The Map of Nogrod (closed RIP)

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The Map of Nogrod (closed RIP)

Postby GlassHouse » Thu Jun 20, 2002 3:29 pm

Premise;

A group of modern humans discover that a map they find in an antique book store, actually a leads to what appears to be an ancient dwarven stronghold.
The proprietor of the store sends them on a quest to discover exactly what is located on the map.

This implies that Tolkien's mythology had a basis in the real world.

    .Elves and Dwarves may walk among modern humans attempting to go unnoticed in present day Europe or America.

    .Possibly Numenorean descended Rangers and even a few Hobbits are around.

    .Certainly some evil creatures have survived.

    .But even the "good" races are not very friendly towards modern humans.
    Most keep to themselves and hide in out of the way places. <BR>A few try to pass themselves off as humans.

    .They are not anxious for the ancient city to be discovered by modern humans.

    .Nothing is certain.
    See the first few posts of the OOC thread for more ideas about what may be going on.

The OOC Thread is HERE

Please keep all of the OOC comments in the OOC thread.

******************************

EDIT: 02/24/03

Darin_Bloodaxe has accepted the possition of evil mastermind. He'll be the new Great Leader of The Dwarf Brotherhood. (Or whatever tilte he choses.) Good Luck to Darin in all his evil plotting and scheming.

******************************

EDIT: 02/16/03

Want to be a bad guy with thousands of fanatical minions to do your bidding?

Consider joining The Dwarf Brotherhood.

Originally formed in the mists of time to protect the race, preserve Dwarf culture and pass on an ancient and noble heritage, The Brotherhood has become little better than a quasi-criminal organization now. Corrupted by the lust for power of it's leaders and the natural paranoia of the rest of the Dwarves. They are a shadowy group that fears exposure more than anything else and they will do anything to keep the city of Nogrod from being discovered by modern man.

The Brotherhood has just captured two rebellious Dwarves who were helping our Fellowship. (Beryl Silvermast and her brother Kobal) and two other members of the Fellowship are also in their hands. But they still don't have the Map.

The Humans must not succeed in their quest to find the ancient Dwarven stronghold!!

We need someone to take control of The Dwarf Brotherhood, someone ruthless enough to wield the power of this world wide cabal.

******************************

EDIT: 10/11/02
Primula_Brandybuck has left us.
Her characters, Beryllium (Beryl) and Kobal Silvermaster are inactive, they've been captured by the Dwarf Brotherhood

******************************
Last edited by GlassHouse on Sat Nov 16, 2013 11:19 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Postby GlassHouse » Thu Jun 20, 2002 3:34 pm

