From: Naron (naron_at_bigpond.net.au)
Date: Sun Nov 23 2003 - 00:39:00 GMT
Todiel stands on Temorya's shoulder and grips his horn as he addresses his tormentors. First he looks direct at Garrott and begins to recite a poem.
"Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Over fast for thought, over hot for rule,
Over blate to seek, over proud to snool?
Let him draw near;
And over this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.
"Is there a bard of rustic song,
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng?
Oh, pass not by!
But with a frater-feeling strong,
Here heave a sigh.
"Is there a man, whose judgement clear
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs himself life's mad career
Wild as the wave?
Here pause - and, through the starting tear,
Survey this grave.
"The poor inhabitant below
Was quick to learn, and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,
And softer flame;
But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stain'd his name!
"Reader, attend - whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthy hole,
In low pursuit;
Know, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root."
He pauses after his recital and then looks to Pean and Maerath. "I care not for your accusations or observations. I am an old troll and seek only to live my days out in my real body. I have no desire to live forever. I will not leave my body alone for a second for travelling in this place leads me to fear that I will lose it forever. I suggest you push you complaints no further whilst you face the dangers that are currently lurking in the shadow. This body switching has never happened before and you can forgive me if I feel upset for as far as I know it may be a sorcery conjured by yourselves that has switched me from my body."
The little windling sighs deeply as he looks across the group, feeling the resentment begin to build. "I suggest that if your master has told you that these creatures of bone are want to reform after being destroyed that we busy ourselves making sure that does not happen rather than accusing me of dark magics. At least a couple of your group feel the same way." Todiel points to Angavorn and Shalandr who are busy scooping up piles of bone to be moved.
Elklisee leans over to Pean and whispers into his ear. "The creature is lying. I cannot tell you how I know, but I feel it in the pit of my stomach. All is not well with our new windling friend, though I feel it may not be the work of a horror."
<The poem is an Ode to a Bard by Robert Burns just in case you were wondering if I had a poetic genius in me trying to escape....>
<Moves please>
<Mark>
If you are into role-playing, check out http://users.bigpond.net.au/naron/
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