Post by Aedon on May 12, 2011 0:05:06 GMT -8
I have spent the past few days trying to figure out a few things troubling my mind.
First, how did I so under count the guests for the dinner party? I was more than a bit embarrassed when I found that I did not have enough table space for those who were there. Oh, food and drink were aplenty, and even though they smiled gracefully, I could not help but wish I had over-planned instead of cutting myself short there.
Second, what is it about huge crowds which cause me to get the shakes? I am sure that many around the table were well aware of my discomfort. Hell, some may have even been a wee bit amused by it. But I could do little for the greater part of the night than stand there doing my best to conceal my utter fear of the number of folks surrounding me.
Was I always this awkward?
Third, what the feck is the deal with all these llamas, and why do they keep following me around?
The dinner party seemed to be going well in spite of my many foibles. The guests talked cordially with one another as more and more arrived. I took the drink orders, and enlisted some aid in seeing that each guest was served a meal. As I was looking across towards Deckard, I noticed folks were staring towards the entrance of the garden. Turing, I saw what appeared to be a not-too-tall figure, heavily robed.
He called my name, acted as though he knew me well. But the words he spoke confused me, and no question that I asked provided me with an answer that would quell my complete and utter confusion. He went on for a time, speaking in rhyme for the most part. I have written down here, to the best of my recollection what he had said.
Aedon; a man quite contrary.
Who could say were he human or fairy?
That the pooka kow-tow
To so errant as thou
Is a marvelous mystery, very.
My name does not import a thing.
Though give you much to wondering,
Still not a yell nor whispering
Shall bear my name to thee.
Aedon King of Aegis ale
And wine, thy wrinkles tell a tale
Too grand for any tavern hall
Or castle wall to bear.
Yet, fill my cup to bubble-up,
And I will secrets share
With he whose mead is fair.
I offered the man a drink, and accepting one, he sat and drank. There was an oddness about him. A profound weariness of spirit which seemed to emanate from deep within. He sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying his ale, and then spoke again.
Stories must be told.
History demands its due.
The dead must be heard.
No threat, my lord, no rancor, just
Requests of he who's all but dust.
Forgotten now are deeds so great
And bold. Yet it is not too late.
Recapture what is lost, and find
The stories in the clues.
For dead men speak in quiet words,
In rustling papers afterwards
Recovered. All their missing moments
Cast in hazy hues.
A mind so keen can pierce the veil
And give the dead their dues.
I looked at him blankly. I am sure that to him I must have seemed a complete nitwit. Draining the last of his cup, and with a sigh which resonated through the timbers of the deck laid over the small pond he continued;
My cup, I fear, is getting light
And time is growing short.
I leave you for tonight. Go tend
Your ale-and-whiskey court.
Rememberances more I have,
But come they I their turn.
For now, exhaustion takes its toll.
No oil I've left to burn.
Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.
And with those words, he walked towards the entry way, and vanished. I must have been dazed, confused. I stood, stock still, staring at where he had been, and as my wits returned, asked any that could to please grab a lantern and help me find this man. There were so many things I wanted to ask him. So many questions now causing my brain to throb.
We set off south from the Rest, and came to a clearing not too far from the pond. There, to my surprise, standing in a circle were llamas. And not just any llamas, oh no. By the way they looked at me I am certain they were the same beasts who refused to leave the garden area the week before. I am certain I even spotted the little bugger who nipped at me.
It was odd the way they presented themselves there. All standing still surrounding the one older llama. The one that had the saddle bag on that night. This one stood in the middle, and looked as though the weight of the world rested on his swayed back. As he looked towards me I could have sworn I saw an intelligence in those eyes. A silent pleading of some sort, as though somehow he thought I could ease some unseen burden he carried.
Slowly, the ancient llama turned, and started towards the Abbey. As he did, the others flanked him, on either side. I will admit to have almost chuckled as they walked away. They looked less like a collection of hapless beasts and more like some animal king and his guards marching off to do battle.
Returning to the dinner, we all sat and told those who had remained what had transpired. The dinner ended on a happy note, and as the guest filed out, I had almost forgotten about the strange visitor.
Later, Cara McBride stopped by as I was cleaning up. She had heard something at the party spoken by James that I some how missed, and had herself an interesting observation to share. Seems that as the stranger was speaking, James remarked, “I think he is a Satyr.” This comment escaped my ears, possibly because I have become so accustomed to James making odd remarks from time to time. James though has a quick wit, and sees things many of us may fail to see.
After he said this, Cara said she looked towards the man and noticed that beneath his hood, all she could see was a long beard. And as she looked down towards his feet, she could have sworn the man did not have feet, but hooves.
And so, a dinner party thrown to honor and thank the many folks who have supported Aegis over the years turned into a bit of a mystery, and a new source for sleepless nights for me. Who or what is this man, and what is it he is looking for from me.
If he has been the source for the many items left in Aegis, Is there something I am not seeing and should be?
Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.
These words echo over and over in my mind, and when I close my eyes in an attempt to sleep, I see the old Llama's eyes pleading with me. If I were a wiser man, more educated, perhaps I could see some rhyme or reason to all of this.
What course am I to take from here,
What form my thoughts to take
If man and llama be but one
What sense of this to make
But lore of days , so long laid past
Will time to time be told
And held within a llama's eye
Are deeds daring and bold
So, sit I here a wee bit more
And tarry deep in thought
And then perhaps to understand
The wisdom Llama brought.
