ciel-dur go unto him, and this they did. As Od sat burning in the Void, ever-watching, many of the Ciel-dur descended upon Urd and made of his body their home. There they discovered the magic welling forth from his flesh and with it they began to quell the fires and still the raging waters. Yet Urd still slumbered. In time, some of Urd's creatures crept from the deep places and moved into hills and dales and dark places where they could remain hidden from Od's sight. When the Ciel-dur discovered them they knew at once the work they must do. Quickly they began to fashion creatures of thier own. Birds, beasts, trees, grasses, and flowering plants were raised beneath Od's approving gaze. But to Od's dismay, the Ciel-dur soon wearied of their task and placed the highest of their creations above all others as wardens in their stead. These were the elves and Od distrusted them. The Ciel-dur had taught them to wield magic, and Od knew they would soon be corrupted by it. But the Ciel-dur were proud, for they too were the direct offspring of Orm, and they refused to unmake their most beloved children. So it came to pass that Od, who loved Urd, and the Ciel-dur, who loved what they had made of him, turned upon each other. Od knew he could not ally himself with Urd's children, for they were his malady. So instead he crafted sturdy men, built to learn and adapt and conquer... and that they did. Despite their magic, their wisdom, and even the aid of the Ciel-dur, the elves were eventually destroyed.
After this time many of the Ciel-dur left Urd, but some remained, for these had come to greatly love their creations. Men spread across the face of Urd, splitting into factions. But though Od had given men great intellect and stalwart hearts, he had also given them mortality so that none may become too wise. Angered by this curse most men eventually became godless or raised godlike witch-kings of their own with magic stolen from the elves. Some even turned to the Ciel-dur. Of these, there are those who claim to carry the blood of the last elves in their veins, and few doubt them. These are the Gaeldors, who turned their backs on Od even before the elves were defeated.
Yet not all men had forsaken their creator. In the cold north, where the Ciel-dur were weakest, the blood of men flowed most pure. It was here that Od found a bastion of faithful in the days when men were slowly forgetting his name. In this time there were 13 tribes, each with its own ting, or gathering, but once a year a great ting was gathered and in that place they were one people, the Thular. The fairest of
these was called Bryg, daughter of Inger. Od soon became fascinated by Bryg, and so enamoured he became that by his devine nature he raised her up into the night sky and she became his wife. By Od Bryg bore Brag, finest of voice and verse, and the twins Tyr and Tor, who constantly slay each other only to rise each morning with the return of their father to his watchful seat in the heavens. Also born was Hel, who crawled into a deep cave at her birth and never comes to the surface. Then there is Him, who watches for the end of time, and Ran who built her place in the sea, and Ur of the mountain folk, and Best who loved the animal creatures of the Ciel-dur and bid some of them to walk and speak like men, and their sister El the hunter who slew Bests favorite lover. Last came Lok who loved Hel, for he was no son of Od's, but that of a crafty Ciel-dur who tricked Bryg unto his bed. Others are spoken of, heroes and gods alike, but these are the chief amongst them.
As Told by Vakr and Thrull
In the time before the world was made chaos ruled the great Void, blind and unknowing of its own existence. But chaos was not alone, for also within the Void there turned Orm, the knowing circle, unbroken and wise to all that was. Yet all that was was Orm, the Void, and Chaos. As Chaos expanded into the darkness, forever reaching into the nothingness, Orm's influence began to wane and he knew he must also grow, for it is upon him to maintain balance in all things. So it was that Orm imagined himself a great maw to feed upon all that existed within the Void. Yet Orm himself was all that existed. Chaos had no material form. Orm was fire, and earth, and water, and life. Orm was light, and time itself. The circle of his form began to feed upon itself and thuswise did Orm become the Great Wyrm that swallows itself, leading all things back to their beginning, if a beginning there ever was. Though Orm consumed only himself, he grew. It was Chaos, unknowing and unlawful, which had unwittingly permitted something to come from nothing. For when chaos reigns and nothing makes sense, the nonsensical restores the balance by breaking the basic laws of existence. This is magic.