Finlay pulled on the hood of his red Gore-Tex anorak as he stepped out into the light afternoon drizzle. The beat up '85 Dodge pick-up that he shared with his roommate, sat idle in the yard, on the fritz again. His bicycle in the back of the truck, had a flat front tire. Looked like walking was his only option. That and a slight hangover did nothing improve his mood. As he set out on the same old streets, the same old monologue started it’s endless loop in his head.<BR><BR><i>Look around Finlay. The rain makes everything look clearer you know.</i><BR>He noticed how the water made every detail of the all too familiar surroundings sharper. Each individual red brick stood out in sharp relief on that house across the street. The brown bark on the maple trees that lined the street, glistened darkly and the wetness embellished each and every leaf. Even the separate blades of grass on every saturated lawn he passed, stood out like rank upon rank of the green spears of some unknown army.<BR><i>Everything just looks more real in the rain. So why do I feel so disconnected? So out of it? So unreal?<BR>Mummph!</i><BR><BR>Unlike so many other places he knew in Vermont, this particular town had hardly changed at all. It was part of marketing of the small college community that everything was so carefully preserved. Partly it was for the tourists, Bostonians and New Yorkers wishing to escape to the countryside. But mostly it was for the benefit of the thousands of students, some from as far away as Europe or even Malaysia, half way around the world and for their parents and the money they brought. They were what kept the town's economy struggling on. <BR>It reminded Finlay of one of those living museums of colonial times, like Strawberry Bank or Williamsburg, complete with local characters enacting their daily lives.<BR><BR>The place consciously retained the feel of the stereotypical 19th century New England village. The red brick buildings that lined Main Street, lead you straight up to the ubiquitous town common with the ubiquitous Revolutionary War memorial. Across the green stood the ubiquitous cardboard cutout church, just like thousands of others. White clapboards and high steeple commanding passing pedestrians to raise their eyes from their everyday commerce and pay homage to the bygone ideals that once bound the town together.<BR><BR>But even this town was changing, spurred on by the expansion of the University. The University meant jobs and jobs needed people to fill them. People needed houses and houses needed everything else that went in to supporting these multiplying suburban freeholds. <BR>Wal-Mart's, Home Depots, and supermarket mega chains spread over land, uprooting the older mom and pop general stores that had been the center of each town's social life not so long ago. <BR>The dairy farms, pastures and endless woods that had enfolded the countryside in his youth, were fast being replaced by sprawling retail development. <BR><BR><i>Must be the rain, affecting my mood,</i> Fin thought darkly. <BR>He tried to be philosophical about change usually. At least studying history and archeology gave you some perspective on this kind of thing. <BR><BR><i>Remember,</i> he told himself, <i>it's all happened before.</i><BR>He tried to recall professor Thistlewool's lecture from yesterday's class.<BR><BR>"At the close of the French and Indian War in 1760, inland settlement boomed. Most of central New England's present towns were established before 1790. By 1840, 600,000 sheep grazed hillsides that had been a howling wilderness just 50 years earlier. Then came the Civil War and the Industrial Revolution. New Englanders burned their farmhouses, raked nails from the ashes for reuse and headed West. <BR>By 1900, more than half the cleared land had reverted back to forest again."<BR><BR>Now around the towns and remaining farms, the trees were being cleared again, this time to be replaced by subdivisions and strip malls.<BR>Finlay often imagined the shock and disappointment the early 19th-century farmers would feel if they should somehow see their endless hillside pastures now, either reclaimed by the forest or buried under asphalt.<BR><BR>As Fin arrived at his destination, he looked up at the sign that hung over the book store, <BR><b>Welcome to The Illuminarium Book Store,<BR>Old and Rare Books, Antique Maps and Prints"</b>.<BR>He thought about his appointment.<BR>He quietly sighed as he turned the doorknob. <i>Here it comes</i>, he thought. He shut the door wishing he were already back on the other side. The consequences of last night's drunk were still quietly roaring through his head.<BR><BR><BR>"I’m here to apply for the job," said Fin to the old man sitting behind the counter.
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Postby GlassHouse » Thu Jun 20, 2002 3:35 pm

reserved for KBrandybuck (if you don't post below)<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0>
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Postby Nengwathel » Thu Jun 20, 2002 7:16 pm

Nengwathel sat on the floor in a corner of the store, reading an old book with a ripped binding and a missing cover. She eyed Fin suspiciously from her book, an elf of radiant auburn hair tyed back and cut shorter than it once was, covered by the blue hood of her big sweatshirt. No one would suspect her to be anything but human, except for her brilliant bright bluish green eyes, that seemed to have currents like the ocean.
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Postby KBrandybuck » Thu Jun 20, 2002 9:30 pm

