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Post by blantyr on Dec 21, 2015 1:39:04 GMT -5
Second post. Whoopdi do?
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Post by blantyr on Dec 20, 2015 0:00:31 GMT -5
Last I knew, we are still go for Dec 21st.
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Post by blantyr on Nov 15, 2015 8:15:15 GMT -5
I looked!
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Post by blantyr on Oct 19, 2015 15:12:48 GMT -5
Mother
It seems my task for Desna is done. The demon’s head and spine have been parted from the rest of him. The dragon has flown west into the sunset. I only fell in battle twice, seemingly with no lasting damage. Desna promised victory, darkness and death, and indeed kept her promises.
There is much tale to tell, and hopefully the time to tell it. This is the short version with neither melody nor rhyme scheme. The final version may never be done.
We lost the battle three times. We knew the first to cross the stream running across the battlefield would loose the battle, yet Sir Pauled charged forward as soon as the demon dryads presented flag and issued challenge. While the local forces on either flank did well, the men of Regium faltered and were on the verge of breaking. We knew we had to slay the dryad - demon queen, to draw out her demon master that possessed her. We knew not her master was a balrog, a no nonsense huge, whip, sword, wings and flame balrog, one that we had no chance of defeating. When he manifested our entire force broke and ran. Hey, our enemy’s entire force broke and ran too.
There were only two who remained in the face of the demon, Sir Pauled the fearless, and I at close by his side.
Unfortunately, I had fainted dead away and was not very useful.
After each of our three losses, the tide turned. Rather than hold Sir Pauled back from the stream, the water elemental who personifies the island’s streams moved the stream ahead of him, out of his reach. It was the enemy who found itself across the stream. I suspect this would be considered cheating, but chose not to complain. When our center was on the edge of breaking, Sir Pauled blew a horn, a gift of the valkyrie. Two frost giants answered the call, bringing with them some semblance of both chaos and stability. Then, when the demon rose, the dragon came.
I missed that part. The demon was simply too much. I likely did a right thing. Playing dead among the many dead turned out to be a prudent course. Still, my cheerful boast that I alone stayed by Sir Pauld’s side at the moment of his ultimate confrontation would be stronger had I been conscious at the time.
I’m told the final dialogue between Balzarius and Barrett the Black went as follows.
“Hail Beelzebub, Lord of Hell, I offer you a paladin in sacrifice!”
“I am the only god that will hear you now!”
In the end only three lived on the battle field, Sir Pauled, the dragon and I. I remember nothing of the dragon's battle, but the sight of Barrett was enough to tell the tale, that and the head and spine of Balzarius laying before her. It was not an easy fight, even for Barrett. Her skin was pierced by many a demonic weapon. No word was spoken aloud, though I understand she commanded Sir Pauled to give honorable burial to a Troglodyte shaman who had served her people long and well.
In the end the dragon flew into the west, and I finally dared to stir from basic ‘face down in the mud’ position. I am glad not to live in the west. Still, the cause for which I was called was finally clear. Tiberius, Sir Pauled and I had to force Balzarius to manifest, though only Barrett the Black could finish him. I don’t know whether it was Desna using Barrett, Barrett using Desna, or whether such beings are sometimes beyond the question of who used who.
No few fell. The one I was closet to was Joor the Door. I had stood by his side in a smaller battle at the walls of Gris, not all that long ago. This time my place was beside Pauld.
Queen Littlefey of Gris has come into her own. Two other friends of hers and mine had fallen, Tia the innkeeper, and a lunar naga who had shown us much wisdom. Queen Littlefay had two Jellybeans of Power, however, and they are now again among the living.
Our family has expanded. Queen Littlefay has been calling me mother. Does this make us royalty? I am the queen mother, and you her adopted sister? Shall we practice arrogance and snootiness? I am guessing not. I suspect House Littlefey is not going to be known for high snobbish haughtiness.
