Topic: Changling and...

Mahgrath · Date: 2006-09-22 02:34 EST

...Ranger

The ranger and changling sat at the end of the pier, their legs hanging over the side as they waited the sun's rising. The ranger had her pant legs rolled up to her shin and her feet hovering just above the pristine water's surface, while the boy swung his legs idly.

Each was busy with the individual tasks, the ranger fashioning new arrow shafts while the boy baited the end of this line. Neither spoke above a faint whisper as they worked. Neither wanting to disturb the quiet peace that settled over the sparkling bay.

"Do ye think ye'll catch the big one today?"

The tow head shook from side to side. "No," the boy whispered back not sounding at all disappointed. "He's too smart and too fast," the lad went on to explain. The boy dropped the line into the water, sending a ring of ripples out over the bay. "But I'll get him someday," the lad confidently predicted.

The ranger smiled, looking sidelong at the young boy. There was already a look of intense concentration upon his young visage, as if he was looking past the bay's surface and studying the life beneath the watery blanket. "Nae. Ah dunnae doubt that ye will, Mah." A bright smile broke that intense expression on the boy's face, one that was answered with a wink from the ranger.

A comfortable silence fell upon the pair as the sun started to peek over the treetops, changing the deep azure of the bay into a golden hue. All the while the boy patiently worked his line as the stack of arrow shafts steadily grew beside the ranger.

"You knew Mama Cherri and Mama Go for a long time, right?"

The ranger nodded, casting another sidelong glance at the boy. "Aye, ah've known them both a verra long time."

Did you know them since they were lil' cubbies?"

The ranger chuckled gently and shook her head. "Nae, Mah. Although looking back we seemed like we were only cubbies...nae, ah've only known them since being grown up." The ranger turned to face the little fisherman. "Why do ye ask, Mah?"

Little shoulders shrugged, the boy keeping his attention trained on the float bobbing on the bay surface at the end of his line. "I wanted to know what they were like when they were cubbies."

"Ah see," the ranger remarked quietly as she took up another arrow shaft. "Ah bet ye want tae know iffin they were little 'splorers and adventurers and master fishermen like ye?" She smiled as quiet giggles sounded in wordless reply from the boy. "Why dunnae ye jes ask them, Mah' Ah'm sure they'd be more than happy tae tell ye all sorts o' stories about when they were young cubbies." The ranger chuckled and added with a wink, "and once they get started, they probably willnae stop." That elicited more giggles from the boy.

The two once again fell silent. Both were content with enjoying the quiet company. The sun now hung in the dawning sky. The boy sat still swinging his legs idly, although he no longer concentrated on his fishing endeavor. The ranger now turned her attention to preparing the flights.

"Do you miss your cubbies?" The boy's question was barely audible even in the peace they worked in.

The ranger's reply was just as quiet. "Aye, Lad. Ah miss them verra much."

The boy toyed with his pole for a moment, before asking, "How come they aren't with you?"

Although the question had been expected, Souvious did not reply right away. "Right now they are being trained, Mah," the ranger finally answered.

"How come you can't train them?"

"Well, Mah. Ah dunnae know about the kind o' magic they need tae be trained in. 'Twouldnae be safe for me tae try tae teach them about it. Although it is hard, 'tis the best thing for them right now," she quietly explained. It wasn't the full explanation, but it was the simplest. At the boy's simple and quiet "oh" replied, the ranger smiled, although her expression was tinged with sadness.

Mah looked from the bobbing float to the ranger, regarding her a moment. "Whacha doing?" the lad finally asked Souvious.

"Ah am making arrows, Mah."

"Can you teach me?"

She smiled warmly and nodded. "Aye. Come."

Leaving the pole braced, the line still in the water, the boy eagerly clammored over to and onto the ranger's lap. Reaching around him and looking over the boy's shoulder, the ranger quietly showed him how to form the flight, gently instructing him through the morning.

Mahgrath · Date: 2006-09-25 00:36 EST

...Elf "If I recall correctly, I owe you a story still, don't I?"

The elven woman eyed the boy thoughtfully as the room quieted. The tow head bobbed as the lad absently rubbed the sleep from his eye. Jesarra pursed her lips, thinking and musing to herself as the lad's expectant gaze settled on her. "Alright.....which shall it be tonight...?" Normally somber green eyes sparkled as a story came to her. She smiled softly at the lad, she picked him up and set him down on her lap. The child nestled against the elf. "Mah....remember the flowers we planted the other morning beside the stable walk?" The boy remembered that warm morning he came upon the kneeling elf, surrounded by golden blooms and upturned earth. He remembered the tender care with which she planted each bloom into the rich soil. The lad nodded. "Uh-huh. I r'memeber," he murmured quietly.