First from the body of Orm came Od, Vil, and Ve, the three that were one. Yet from Chaos emerged the imbalancing force of Desire. This chaotic force infected all that Orm created and tore the three assunder so that at last they began to strive against one another. Ever did Chaos exert its mighty influence upon Orm's growth and other beings sprang unsommoned from the flesh of the Great Wyrm as well. As he formed from his breath the benevolent Ciel-dur, who often aided the Three in their doings, so also from the peaks of his spine emerged the great Jotuns, who did battle with the Three. Though mostly pure of intention, self-righteous too were the Ciel-dur, and some say they saw their likeness most closely in Od and came to his aid. It was Od alone who emerged from the epic struggle of The Three.
With the divine corpses of his brother Vil and his sister Ve, Od created Urd. The two were again one, and Urd, being conflicted and restless in nature, began in secret to fashion offspring of his own. These he kept hidden deep within his body and strange creatures they were. Duergar and Trolls. Kobolds and Goblins. All prospered in the darker regions of Urd's form, but the imbalancing nature of their very existence spawned chaotic forces of magic deep within him. Urd suffered greatly during this time. Mountains arose from his flesh as molten lava sprung forth from his veins. His skin cracked and brackish waters seeped forth until it filled his deep and grievous wounds. And at the last the spirits of air left his lungs and hung above him in the dark sky, often weeping upon his still face. Yet somewhere deep within his body the heart of Urd still beats.
It was then that Od, so grieved by his sibling-child's demise, bid the Ciel-dur go unto him, and this they did. As Od sat burning in the Void, ever-watching, many of the Ciel-dur descended upon Urd and made of his body their home. There they discovered the magic welling forth from his flesh and with it they began to quell the fires and still the raging waters. Yet Urd still slumbered. In time, some of Urd's creatures crept from the deep places and moved into hills and dales and dark places where they could remain hidden from Od's sight. When the Ciel-dur discovered them they knew at once the work they must do. Quickly they began to fashion creatures of thier own. Birds, beasts, trees, grasses, and flowering plants were raised beneath Od's approving gaze. But to Od's dismay, the Ciel-dur soon wearied of their task and placed the highest of their creations above all others as wardens in their stead. These were the elves and Od distrusted them. The Ciel-dur had taught them to wield magic, and Od knew they would soon be corrupted by it. But the Ciel-dur were proud, for they too were the direct offspring of Orm, and they refused to unmake their most beloved children. So it came to pass that Od, who loved Urd, and the Ciel-dur, who loved what they had made of him, turned upon each other. Od knew he could not ally himself with Urd's children, for they were his malady. So instead he crafted sturdy men, built to learn and adapt and conquer... and that they did. Despite their magic, their wisdom, and even the aid of the Ciel-dur, the elves were eventually destroyed.
After this time many of the Ciel-dur left Urd, but some remained, for these had come to greatly love their creations. Men spread across the face of Urd, splitting into factions. But though Od had given men great intellect and stalwart hearts, he had also given them mortality so that none may become too wise. Angered by this curse most men eventually became godless or raised godlike witch-kings of their own with magic stolen from the elves. Some even turned to the Ciel-dur. Of these, there are those who claim to carry the blood of the last elves in their veins, and few doubt them. These are the Gaeldors, who turned their backs on Od even before the elves were defeated.
Yet not all men had forsaken their creator. In the cold north, where the Ciel-dur were weakest, the blood of men flowed most pure. It was here that Od found a bastion of faithful in the days when men were slowly forgetting his name. In this time there were 13 tribes, each with its own ting, or gathering, but once a year a great ting was gathered and in that place they were one people, the Thular. The fairest of
these was called Bryg, daughter of Inger. Od soon became fascinated by Bryg, and so enamoured he became that by his devine nature he raised her up into the night sky and she became his wife. By Od Bryg bore Brag, finest of voice and verse, and the twins Tyr and Tor, who constantly slay each other only to rise each morning with the return of their father to his watchful seat in the heavens. Also born was Hel, who crawled into a deep cave at her birth and never comes to the surface. Then there is Him, who watches for the end of time, and Ran who built her place in the sea, and Ur of the mountain folk, and Best who loved the animal creatures of the Ciel-dur and bid some of them to walk and speak like men, and their sister El the hunter who slew Bests favorite lover. Last came Lok who loved Hel, for he was no son of Od's, but that of a crafty Ciel-dur who tricked Bryg unto his bed. Others are spoken of, heroes and gods alike, but these are the chief amongst them.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
1066 (Unfinished)
Well Duke William came a sailing one fine autumn day
Across the English Channel from nearby Normandy
But Harold King of England
Far away in Stamford
G’ainst a mean old king of Norway
Who had the very same name.