First, how did I so under count the guests for the dinner party? I was more than a bit embarrassed when I found that I did not have enough table space for those who were there. Oh, food and drink were aplenty, and even though they smiled gracefully, I could not help but wish I had over-planned instead of cutting myself short there.
Second, what is it about huge crowds which cause me to get the shakes? I am sure that many around the table were well aware of my discomfort. Hell, some may have even been a wee bit amused by it. But I could do little for the greater part of the night than stand there doing my best to conceal my utter fear of the number of folks surrounding me.
Was I always this awkward?
Third, what the feck is the deal with all these llamas, and why do they keep following me around?
The dinner party seemed to be going well in spite of my many foibles. The guests talked cordially with one another as more and more arrived. I took the drink orders, and enlisted some aid in seeing that each guest was served a meal. As I was looking across towards Deckard, I noticed folks were staring towards the entrance of the garden. Turing, I saw what appeared to be a not-too-tall figure, heavily robed.
He called my name, acted as though he knew me well. But the words he spoke confused me, and no question that I asked provided me with an answer that would quell my complete and utter confusion. He went on for a time, speaking in rhyme for the most part. I have written down here, to the best of my recollection what he had said.
Aedon; a man quite contrary.
Who could say were he human or fairy?
That the pooka kow-tow
To so errant as thou
Is a marvelous mystery, very.
My name does not import a thing.
Though give you much to wondering,
Still not a yell nor whispering
Shall bear my name to thee.
Aedon King of Aegis ale
And wine, thy wrinkles tell a tale
Too grand for any tavern hall
Or castle wall to bear.
Yet, fill my cup to bubble-up,
And I will secrets share
With he whose mead is fair.
I offered the man a drink, and accepting one, he sat and drank. There was an oddness about him. A profound weariness of spirit which seemed to emanate from deep within. He sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying his ale, and then spoke again.
Stories must be told.
History demands its due.
The dead must be heard.
No threat, my lord, no rancor, just
Requests of he who's all but dust.
Forgotten now are deeds so great
And bold. Yet it is not too late.
Recapture what is lost, and find
The stories in the clues.
For dead men speak in quiet words,
In rustling papers afterwards
Recovered. All their missing moments
Cast in hazy hues.
A mind so keen can pierce the veil
And give the dead their dues.
I looked at him blankly. I am sure that to him I must have seemed a complete nitwit. Draining the last of his cup, and with a sigh which resonated through the timbers of the deck laid over the small pond he continued;
My cup, I fear, is getting light
And time is growing short.
I leave you for tonight. Go tend
Your ale-and-whiskey court.
Rememberances more I have,
But come they I their turn.
For now, exhaustion takes its toll.
No oil I've left to burn.
Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.
And with those words, he walked towards the entry way, and vanished. I must have been dazed, confused. I stood, stock still, staring at where he had been, and as my wits returned, asked any that could to please grab a lantern and help me find this man. There were so many things I wanted to ask him. So many questions now causing my brain to throb.
We set off south from the Rest, and came to a clearing not too far from the pond. There, to my surprise, standing in a circle were llamas. And not just any llamas, oh no. By the way they looked at me I am certain they were the same beasts who refused to leave the garden area the week before. I am certain I even spotted the little bugger who nipped at me.
It was odd the way they presented themselves there. All standing still surrounding the one older llama. The one that had the saddle bag on that night. This one stood in the middle, and looked as though the weight of the world rested on his swayed back. As he looked towards me I could have sworn I saw an intelligence in those eyes. A silent pleading of some sort, as though somehow he thought I could ease some unseen burden he carried.
Slowly, the ancient llama turned, and started towards the Abbey. As he did, the others flanked him, on either side. I will admit to have almost chuckled as they walked away. They looked less like a collection of hapless beasts and more like some animal king and his guards marching off to do battle.
Returning to the dinner, we all sat and told those who had remained what had transpired. The dinner ended on a happy note, and as the guest filed out, I had almost forgotten about the strange visitor.
Later, Cara McBride stopped by as I was cleaning up. She had heard something at the party spoken by James that I some how missed, and had herself an interesting observation to share. Seems that as the stranger was speaking, James remarked, “I think he is a Satyr.” This comment escaped my ears, possibly because I have become so accustomed to James making odd remarks from time to time. James though has a quick wit, and sees things many of us may fail to see.
After he said this, Cara said she looked towards the man and noticed that beneath his hood, all she could see was a long beard. And as she looked down towards his feet, she could have sworn the man did not have feet, but hooves.
And so, a dinner party thrown to honor and thank the many folks who have supported Aegis over the years turned into a bit of a mystery, and a new source for sleepless nights for me. Who or what is this man, and what is it he is looking for from me.
If he has been the source for the many items left in Aegis, Is there something I am not seeing and should be?
Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.
These words echo over and over in my mind, and when I close my eyes in an attempt to sleep, I see the old Llama's eyes pleading with me. If I were a wiser man, more educated, perhaps I could see some rhyme or reason to all of this.
What course am I to take from here,
What form my thoughts to take
If man and llama be but one
What sense of this to make
But lore of days , so long laid past
Will time to time be told
And held within a llama's eye
Are deeds daring and bold
So, sit I here a wee bit more
And tarry deep in thought
And then perhaps to understand
The wisdom Llama brought.