"Well did you know that those flowers have a history of miracles?"

The boy shook his head, peering up wide-eyed as the very notion of miracle-holding flowers sparked his imagination and chased away the sleep. She paused only long enough to sip her water, which seemed liked an eternity to the boy, before she continued. "They do, you know. In the summer, those flowers are tight little balls all day and the petals only open at night." She made a fist, then opened her fingers slowly, demonstrating the petals opening. Mahgrath peered down at his own tiny fist he held close to his chest, small fingers mimicking hers. "We call them Globe flowers. But long ago, the elves called them Andariel's Gold....and they were open all the time. They never hid their faces from the sun then. But something happened to change them, and that is our tale."

The lad piped up and asked in a faint whisper that barely contained his curiosity. "What happen'd?"

Jesarra smiled and she settled further into the chair with the boy in her lap. "Many, many years ago....when the stars were new, and men did not yet walk the earth, the old races lived in harmony, as the gods intended, with the exception of the goblin races. They were greedy and jealous of the elves, most especially, for their bright songs, and for the love the gods showed them."

The boy was familiar with goblins. In his short life, they had already left scars upon his memories and touched his dreams. His usual bravado was present in his hushed remark, but the words were touched with an underlying worry that the 'monsters' would suddenly return that very instant. "Meanies..."

She slipped a comforting arm gently around the little boy with a nod. Jesarra knew better than most the full depth of the child's solitary word. "The goblins and elves warred constantly.....but always, the dark ones were defeated." Her tone grew heavier and darker as she continued. "The goblins were then as they are now, a foul and odious lot. Perhaps a bit smarter then, but wicked, through and through. They harried the races of light constantly....but most of all, they hated the elves. They would do anything their evil hearts could devise to conquer their enemies...for they believed that they were more deserving of the gods' consideration."

"In those same days," the story teller paused once more to take another sip of water. The words were then carried upon softening tones. "Lived a great queen with hair like spun gold, and eyes the color of the far seas."

Her gentle tones and comforting embrace stole away the tension that arose at the very mention of goblins from the child, and sleep started to creep back to the child. He swallowed down another yawn. Jesarra peeked to see if Mah has fallen asleep yet with an unaffected gentleness in her expression. The boy smiled up at her sleepily.

"Andariel had a lover, a knight by the name of Glamanduil. And they would spend many happy days walking in the gardens of the court. All sorts of lovely blossoms grew there....but their favorites were the globe flowers, for their color and happy form was cheering to the heart, and very like the sun itself. Each day, Glamanduil would ask Andariel there in the gardens if she loved him. And she would respond by gifting him with a single bloom, answering that for as long as her heart remained constant, he would have a bloom daily, as a token of her desire for him."

The story teller cleared her throat. Her expression grew more serious and the tone of her voice dropped. "As I said before, the goblins were smarter then, but ever wicked. They knew, if they were to defeat the armies of the elves, they must take the queen's champion in battle."

Mahgrath watched and listened to the elf intently, even as his eyelids grew heavier.

"And so they watched as the lovers trysted, and they listened....and they reported all that they saw and heard to their leaders."

Tension filled his small body as the story continued.

"The day came when Glamanduil's troops must ride to war, and with many tears Andariel said her farewells to her love. But she vowed as he left that each day, no matter how far from her he rested, she would send her messengers with the tokens of her love, watered with her own tears. The spies heard of this and they devised a plan to defeat Glamanduil. They believed, that if they somehow poisoned the blossoms each morning, while the dew was heavy on the flowers, that none would notice and that when the token was delivered, and the hapless knight lifted the bloom to his lips, he would fall dead, and they would be victorious."

The lad furrowed his face against the elf, his murmuring about 'meanies' muffled into her shirt.

She hugged the boy gently, her telling continuing in a low and somber tone. "And so they bided their time, and watched the Queen. Each morning, as the sun's face rose in the east, Andariel would walk the gardens, and sigh. And each day, as she wept over the flowers, her tears would mingle with the dew in the center, shining in the morning's first light."

"At last, the appointed day came," her voice took on a more ominous undertone. ".....the day the goblins had determined upon for the springing of their trap. In the wee, still hours of the morning, before the court awoke, they snuck into the gardens, placing drops of noxious poison on each flower before stealing away like cowards before the honest light of day."

The boy squirmed, his own body warring between sleep and tension as he was drawn into the tale woven.

Jesarra's voice softened but remained firm. "But Hanali Celanil, the elven goddess of love, touched by the tales she had heard of Andariel's love for her knight, also walked the garden that day, unbeknownst to the goblins. Unseen by them, she witnessed their vile act, and taken with pity for the lovers, placed a charge upon the flowers. 'From this day forth,' she told them, 'as the first touch of the sun steals across the land, you will close upon yourselves, holding tight the morning's dews, and ne'er opening again until the song of stars is heard o'erhead.'" "And that day, when Andariel came into her gardens to choose her token, all of the globe flowers were closed tight as fists." The elf held out her own small fist and showed the boy the blossoms closed. "And they only open to this very day,....at night." Then she slowly unfolded her delicate fingers.