Now Godwinson secured the north
Harralds Vikings afraid of thier blades
He turned his troops abruptly about
And double-timed all the way.
They marched and marched and marching south
They deserted along the way.
They needed to reap the harvest for a hungry winter day.
Now Godwinson with weary troops to Hastings
To find his doom or defend his noble claim
But Kings by God or the Pope are made.
And William believed in his crusade.
He would have that crown for which he’d prayed.
See Harold covered in clay.
Well William charged and charged again
The English they broke ranks
They Chased old William down the hill
Exposing there ass and flanks.
So the horses came a galloping in.
And to the Huskarls put an end.
A third of the fourth of the firth
Laid into their graves.
Young King Harold Godwinson
Alas he too was slain.
And arrow from an unknown bow
Into his royal brain.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Queen Kiras Castle
Her Majesty she wished to play.
So she went to her counting house.
For hounds the were coursing far away
But all she found was a lousy mouse
Munching on some moldy cheese
“This will not do!” she cried.
“I am not pleased!
There is no money in my treasury!”
Then a simple page announced the day.
With an envelope in hand
“Happy birthday your Majesty!
I’ll shout it across the land.
And I’ll give you ten farthings
To help with your plans
I hope that it makes your day grand.
May you reign forever with a loving hand.”Sunday, January 30, 2011
It Is Only A Matter Of Time.
Thy skin and bones are laid to rest.
Whilst thy soul flies free of the dust.
Ashes to star-stuff so we must
All fade away.
The noble dead are trapped in our hearts.
Their songs linger in our mind.
Pleased to play the part.
They beckon us join them in kind.
The mortal weave being complete
Is only a matter of time.
Use thy pen to a pleasant end.
Let not thy colors bleed.
When the serpent has swallowed his tail
And you wander the worlds between.
Will we in our earthly gardens
Remember that your weeds were watered,
Well planted and green?
Friday, January 28, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
The Innebriated Inn-Keep. (The Lazy Knights Companions)
"Oh where is the master of the inn?
The leaping fire lays low.
We are thirsty and need more gin."
This from a traveler fresh from the road.
The stable-boy said with a childhood grin.
"He's soused sir.
He lies with his head in the loo.
I fear he quaffed all your gin.
And there is naught a small boy like me can do.
The porcelain god has claimed his due.
I'll stable your horse sir and show you in.
The good-wife's awake and keeps a hot stew.
And if ye've got gold she'll tumble you too.
But there is naught that a boy like me can do.
With no gold in my pocket to trade for some stew.
I sir, shall have to settle for Soup."
Shaking his head the tired traveler said.
"Thank ye son. I just need a bed.
But if you'll bring stew to a quiet room
a hot pan of water and some linens too,
I may put half of that gold in your pocket for you.
What this! There is a goat in my room!!
"Don't mind her sir."
The glimmer of gold in his sly grin
"And I've managed to pilfer a measure of gin.
I'll be back right quick, with linens and stew."
Snapping his fingers he yelled at the goat
With a fancy ribbon tied at it's throat.
"Get out of here you!
Come on come with me!
Come on darling Soup!"
The leaping fire lays low.
We are thirsty and need more gin."
This from a traveler fresh from the road.
The stable-boy said with a childhood grin.
"He's soused sir.
He lies with his head in the loo.
I fear he quaffed all your gin.
And there is naught a small boy like me can do.
The porcelain god has claimed his due.
I'll stable your horse sir and show you in.
The good-wife's awake and keeps a hot stew.
And if ye've got gold she'll tumble you too.
But there is naught that a boy like me can do.
With no gold in my pocket to trade for some stew.
I sir, shall have to settle for Soup."
Shaking his head the tired traveler said.
"Thank ye son. I just need a bed.
But if you'll bring stew to a quiet room
a hot pan of water and some linens too,
I may put half of that gold in your pocket for you.
What this! There is a goat in my room!!
"Don't mind her sir."
The glimmer of gold in his sly grin
"And I've managed to pilfer a measure of gin.
I'll be back right quick, with linens and stew."
Snapping his fingers he yelled at the goat
With a fancy ribbon tied at it's throat.
"Get out of here you!