Randi Buckley was browsing in the back when Finlay come in. Of course she had no idea his name was Finlay. She had been disturbed by the bell at the door which announced his entrance. <BR><BR>Randi was a recent transplant from Southern California. Dismayed over the rampant destruction of the lovely hills and coastline, the spread of the "stucco algae" as it was called, she fled to New England. SHe chose New England for two. One, it was empty and had a low crime rate. Two it was closer to Ireland where she liked to visit on a regular basis. What else going to do for a living in Vermont besides stare at trees, she had no idea. She had friends in New Hampshire, and some money left to her by her uncle ,but she wasn't sure she wanted to ply her profession: for Randi had been one of the first female homicide detectives in California and frankly, she was tired of dealing with male dominated politics, dead bodies and sociopaths. She hated throwing all that away: it had been a terrible struggle even to get onto a police force, let alone sargeant and finally inspector. She barely made the height requirements and could only keep her weight down with the most grueseome struggles. But there had to be more to life than crime and punishment and she could feel bits of her soul die with each new abducted child and domestic crime. <BR><BR>As a child, she had problems with her feet which required several operations and even now, she hated wearing shoes, preferring flip flops. Nonetheless, She had some pretty good outdoor skills and had signed on as a part time climbing instructor at a local guide service, despite the fact that the climbing shoes cramped her toes dreadfully. But that work would only be seasonal. She had applied for a teaching position at the local junior college - she had a PhD in cultural anthropology, and she could also teach forensics as a last resort. Maybe when winter set in,she could go back to her real love: antiquities, maps, lost worlds,strange languages and fantasies of things that might never have been.<BR><BR>"Hmm" she said" when she say Finlay. "Cute. Kinda down at the heels, but cute. And young." Randi wasn't young, at least according to what modern society thought of as young. But she looked young and her friends envied the fact that she hadn't a grey hair on her head. <BR><BR>"I obviously come from a long-lived family," she would say when bartenders carded her and then called her "Ma'am" after seeing her driver's license. <BR><BR>This was her first visit to the bookstore. There was the proprietor, who looked interesting. The young man who just walked in, and a woman sitting on the floor in the corner. Randi was so outgoing, her friends often said, she'd talk to Satan just to have a nice chat. She went to the woman on the floor and said, "Hi. I just moved here. My name is Randi."
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Postby Findarato » Fri Jun 21, 2002 8:00 am