Sleepy and muffled giggles sounded from the lad as he held out his own fist, curled tightly.

"And do you know what else?" Her voice was soft and rich with the wonder of it.

"What?" The boy's voice was barely audible, caught up in her infectious wonder.

"If you were to pry open one of the flowers today," her own tone matched the child's, "...at the very heart, you would find a single drop of dew. They call that Andariel's Tears."

"'Cus she cried?" the boy whispered, to which the elven story teller smiled and nodded.

"Tomorrow I shall show you."

A soft yawn interrupted the boy's sleepy smile. "And now...'tis time for all big boys to be in their beds," Jesarra quietly bade.

The boy's protest was hushed, but unmistakable. "But...nah tired." Jesarra smiled softly at the boy and she pressed a kiss upon the crown of his tow head. She didn't answer his protestation. The elven woman rose to her feet and gently rested the boy's head on her shoulder. Instinctively, the lad draped his arms around her shoulder and arm, inaudibly murmuring his continued protests stubbornly,...murmurings that was would fade as a battlefield and a field of golden blooms filled the boy's dreams.

Mahgrath · Date: 2007-02-17 01:40 EST

...Red Dragon

Come and let us listen to a tale, a tale told by a beloved innkeeper, a tale told to a child to ease his sadness, a tale meant to teach, a tale of an Irishman, the lad's hero. Sit at the bar, take up your drink and listen... The lad sat uncharacteristically still and quiet. Only a few moment's earlier, Mahgrath was all smiles and giggles. But now he sat, worrying his lower lip, the box the Irishman had found to keep the lad's find, a bullfrog, in at his side. The lad's energy was still, for Mahgrath feared he'd done something terrible. A soft spoken woman who'd been talking with him, rose abruptly, and left, tears flowing freely. Basalt, who'd been tending to her post behind the bar, witnessed the woman's sorrowful departure and the child's somber bewilderment. She bent her head and asked the quieted lad, "Is all well?" The boy shook his head. "I think I made her sad. But I didn' mean to!" The child answered what the watchful Keep already knew. She smiled kindly to the boy. "I am certain you did not mean it. Sometimes things make others sad," she explained, gently trying to assuage the child's concern. "And it is no fault of anyone at all." Mahgrath looked up hopefully at the Innkeeper, but his worry would not be so easily erased. "Would you like for me to tell you the story of Riley and the spam?" The Innkeeper knew how to remedy the lad's melancholy. She mentioned his hero and piqued his curiosity. "Riley and the spam?" The woman nodded to the boy. "Yes. Riley and the dreaded spam," she said again, in a tone to further draw in his attention. Nearby, Basalt's mate and librarian rested an elbow upon the bar and propped up his chin on a fist as he set to listen. Mahgrath nodded emphatically, then mimicked the librarian's posture, resting his elbow on the bar and propping his chin on his fist. Others gathered around the bar also settled in to listen to the Innkeeper's tale. "Very well..." she bade. "Listen carefully." And so Basalt began telling Mahgrath the tale of an Irishman named Riley and the vermin simply known as The Spam. "Once upon a time....oh....nearly five days ago....there was a man who felt sorry for himself. He came to work in the usual way, wearing the usual clothes, with the usual smile on his face....but he was sad." The Innkeeper looked right at the lad so he would understand. "No one had made him sad...he had made himself so." Indeed, she had the boy's complete attention. "Now, this man thought that if he received a kiss, he would not be sad. So....he thought to find a way to make himself a hero, so that he would be kissed." An amused smile colored the Keep's mate's face as he watched and listened to Basalt spin her tale to the child. "So he prepared himself, as for battle. He found the protective suit used to make dangerous drink, as well as the helm," she went on to tell, chuckling. The lad's brow furrowed as a picture this sad man formed the child's mind's eye. "He did this in the open, hoping that others would see," she went on to explain. "And they did." "Which was fortunate," Basalt continued, dropping her voice. "The man was Riley, you see....and many care for him, though he did not think so at the time." She nodded, holding the boy's attention to drive her point home, before she went on. "But....he approached one of the most dangerous places in this very inn....one place where it requires a stout heart and steady hand."

The lad formed a small frown, not at all liking the idea that his friend and hero would be in any danger.