Come on come with me!
Come on darling Soup!"
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Monday 1 3 11
I hope you are having a good year
Mine is droll with out you I fear.
Yet my love burns bright
Though cold be the black night.
As we wait for thee and I to meet.
That bright love is ours to keep.
While the worm turns
And the world sleeps.
This fire burns.
Hot as the seasons turn
And father time reaps
A path through the bleak
Mortal viels weave
In dreams,
In your arms I sleep.
Mine is droll with out you I fear.
Yet my love burns bright
Though cold be the black night.
As we wait for thee and I to meet.
That bright love is ours to keep.
While the worm turns
And the world sleeps.
This fire burns.
Hot as the seasons turn
And father time reaps
A path through the bleak
Mortal viels weave
In dreams,
In your arms I sleep.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Oh Where Did You Go?
The sun was bright and blazed in my eyes.
I bitched and moaned and wined and cried.
At the vile orb and it’s burning light.
Now he is gone and we are blind in the fog.
Shivering, wet, and cold.
Oh where did you go,
Lord of life, maker of sky?
We are miserable now.
Did you seek warmer clime
Far to the south where the coconuts grow
Sailed away in your chariot-boat
To dangle your toes from a white beach coast?
The trees are heavy with ice and snow,
Sagging and drooping ‘neath the load.
And it takes a sleigh to travel the roads.
Oh we implore, please don’t be long.
Shivering, wet and cold.
Oh where did you go,
Maker of sky, lord of life?
Come shine, and blaze in my eyes.
We won’t bitch, or moan or wine or cry.
We love the sweet orb and its burning light.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Knight of Flowers
Little Keldoran shivered, it was not so cold on this night but he had fallen into a frigid irrigation ditch in his haste to report what he had seen to the good folk of the Glastongrimmine Manor. The offending channel ran beneath a rickety old corral fence that divided the yard proper from the cart path and enclosures and he had slipped right in on his way over, he was streaked with mud and a little of his own blood seeped from a nasty scrape on his left arm.
“There now, have some hot cidermull and explain yourself” cooed mistress Orrin as she brushed Keldoran’s sodden hair from his face and daubed at the grime around his newest wound. This was nothing new, a bruised up peasant boy in her kitchen. Bathtilde Orrin cared for most of the farm boys who came from the near by village of Scyldis to work her masters fields for the growing seasons, boys always had cuts and contusions to be cleaned and bandaged, and she kept a good store of healing salves and various oppilatives, along with Lordia and Levenseep at a modest cost to Master Glassman who owned the summer-manse and the fields and forest around it.
Chief Parminster Aldwin Grump stood near, hunched over a wicked looking pitch fork. The device was decidedly made for more than tossing hay and grain around. The elaborate set of proofing he wore about his stout frame suggested that he was used to more than just cuffing farm boys and shepherds. A steep of bloodmarks trailing a thin line down his thick neck bore testament to more than one victory over nicker-kind. He was eying Keldoran now with a keen look of anticipation. A sighting of boggles in the woods was often reported first by the simple field hands who toiled next to the terribly threwdish Matsch-mire. The hour was late, just after sun down and it was known that the more malicious of nicker folk took advantage of darkness, using it as cover for their heinous acts of trippery.
Keldoran began his tale drawing himself up to appear brave before Farm Chief Aldwin. “Well we was late herding the livestock into their night-pens.” Keldoran’s brown eyes were wide, and he trembled slightly as he spoke. “A goose sir, tried to take wing, it hopped about something fierce and made for the open pasture headed for the
Brundle-stream. I chased it all the way to the Matsch-mire. Then I saw something, something big, on the edge of the deep wood creeping through the shadows of the ancient oaks.” Here Keldoran shifted in his chair and pulled away as Bathtilde ran her wicken cloth over his now stinging abrasion.
Chieftain Grump interjected with a sharp intake of breath. “It was that Stoopback Horned Widderlichen they’ve been seeing down by Scyldis. Were’nt it boy? I’ll give my best triquarter if it was’nt! Young Murlow was saying how Master Glassman’s pigs shied from the forest this morn, when normally they is wote to go charging in after acorns straightaway!” He started for the solid oak door leading to the yard, clearly meaning to deal with the nattering beast as quick as he could. “No time to wait for a Writ of Singular.” He exclaimed. “We know where it is. Bathtilde, send to the far meadow house for Mr. Fricke, and his gang of scollops.”