Alaric had also been browsing near the back of the shop as he was wont to do. He looked up only briefly from the collection of maps in the rack on the wall as the door opened. <i>Only another mortal-what were you expecting- a miracle?</i> part of him asked. He'd heard a saying once that talking to yourself was a sign of genius, answering back was madness- or something of the sort, but he did so anyway. <i>A miracle might be helpful about now.</i> He sighed. <BR><BR>More time wasted in yet another bookstore- but curiously enough, even though it was wasted, it was oddly comforting to be around old books- even if they were only one hundred years old. Nothing like his grandfather's library, but he had searched that thoroughly with no results- and the contents of it were so astounding that he had locked the door and would not open that room again for a very long time. His cellphone rang once. He pulled it out of his pocket. <BR>"Yes?"<BR>"Alaric, it's Catherine-"<BR>"What do they want now?" he asked, feeling angry, guessing why she'd called.<BR>"They want to know when you're coming home. It's not right for you to just up and l-"<BR>"Catherine, I pay you to type and take notes, not to advise me, understand."<BR>Silence.<BR>"Good," he continued. "Now, you can tell them that I'll be back in my own good time and that will be good enough for them because they know what I'll do if they cross me!" his voice had dropped to almost a whisper as he spoke.<BR>"Yes sir!" Catherine said, sounding frightened.<BR>"Don't worry," Alaric said soothingly. "I won't be away much longer, just another week or so. Goodbye." He hit the 'end call' button and put the phone away. He had found nothing useful, nothing valuable. He might as well buy some book, the store looked like it could use all possible patrons. He continued to browse. That didn't mean, of course that he would just give his money away- even if he had plenty of it.<BR><BR>As he walked between crowded bookshelves, he thought more and more about his grandfather who had liked books so much. Old Eldatur, who had called himself Alberic, was an incredible man. His whole long life he had hidden a great secret and had not even told his son, an amazing feat. In the end, Alaric thought he would have told his father something...he had probably meant to, before Alfred, who had never known his real name was Eldarestalo, was sent to Vietnam. Actually, Alaric had a suspicion that he volunteered, but he never knew for certain. Brenda, Alaric's mother, had been fully human and when she found that her husband was dead, she went mad and Alaric had gone to live with his grandfather.<BR><BR>Those were odd days, back at what he and 'Atar', father, as he called his grandfather, lived in what they both called the 'Heap', or in Atar's own words: "A place that's so old that people leave it up in hopes of seeing it get twice as old!" Atar had told him wonderful stories about elves, dwarves, hobbits and even ordinary humans who, as it turned out, were not so ordinary. Many of the tales were sad though, but Alaric didn't mind. He loved them, because there was such a ring of truth to them. <BR><BR>Alaric had never gone to a formal school, Atar had given no explanation, but upon his turning six, they would go to the library and study there, for hours and hours on end, from eight o'clock to four o'clock, with only an hour break for lunch. Of course, it was not all work, sometimes Atar would make fun of the history books Alaric had and despised such things as being silly and inaccurate, or he would tell more of his stories- or on very rare occasions, would let Alaric see his workshop! What a place! On shelves all around the room was real treasure! Golden chalices, rings, bracelets, polished mirrors...wonderful things. And in the far corner, three very old looking wooden chests, locked.<BR><BR>Alaric was about eighteen when he and Atar first left the Heap to go into the nearest city. Alaric would never forget sitting in the back seat, being completely terrified by Atar's driving. The old man loved to drive, but he was terrible at it- or so it seemed to Alaric. They had gone to a large building and there was some legal fuss over his birth certificate, but he went in anyway and took some boring tests. They went home and Alaric forgot all about the tests until two weeks later, they got the scores back. Alaric had a perfect score on his SAT and ACT. Neither he nor Atar really saw the point of the whole thing, but both agreed it reason to celebrate. <BR><BR>That night, Atar told Alaric a wild tale- wilder than usual. He claimed that all the stories he had told him were <i>true!</i> Alaric had laughed, but Atar shook his head sagely and got out a book. A very thick, very, very old book. Oddly enough though, all the pages were intact and still legible. Alaric began reading. The book was purportedly a genealogy that traced his ancestry right back to an elven house. The oldest elven house, the House of Feanor. Not that he, Alaric, was a descendant of Feanor himself, but of a highly placed craftsman in his employ. And for some strange, strange reason, Alaric found he could believe him. And then Atar gave him sad news. <i>"Listen, Ilyatur, " he said quietly. "That is your name- your 'true name' as it were. I must leave here now- people are suspicious of what they don't understand, and they won't understand me being so old and still looking so young." It was true. Atar never looked much older than the pictures and few memories Alaric had of his father. "I have a friend who arranges for such things as falsified birth certificates, passports, the like that you need, and he advises me to move. So, I'm moving."<BR>"But Ata-" Alaric began.<BR>Atar shook his head. "No buts- they are for goats and you, are a descendant of a masterful craftsman. I am going to Japan- I hear the cherry blossoms will be very beautiful this year. I'll write you every so often- under a different name of course, but you will know who I am." He stood. "Namarie, Ilyatur."<BR>Farewell.</i><BR>"Namarie, Atar," Alaric whispered. Then he realized he had said it aloud. Not very loudly, but still. <i> You must be more careful! </i> he reprimanded himself and went back to his book browsing, pushing away any more reminiscing.
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Postby KBrandybuck » Fri Jun 21, 2002 8:19 am

The chirp of the cellphone made Randi look up. She had missed the stranger (Alaric) in the back of the store, and that was annoying, because she prided herself on sussing out a situation, even one as innocuous as a bookstore. How she managed to miss his presence she had no idea. Perhaps she was letting her guard down after only a week in this little Vermont town.
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Postby GlassHouse » Fri Jun 21, 2002 8:52 am

"Heh? what?" said the man behind the counter. He looked up from yellow pages of the book he'd been absorbed in and met Finlay's eyes. Despite the rumpled appearance of his tattered brown cardigan, which was speckled with white cigar ash and the way he'd seemed a million miles away just now, Finlay had the remarkable impression that he was being given the most thorough assessment of his character from the oldman.

