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Messages - MJZ
261
« on: March 06, 2007, 08:55:52 pm »
[SIZE=10][There is no title on the pale cover of this slim book, the first leaf having only the names "Nildro'hain," and below, "Ariel Applerose"; scribed onto it; the first in Gnomish, the second in Halfling. The first entry appears in Common, a few pages in, and is written in a curling, perfectly-legible if somewhat careless hand. There are no orthographic errors, though the occasional splotch of ink, no doubt due to holding the quill over the paper a moment too long, does occur. It has no date.]
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I’m rambling. I’d tell Ced about it – well, I have told Ced about it, he just denies everything – of course! and says the right thing in something of the wrong way. Don’t get me wrong here, I am thankful for his kindness, his constant kindness to me. Of course I am. Very much so! Only, sometimes I wish he’d have a thought that wasn’t so compliant with me. Oh, what am I doing? Ced’s not the one troubling me!
Well, the bare bones of the matter is I’ve met someone who scared me silly. This [a sizeable blot occurs here] cloying, bubbly, utterly [another blot] inane woman, who seems to mean no harm but fries everyone’s nerves bouncing off them, who doesn’t seem to know too much, behaves perhaps completely on a whim and gets upset over the slightest thing.
And all I could think about was, oh, dear gods, please don’t tell me I come off like that. [There is a blot here.]
So here I am, sitting on the grass with Ced, writing this out that I have someone to tell it to.
I know I’m green. I know I just left home (my second home), I know I was raised by a clan of happy Halflings – before they were trodden on, that is. I know I’ve barely gotten a grip on this power of mine, I know that maybe I ask [a blot] unnecessary questions at times.
But please, Beryl, Ilsare, Mist – who-ever is listening, how about you, Rofirein? While you’re inspiring dry old clerks somewhere in a cold, empty courthouse, how about dabbing me with a bit of justice? I know despite all those things I’m no-ones fool – tell me the rest of the world sees it that way, too.
262
« on: March 06, 2007, 12:54:39 pm »
How about those famous last words? Here's one that made me laugh today. "Die, Ogres!" -Ameli Lihn and then there was, "Craft it," as in: Tailor's Armor Dummy: "Given your dexterity, intelligence, and level, you have 75% chance of successfully crafting this recipe." Caelte: 1. Craft it Tailor's Armor Dummy:"Failure. You rolled a 1." ... Tailor's Armor Dummy:"Given your dexterity, intelligence, and level, you have 75% chance of successfully crafting this recipe." Caelte: 1. Craft it Tailor's Armor Dummy:"Failure. You rolled a 1."
263
« on: February 23, 2007, 11:32:51 am »
On their first day...
Caelte: Look, someone's grave.. Ameli: Ooh.. Caelte: *Inspects it* ...? Ameli: Hmm! *Inspects it herself* ...Whatta? What the heck's "grave hop past?" C: I have NO idea. So I left it alone. C'mon, let's go. A: But.... but... what is it? It has to be something! C: *Laughs* See what it is then! A & C: *both hold their breath* GOINK! A & C: Ohhhhh! It's hop past grave!! From that day on, neither of our brave adventurers feared inspecting any strange graves they came across (though they did keep a wary eye out for the grammar of gravediggers).
264
« on: February 17, 2007, 08:24:50 pm »
[SIZE=10]~This is a goodly sized book, it's pages taller than they are wide, moreso than usual. It is bound in a stiff reddish leather, but encased again in a thin layer of hide. Held closed by a reinforced strap with no lock, the book somewhat resembles a suitcase, for there are many loose leaves of parchment, scraps of leather and paper, even herbs and leaves between the pages. There is no title, but a carefully carved symbol on the front, depicting an oval of outreaching vines, and a stylistic howling wolf's head in the centre. The script within varies both in colour and style, sometimes it is hastily scrawled, at others it is noticeably more carefully written. Regardless, the lettering is simple and somewhat strained - not elegant nor elaborate, to say the least.~
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Among my people, there are no books of song. A tome is a man; his mind and his heart are its pages. My people honour works and deeds in ballad and song - they pass down the ballads to their children. A bard is a lorekeeper, historian, poet. His word speaks of courage and tradition, his song is the spirit of his kin. The chieftain leads the clan, the warriors defend its borders, the shaman consults the stars. The bard reminds them of who they are, that they may never forget.
My people keep no written history. Perhaps that is why I fear when the last tribesman dies, we will all be forgotten with him. Most of my tribe, what's left of it, have already forgotten who they are. The tribe's ways should be as secrets, even our names are not given lightly. There is much one can divine with the knowledge, and always there are enemies in wait. To break a man is far harder than to read a scroll, so while the tribe is whole, its secrets are safe. But what good is secrecy to man who is dead? In death, all is laid bare. If the tribe dies, who will write a song for it?
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