“Wait!” cried Keldoran in an excited tone. “The blighter is done in! I saw ‘im put down sir.”
Grump halted dead, and slowly turned, peering at the sun browned farm boy. Keldoran hurried on, his eyes growing wider and his voice more lilting at his next statement, truly a boy in wonder.
“It was Sir Eschelon Flowers sir!” Now he hopped from his stool and began to illustrate his tale with wild gesticulations, a bright grin on his now clean mug. ”It was The Once and Again Aster Star of The Empire!”
Lady Bathtilde Orrin shushed him in the way mothers and wet-maids have. “Don’t use that title Keldoran!” She exclaimed, abashed.
“Aye lad” Aldwin said in his gentle tone. “I don’t give a wits bald arse, but it’s not something to be said around your average everyman. Keep up with what ye eye-balled son.”
“Yes’m Grump, sir. The boggle spied me sir and leapt straight for me, springing from the woods. I reckoned’ it was the Horned Widderlichen, for I that’s almost all I reckd’ a wolf’s face with four wicked horns like a goat’s and a grinning sneer, with enough teeth to smatter a whole brace of conies. I thought it was knickers-end for me sir, but it snatched up the goose and paused to shake it down its gullet. Then came lighting sir, and I thought I was done in twice!” Keldoran’s exuberant simulation of what came next almost upset the pot of cidermull steeping on the kitchen’s permanent laborium.
“The Duke of Flowers did it! He sizzled the nucker and leapt in with his heater and bastard. He knocked away two blows of vicious claws and broke a horn.” Keldoran fumbled in sack cloth trews and produced a piece of black ivory. “Then the thing lit the ground, backed up and ran at The Lord Aster. Aster sir, he just stepped aside and slid his bastard into the beastie’s shoulder, there was burst of sparks like a Midtide reporter and an awful stink settled onto the turf.”
“Go on Keld”, urged Parminster Grump enthralled with the story now as if he were watching one of Pendrift’s panto-play’s in far off Boschenburg.
“Well that was it sir. His grace stood for a moment with his head bowed as if he were sad to have smitten the dastard, his long mustachio drooping.
Then he turned and looked to me, he had a fabulous harness, the like of what you never saw!” Keldoran’s oration took on a tone of admiration, and Bathtilde smiled a knowing smile. Many a young boy in these parts exchanged stories of the Duke of Flowers the famous Haacobian knight, who hailed from this very region all be it a little farther to the west in Braumschtick. And all of them knew full well that he had been put to the pillet for sedition and forced to flee the capitol and now roamed about the Half Continent lending his fulgarities where they needed to monster and every man alike.
Grump helped himself to a pot of steaming cider mull and dug about for a cold beef clumsy as Keldoran carried on. “His habiliment sir, it was brilliant! A thick sable and claret brocade, it must have been made by the finest cloth-smiths sir, no cloth or leather glimmers like that. And it had wondrous small flowers in silver filigree all about it, of many colors sir, so many that rainbows danced across its surface when ever he moved about and when he would arc, those filigree flowers would light up like burning star coms. ” Keldoran’s eyes could not get any wider the brown orbs fairly bulging from his sun dark dial. “Then he said to me. ‘Wretchin’s will be wretchin’s lad, and it’s not every every-man as deserves to be wretched.’ He turned into the halt-mire woods then sir, and I thought I caught a glimpse of Esquires Autumn, and The Bittern of The Mark his factotum’s sir, in the deeper gloom beneath an hoary old oak tree’s branches. And then they were gone, melted into the night-scrub and shadows, with only a small jingle of Master Eschelon’s spurs.”
“By the Glassmasters arse” exclaimed Grump “I don’t know why lad but I believe ye don’t be telling me a fantastico. We’ll be out to skrive the area tomorrow Fricke and me, we’ll find if the blighter had any shard-born gibbert-jacks lurking around with him.” He put fond hand on the boys shoulder. “Well a night to ye lad, get decent rest-over. I’ll roust ye come morn to show us where the Widderlichen was vascerated.”
Lady Orrin slyly tried to slip an obtorpe into another pot of cidermull for Keldoran, but not sly enough. The perceptive lad tossed it back but held the draught in his mouth until he was out the door where he promptly spat it to the dirt. Then it was off across the enclosures toward the far meadows.