"A place almost as dangerous as the stove where the Stew resides," Basalt explained ominously. She then looked at Mahgrath and asked the lad, "Do you know where that is?" The stove where the infamous Stew existed was more than just conversation fodder in the bar. It was legendary. Even the boy knew the danger of the Stew. He bobbed his head emphatically and made a face, "Uh-huh. It's bad."

The storytelling Keep smiled at the lad's reaction. "That is so. Very bad." She bent her head close to the child's as she continued, "The place Riley approached was nearly as bad," pointing out the icechest that sat nearby. "He walked there." Mahgrath was near the edge of his seat and he asked in a whisper, barely able to contain his curiosity. "Wha happened?" Her expression took on one of grave concern. "He reached out....slowly..." she told the boy as her own hand reached out from her side toward the icechest. "And there within lay the most horrible thing....well, second most horrible....in the inn," she warned. The lad was nearly out of his seat, hanging on Basalt's every word. "Wha wha"!" "It had no firesticks, like those who attack from afar. It had no sword. It had no dagger, nor bow or arrows. But it did have....spice. And it had a coating of green all over it," she described the foul thing to the boy. "Riley could not hear it, for he wore the helm....but when he opened the door, the monster....growled." Mahgrath nearly jumped out of his skin as she growled the word, his eyes growing as wide as saucers.

(continued)

Mahgrath · Date: 2007-02-17 01:43 EST

...Red Dragon (continued)

A few patrons interrupted the story telling, but the boy's attention remained rapt on the story teller and her mate chuckled. "Now," Basalt asked looking back at Mahgrath, wiping her hands. "Where was I?" The boy didn't miss a beat and had held her place. "The monster growled at Riley." She smiled and nodded, picking up the tale. "Oh yes. Others in the inn heard it, but Riley did not. And he reached in....very far....as far as his arms could stretch....and he does have very long arms, you know." The lad nodded, eyes growing wider still. "He reached in, thinking to remove the monster from the icechest."

The anticipation was too much for Mahgrath and he interrupted Basalt impatiently. "Wha happened" Wha happened?"

"But just at that moment, the slab of spiced ham began to quiver....and to growl....and it lashed out and began to suck him toward it," she answered. Then her tone grew even more ominous. "If he were drawn in, Riley would become a part of the spam."

"No!"

The Innkeeper shook her head solemnly. "And that is a horrible ending, for certain."

Mahgrath no longer sat still. "Wha he do' Wha he do?"

"He struggled. He tried to pull away. He yelled at the spam." "Go Riley!" the boy interjected again, giving the story teller's mate cause to chuckle again.

"All to no avail," Basalt's own voice was rising. "It kept drawing him closer! And what was he to do' He was being drawn into the icechest by the dreaded spiced ham." "Didn't his armor protect him?" the boy desperately begged Basalt. She shook her head sadly. "The armor was proof against fire and explosion. I have seen it used that way. But the spam...the dreaded green spam has no fire. It does not explode..." "Riley can't lose." The boy nearly whined at the very idea of his hero becoming part of the spam.

"Do you know what the spam does?" To which the child shook his head. She looked appropriately horrified, and lowered her voice to a soft whisper. "The spam....slurps." She nodded and reiterated it. "No fire. No explosion. But slurping." The Innkeeper's description elicited a disgusted 'eww' from the child, to which the story teller nodded. "Eww indeed. So the spam drew poor Riley closer....growling and slurping. And Riley struggled...."

"Din anyone help him?" the boy anxiously interrupted again. "....and others noticed." Basalt nodded, answering the child. "Several rushed toward him. He was grasped in the nick of time, just before a tug of spam would have pulled him into the icechest. The spam pulled....and Riley's friends pulled the other way. It was a tug of ....spam!" the story teller proclaimed. The boy was practically bouncing in the seat by now. "Go Riley!" he cheered on his hero.

The Innkeeper smiled as the lad cheered on her colleague. "And in the end, Riley's friends pulled him free from the dreaded spam. And the door to the icechest was shut, and Riley safe away from the spam."

"Yay!" The child happily applauded outcome.

Basalt leaned back and looked to Mahgrath. "Do you know what the moral to this story is?" she asked the boy.

"Dun mess with the spam!" came the lad's immediate answer, which made the Innkeeper chuckle.

"Well, that is part of it, yes. Part is....do not open the icechest if you do not have to. The second is....do not....mess with the spam. But the third....and most important..." She paused to emphasize her point. "Friends are much stronger than spam, no matter how long it has been in the icechest."

Mahgrath nodded, storing those morals of wisdom away. "So is Riley not sad no more?"

"Hmm....well....he was kissed that evening. And...he may be sad from time to time, but no, I do not believe he is as sad as he was," the story teller assured the boy.

...And so was told the tale of an Irishman, told by the beloved innkeeper and the child's sadness eased and lesson taught...Friend are much stronger than spam.