I gained another title as well, Lady of the Grey Marshes, given by the King of Regium no less. Sir Pauled has become Lord of Gris, he and his heirs. I have tried to convince him that he has taken on the Legate’s powers, that he rules the town of Gris, while I have taken over his control of the rest of the island. My plan is to make light of my authority and prestige while undertaking any responsibilities as quietly as possible. The humans care so much about who gives orders to whom. I’ve no desire to play those games. Still, the island has many peoples who have for the most part stood apart from one another. Perhaps I might help bring folks together somewhat.
Celevon has given me another directive, more immediate and specific than the King’s. He thinks the island hasn’t enough bridle paths. I think he is right, but if I am to maintain my status as a stealth warden, I must avoid such things as taxes and underlings.
Much to be done. There are graves to be dug, services to be held, songs of parting to be sung, and victory celebrations. I’ve many a tale to be composed into music. Much of the island’s past had been forgotten. I shall strive that both past and present shall be remembered. I’ve some traveling to do… Regium, Lillypayan, and of course Kyle’s Isle.
I shall be coming home. Perhaps not soon. It may be that I’ve enough to do that not this spring but next will be likely. Still, I shall be coming home.
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Post by blantyr on Oct 15, 2015 17:28:35 GMT -5
Mother
Is questing supposed to be melancholy? Is there supposed to be a sense of sadness and loss when going out to awaken a holy spirit, allow a great hero to find his rest, or vanquish an evil hag?
I’ve been a bad heroine. I think I’m supposed to be brave, brash, holy and hale. I don’t know. Pauld does that so well. Why try to compete? I think I’m supposed to be dutifully worshipful towards Desna and the other deities involved. Humble. Devout. Obedient. I don’t know that I’m properly worshipful. “All right, Desna, I’ll do it, just stop troubling my dreams.” I originally started this grand quest seeking to leave nothing undone so I might get a good night’s rest.
When will it be over with? When will the path be walked so I can start writing the songs to chronicle it?
We rode the East Road again. I felt like I was reminiscing, strolling a path of the past. Ah, there is where we met the Great Owl. There a dwarf fled, running from eternity. There I saw the Unicorn. Here the goat tried to charge the troll. There was where the Naga played her enchanted instrument to sing untroubled spirits to rest. And, yes, The Spear is still there. Does it truly pierce the tail of the Great Dragon, holding her pinioned in place?
My song is a sad one, written in a minor key, slow, fragile and lost.
A big horrible battle is coming. Even at its best, so much will be past and gone after.
A great hero, servant of the gods, battler against dragons, mighty among men, cried lost and lonely for his daughter.
A valkyrie, powerful beyond the like of mortals, more fair even than elven kind, lies sleeping, standing silent guard, doing her long duty, still in sleep and forever on guard.
A student of the stars, wise beyond years, long researching the fate of this land and its people, frantic as the work of years is blown as dust before the whims of the gods.
And my sword again bloodied. Useful things, swords. It has not seemed proper, before the great battle is fought, to pursue father’s lute. The dragon might object. Will the time come when I can put music ahead of blood, song ahead of fear?
Littlefey has been a bloody nuisance. Muck on one’s face. Washing one’s hair, forever and again. Off key accompaniment in front of prestigious audiences, ruining my performances. Loosing a goat that was needed in a given time and place. Ever so helpfully pointing out my mistakes whenever I failed to notice this or that. Charming, light hearted, humorous, fun, if one can only clench one’s teeth firmly in place and stop one’s self from screaming.
It turns out she’s a queen, the little one. If the fey of this island are to stir and live again, it is she who must sing them awake. If sing she can, the island might come alive again in one way at least. If sing them she can’t, she will die. Fey queens need queendoms. Some singers need a chorus.
I have tried not to beg favors of Desna. I’ve been a resentful reluctant follower. Wait. Not a follower. I have been ahead of her. She has been behind me, pushing. OK. OK. There is stuff to be done. My father was flawed. I’ll do what I can to make it good. But… Desna knows better than I what to do. I’ve been letting her do as needs be done, me dancing along a trail of stardust, playing my song, not presuming to ask for this favor or that. I’m just a singer. Who am I to ask favors of a goddess?