The man put the cracked leather-bound book face down on the counter, "Genealogy and Lore of the Tribes of Laigin," it read in faded gold letters.

"Yes young man? Do you have a name?"

"Um, yes sir," said Fin feeling a little taken aback by the keenness of the old fellows inspection. "Finlay, Finlay Muldowney."
"From County Kilkenny!" laughed the old proprietor loudly. His gaze noticeably softening towards Finlay. "Couldn't get more Gaelic than that now could you? Do you know what it means?
Finlay is Gaelic, of course, means 'White Warrior'. Is that You? Muldowney now, that's got older origins.....um, related to the O'Carrolls I think, (the O'Carrolls of the Reddened Spears) it's older form is Ó Maoldomhnaigh. You come from an old family my boy."

"Um, yes, I guess I do....at least that's what my gram always said. She was the one in our family that really kept up the ties to the old country," said Finlay fumbling to keep up, but sensing that the interview had taken a good turn.

"Ah, a wise woman, no doubt. I'm Arthur MacGinnis," said Arthur, reaching across the counter to shake Fin's hand.
"I own this place, call me Art or Mac, you see where my interest in Gaelic names comes from, I'm sure.... Well what makes you think you want to work in my book shop? Got any experience?"

"Well no, but I'm a history major at the college. I thought working with old books and such might be interesting..."

"Say no more young man, I have college students coming in here looking for work all the time. Most of them think this is an easy job. Well it's not!"
A touch of gruffness crept back into the old man's voice.

"I have clients from all over the world, I charge them top dollar and they expect service. That means research, accurate research. Do you think you can handle that responsibility?"

"Yes, I think I can, I'd like the chance." said Fin, in his most earnest voice. He really needed this job and the old guy seemed to be an interesting character.

"Hmmm...well, you've got a good name...I'll give you a chance. See those two women in the corner? Probably students. Go over and see if you can be any help. I'll just watch from over here. Call if you get in over your head."

Art went back to his book and didn't seem to be 'watching at all.
In fact he was once more absorbed by the text.

"The Laginian tribes of Leinster descend from Cú Corb, a descendant of Find File. From Cú Corb's son Messcorb descend the Dál Messin Corb and the Uí Garrchon (Ua Ferghaile or O'Farrelly), later to be referred to as the Fortuatha, or Alien Tribes. From Cú Corb's son Cairpre descend the Dál Cairpre Arad, whose territory was in Munster. From Cú Corb's son Corbmac descend the Dál Cormaic, Uí Gabla, Uí Labrada and Uí Buide (O'Kealy).
From Cú Corb's son Nia Corb descended Cathair Mór and Maine Mál....."


Fin approached the two women who were having an animated discussion in low voices.

"Excuse me, my name is Fin. Can I be of any help?" he asked.
The women looked up, somewhat surprised to be interrupted. The one in the blue sweats had the most remarkable eyes. Those must be contacts. thought Fin. how do they make them do that?!

The shorter one, smiled broadly and looked very amused at Fin for some reason. But her voice was warm, friendly and only slightly mocking.
"Don't they let you take off your coat before you go to work here? You're dripping wet!
Last edited by GlassHouse on Fri May 28, 2004 7:17 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby AurabellaBolger » Fri Jun 21, 2002 10:10 am