Day light awoke to find Chief Parmister of Glastongrimmine Manor-House Aldwin Grump stalking across the yard, casting dirty looks at any early rising faraday that caught his eye. “Bathtilde!” He was hollering as loud as his pipes would blow. “Have ye seen that nearly wretched lad? He is naught to be found, and Mister Fricke’s scads’ is missing a fowling piece and a flammagon.” Behind him stumped the rotund Mister Fricke, his almost elephantine corpulence oozing around his lacquered harness, cold eyes small and hard in his puffy face.
Bathtilde emerged, swishing through the divided door of the manor kitchen and across the threshold into the yard; a well used broom poised in her hands her cheeks rosy in the crisp morning air. She had her famous knowing smile writ upon her face, and Aldwin could almost guess what had transpired. “He left a note sir, and eighteen scruples.”
Aldwin sputtered. ”Bu but where?”
Bathtilde’s eyes sparkled. ”He’s run off with The Duke of Flowers, of course.”
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Her beauty
Angels came to play today.
I showed them a vision of you.
They turned away in shame
At the power of thy flame
Crying to the glory of god
Blessing thy beloved name
Some flowers were weeping
And wilting
I asked, “Why do you cry?”
One brilliant rose,
A flower queen replied.
“We have found beauty greater than I.”
A chest of jewels sparkled in the sun
The wealth of the whole known world
But their luster paled every one.
At the beam of a certain blushing girl
The bright burning goddess of love
Thy glowing banner unfurled.
A gift to creation below and above.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Castle Rachelle
Ever have I loved thee.
Like wandering pilgrims we were lost
Our love made to wait.
Far from our castle of dreams
Our ships on stormy seas tossed.
Blame naught but fickle fate.
As I thought thee gone
Lost in the dim world so grey
Weeping and crying “too late”.
The spark in my heart carried on
Quietly sleeping, bemoaning the day.
Loving you always,
Now thank fickle fate.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Cold Bird
I see you in every cold bird that flies by
Or perches on tree or pole.
You smile at me from places on high,
A song for my heart and my soul.
Winter wind will howl and scream
With wailing voice, and mourn full moan.
Closing my eyes I imagine thee,
Pray you are warm at home.
I think of your kiss with lips that smile.
Thy bright fiery eyes alight
The sad distance, the cruel mile.
Yet I know each day and night.
We are never apart
Always blessed by that
Gentle love in our hearts.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
A Thanksgiving prayer.
Oh Lord and Lady, we thank thee for another day. Thy innumerable gifts do not go unappreciated. Be with our loved ones as you always are and grant us your devine favor. Open our eyes that we may behold the path of love and follow it, straying not onto crooked ways. Keep us warm through out your cold season and grant us a taste from thy cauldron of plenty. Let us exercise temperance as we interact with our brothers and sisters, refraining from assumptions and condemnation. Hold close the spirits of our ancestors and friends who have slipped back through thy fragile veil. Bid them keep a place for us in thy immortal kingdom.
With gratitude,
in the name of thy sons and daughters,
so be it!
With gratitude,
in the name of thy sons and daughters,
so be it!
Friday, November 5, 2010
The Polar Bear Queen
Hear now the tale of The Polar Bear Queen
In the north she rules, missing her pale king
Over flowing ice drifts a frosty dream
Riding forever loves eternal ring.
Long lazy circles bring the falcon bold
Swiftly from the blue crystal autumn sky
Fluttering feathers that shine in the cold
A message she bears in her piercing cry.
Though the trouble some old journey is long
A grim loneliness haunts his never-sleep
And the season flees her lover’s dark song
So fly must he soon to her warmed keep.
To the cherished embrace of her circled arms
Her mysterious spell, and delightful charms.
In the north she rules, missing her pale king
Over flowing ice drifts a frosty dream
Riding forever loves eternal ring.
Long lazy circles bring the falcon bold
Swiftly from the blue crystal autumn sky
Fluttering feathers that shine in the cold
A message she bears in her piercing cry.
Though the trouble some old journey is long
A grim loneliness haunts his never-sleep
And the season flees her lover’s dark song
So fly must he soon to her warmed keep.
To the cherished embrace of her circled arms
Her mysterious spell, and delightful charms.
Monday, November 1, 2010
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