Tonight I found myself standing by the edge of the sea, not singing, not dancing, but thinking of Littlefay and screaming at the stars in tears. “You shall guide her song! Her song shall be your song! She has wings now! Let her fly! Let her fly forever!”
It has been a long path. One way or another, soon it shall be over.
Your melancholy baby Mithril
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Post by blantyr on Oct 4, 2015 1:18:55 GMT -5
Minor details.
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Post by blantyr on Oct 3, 2015 10:37:45 GMT -5
Joe said yesterday he was going to post a message saying we were on for Sunday. Thought I'd beat him to the punch.
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Post by blantyr on Sept 18, 2015 21:21:22 GMT -5
I'm good as well.
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Post by blantyr on Aug 28, 2015 13:05:42 GMT -5
Mithril is go!
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Post by blantyr on Aug 23, 2015 3:06:41 GMT -5
I'll be there.
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Post by blantyr on Aug 22, 2015 17:00:26 GMT -5
Tiberius's mistake might be in attempting to seek wisdom while dealing with the gods and a woman.
Give up. Situation beyond hope.
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Post by blantyr on Aug 22, 2015 12:29:48 GMT -5
Mother Dearest
I got the Silver Flute!
I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the Sliver Flute? It’s an award for music they give out at Regium at the spring and fall fairs. The first runner up was the leader of the Bardic College. That means I’m pretty good, and have to try not to be very smug.
Sir Pauled only came in second at knocking knights of horses with sticks. I guess I can be a little smug.
The Grey Isle seems to be quite a musical place after all. Three of the final six Silver Flute contestants were from the island. One is a tuba playing dwarf who often shares the floor with me at the Old hiss. I think he would do better if he didn’t try to play a brass duet with himself using his second set of lips. The other is a hobbit of Cranberry who claimed it was time that that the Silver Flute should return to the Big Apple. Actually, when pressed, he admitted that the Silver Flute had never been to the Big Apple.
I will have to offer to bring it there, just so the locals know what a Silver Flute looks like.
But no, he’s a good friend. Can’t rub it in too much. Or is that what friends are for?
Things are not getting less interesting. It seems that all of us have been recruited to recruit an army. I’m contributing a recruiting song, at least if I can figure out a rhyme scheme. Things have been hectic enough that my compositions haven’t been coming along well. I’m also hoping to get to the Isle of the Elves and the Sirens. I did their Queen of the Earrings a favor a while back, and am hoping she can contrite some aid. I was having trouble figuring out how I was to get to her island to ask for the help, but I was recently offered a pegasus ride there. I am spending more time than I ever expected in the air. First a carpet, then a gold dragon and now a pegasus.
Celevon is a fine mount. I am quite content.
I am trying to figure out if Kyle’s Isle is vaguely between the Grey Isle and the Isle of Elves and Sirens. There is a slight chance I might be able to make a brief visit.
I am wondering if I should try to recruit the unicorn?
And I talked for quite a while with a scholar who is studying the history of the island. I told him that if he wanted to see history in the making, a chance to see the Black Dragon arise in wrath, he should return with me. Some historian he turned out to be. He didn’t even want a chance to see a Great Dragon rise in wrath! He claimed he was interested in history, and would wait to record the tale until it was history. I hope I do better recruiting elves than I do historians.
Does anyone on Kyle’s Isle have a desire to fight in a desperate battle and see a Great Dragon rise in wrath?
Just wondering Mithril.
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Post by blantyr on Aug 14, 2015 14:13:26 GMT -5
I understand we are go for Saturday the 15th.
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Post by blantyr on Aug 12, 2015 22:43:18 GMT -5
I'm good for Saturday
Bob
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Post by blantyr on Aug 8, 2015 19:53:24 GMT -5
You do realize that until we have the next session, the snow on the island can't start to melt, and Mithril can't try out the new horseshoes?
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