Clea found nothing so comforting as the scent of an antique bookshop. The mustiness made her think of ancient Roman temples, castles on the Rhine, Westminster Abbey, all the grand old places built of strong, solid stone that had weathered milennia. Somehow -- naively, perhaps -- she felt that antique books held in them the key to a wisdom as strong and solid as those stones. She never felt so serene as she did when she was surrounded by old books. <BR><BR>She hadn't come into the place to browse. She'd brought her own book with her, and had settled into one of the chairs at the back. She was far from home, and she needed comfort more than challenge just now, although she'd made up her mind to explore the place in depth at some future time. For now, she slipped on her CD Walkman headphones, taking care to keep the volume low to prevent disturbing the shoppers (courtesy was a virtue she'd been taught to prize, and she'd seen too many signs of its slowly dying), and opened her much-traveled volume of PERSUASION to the fifth chapter while turning on Louis Armstrong and His Hot Five. Louis Armstrong and Jane Austen... they just flat out went together.<BR><BR>She read for a few minutes and found that the romantic troubles of Anne Elliot were not succeeding in absorbing her. She was tense, she was uneasy, and she wanted to go home. Her parents had objected bitterly to her coming to this place. "There will be no one like you to talk to," they'd told her. They'd said this so often throughout her life and never bothered to explain what it meant, so she'd gradually come to the conclusion that it was nonsense. She loved and respected her parents, but they clung to notions of "blood" which she found incomprehensible, even a little mean-spirited. She wanted nothing to do with such ideas.<BR>"So why do you want to go home?" she asked herself, as she turned up Louis' trumpet a little louder.<BR>Even the music wasn't helping her, and the bookstore smell couldn't soothe her. She had to talk to someone. She noticed an amiable-looking girl with curly hair, wearing a comfortable pair of flip-flops, and a stunning young man nearby. She should cast aside all shyness and go up and introduce herself. She looked at the girl's eyes and thought that she was bound to find a congenial companion in her. Something about that girl's looks, her overall demeanor, stirred Clea's interest.<BR>She took off her headset and walked over. "Hello," she said quite plainly to the curly-haired girl. "I'm Clea Amberly. Just arrived at the college." She reached out her hand to shake the girl's in greeting, and felt she had made a great stride forward.
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Postby Findarato » Fri Jun 21, 2002 12:20 pm

Finally, Alaric made his selection, a dusty book about the discovery of the Hititte city of Hattusa going for ten dollars. He walked over to the old man at the register and paid for the book. "Listen," he said quietly. "My name is Alaric in-Gelydh and I'm looking for a map, a very old, very rare, very valuable map. At the top of the map is written this," he took a slip of paper from his wallet on which he had written 'Nogrod' in Feanorian script. "I would make it very much worth your while if you were to find this map." He wrote his name and phone numbers. "This is extremely important to me, if you find the map, please call," he finished and with that, was out the door into the rain. His destination, a small café/bar that he had noticed on his way to the shop was not far and apparently was having a live Celtic musical group perform that evening.<BR><BR>Inside, the place was nice enough, well lit and mostly unoccupied. He ordered a black coffee and nothing else. He really wasn't feeling hungry, mostly depressed as he ticked off another shop on the list. The others were out of state and he did not relish the idea of taking either bus or plane- but if he had to, he would. Soft music was playing in the background, canned, but relaxing. Alaric barely noticed when the waitress returned with his coffee. He felt- not sleepy, quite the opposite, he was wide awake, but everything seemed distant. <i>Alaric- Ilyatur- get a hold of yourself! You're falling asleep!</i> he thought and sipped the coffee, nearly burning his tongue. He pulled out a notepad of research he'd been doing recently, and a few unopened envelopes, the most promising of which bore a foriegn stamp. He opened it and began to read.
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Postby undomiel » Fri Jun 21, 2002 1:35 pm

In a large house lying in stately glory near the banks of New York's Hudson River a girl paced back and forth. Glancing every few minutes toward the windows of the lavish room in which she stood, she would scowl and begin pacing again. Her steps were strong, determined, and agitated. Around the room she strode, fixing the placement of the furniture, adjusting this, moving that, anything to keep her occupied. Though the room needed no cleaning; it was immaculate. <BR><BR>This was Gwendoloen Seaver, daughter of the late Charles and Ellen Seaver, though that meant nothing to most people. One had to be born in the right circles to know the name. The respected family had nearly complete control the textiles industry in England until Gwen's grandfather had almost ruined them with his obsession with archeology. It was only after Charles and his son, Jack, had taken control that they had begun to rebuild their hold on the market. <BR><BR>Yet even when times had been hard and money was slim, Gwen's parents had never ceased to stress the importance of money, possessions, power and prestige. The home on the Hudson had been theirs for generations, a living testament that you could never keep the Seavers down! Now Jack had control of the company which provided this lifestyle of luxury to which Gwen had become accustomed. Still through it all she had sought after more. Searching blindly for some deeper meaning in her life. It had to be there somewhere...<BR><BR>Suddenly the door swung open and a tall blonde man walked into the room. He looked startled to see her there, standing in front of the windows with an unfamiliar smile on her face. "DOn't look at me like that, Gwen," he said warily. "It makes me think you are up to something."<BR><BR>"I am," she answered him without fear. <i>People fear my brother,</i> she thought, <i>but why should I? We are so alike... and yet complete oposites.</i> She looked at her brother's blonde hair and blue eyes. He was beautiful, she knew, and everytime she saw him she had to push the envy in her heart away. <i>Why am I so dark?</i> she wondered, not for the first time. <BR><BR>"Don't tell me you've found something again," Jack replied skeptically. <BR><BR>"I have," she said simply. "I've found out why Grandfather spent the family fortune down to nothing. I've found what it was that drove him from obsession into insanity." She smiled again. "Do you want to know what it was?"<BR><BR>Jack frowned. He had everything his heart desired. Did he want to know what it was that had driven a miser to throw away his world so willingly? Did he want to risk that fate?
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Postby KBrandybuck » Fri Jun 21, 2002 2:20 pm

"Hello, Fin," said Randi, and stuck out her hand. "Randi Buckly. Do you have any Irish? Couldn't help overhearing your chat with yer man over there. My folk - well, my adopted folk that is - were Ui Neill, but I spend most of my time in Clare and Kerry and Donegal when I go over. Anyway, I'm new in town and I'm just browsing. But say, I have this antique sword at home - a dagger really - that my uncle left me. It's a pretty thing but I can't find anyone who can tell me anything about it. Is there a good armorer around here or a metalurgist. I have taken this gizmo to every lousy SCA nerd, prop maker and blacksmith in Calfornia and even had some business associates of mine have a look at it (she meant the FBI but didnt' want to announce her profession just yet) and I am telling you, they can't tell me diddly squat about it. Can't tell me the metal, can't tell me the workmanship, the period, the history, nothing, nada, zip. It's been in the family for donkey's years, or so they say."<BR><BR>She smiled at Clea as well. Two new friends. This was good news indeed.<BR><BR>"Randi Buckly," she said. "I just moved here. I'm renting the Graham place over on the west side of town. So you two are at the college hugh? I just applied to teach over there. They had an opening for a lecturer in prehistoric forensic anthropology.Talk about your obscure topics. You know - ten thousand year old crime scenes. Nice place, this. Bet it's nasty in the winter. Snow's all right in its place, but I hope I don't freeze to death come February."<BR><BR>She peeked around Fin and Clea and waved to Art. "How are you?" she said. "Randi Buckley.I'm new. I like the store. Got anything on the ordinance survey of Donegal in 1821? I have copies but I'm having the devils own time finding originals."<BR><BR>As previously stated, she would talk to Satan. Other law enforcement officers tended to be withdrawn and terse but she preferred the Columbo approach - overwhelm folk with charm and disarm them completely.<BR><BR>"So Clea, we know Fin is a history major. What are you studying?"
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Postby NabooHuntress » Fri Jun 21, 2002 4:34 pm

“Deep in the forest she ran, not breathing or seeing where she was going. On and on she went, not feeling the ground underneath her bare feet. The trees were a blur, she didn’t see where she was going, she only knew she couldn’t stop. Suddenly before her…”<BR><BR><i>Order up!</i> <BR><BR>Kendra looked up from her book and peered behind her shoulder.<BR><BR><i>Yeah, you, waitress, get busy.</i> The irritated cook wouldn’t wait much longer.<BR><BR>She straightened up, breathed out noisely, straightened her apron and put on her best scowl. <i>Only for the summer until school starts</i> Kendra thought to herself as she picked up the plates and carried them to the elderly couple sitting in the booth. <BR><BR>Like most younger adults in town, she was a college student, but not a wealthy one. Her life was her own and she wanted to have adventures and travel the world. The only problem was, she didn’t know exactly how. It seemed everyone entered college with a career in mind except Kendra. She only cared about reading...reading and that guy she saw every week in her history class. Kendra smiled thinking about him. <BR><BR>She walked back to the counter to continue her book and glanced at the man she gave coffee too earlier. She watched him and found him intriguing somehow, burying himself in his notebook, just like she buried herself in her books. Then he looked up at her, like he knew she was staring, and it startled her. Kendra jumped slightly then looked down at her book, pretending to read, and feeling very foolish.
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Postby GlassHouse » Fri Jun 21, 2002 7:02 pm

Fin smiled helplessly at the torrent of words that flowed from the woman's smiling face. She was hard to keep up with.<BR>"No, you see I don't quite have the job yet."<BR>....<BR>"Yes my family's Irish, how'd you guess with a name like Fin?"<BR>....<BR>"Uh, no I've never been to Ireland myself..."<BR><BR>She seemed like she had no need to ever come up for air, but unlike so many other people who talked too much, her warmness made the effect pleasing, affable and instantly disarming. The woman in the blue sweats sat on the floor, absorbed in Randi's blather.<BR>Randi's merry voice and Fin's quiet laughter must have made the trio look quite comfortable and approachable. Another women, a customer who had been sitting in the back of the store reading, looked up from her book at the little cluster of friendly chatter. She looked unsure for just a moment but then seemed to come to some resolution. <BR><BR><i>>She took off her headset and walked over. "Hello," she said quite plainly to the curly-haired girl. "I'm Clea Amberly. Just arrived at the college." She reached out her hand to shake the girl's in greeting, and felt she had made a great stride forward.<</i><BR><BR>Randi introduced herself, the woman in the blue sweats, looked up and smiled an astonishing smile but said nothing.<BR>"Hi I'm Clea, I'm Finlay." said Fin with Randi's contagious good nature, his hangover completely forgotten now. <BR><BR>"Listen," said Fin to Randi, taking advantage of the pause, "maybe we could help each other out.<BR>I'm sure Mr. MacGinnis has the resources to find out something about that sword of yours. Or if he doesn't, he probably knows someone who does. <BR>If you could look pleased and maybe give me a good word on your out or something, I promise to do whatever I can to help you out with that. <BR><BR>Randi gave Fin a nod.<BR><i>>She peeked around Fin and Clea and waved to Art. "How are you?" she said. "Randi Buckley. I'm new. I like the store. Got anything on the ordinance survey of Donegal in 1821? I have copies but I'm having the devils own time finding originals."<<BR></i><BR> <BR>Art looked up from his book, "Certainly miss, my assistant is new, just started today in fact." A faint smile flickered across Art's lips and he looked pleased with Finlay. "So I'll direct you to the maps. I can't say if we have that particular map in stock, but I'll be happy to have Fin look it up in the catalogues for you.<BR>The maps are this way..... Mr. Muldowney, the cartography catalogues are behind the front desk." <BR><BR>Fin gave Randi a wink from under dark eyebrows and quietly thanked her. "Wow, this is great, I really needed this job. <BR>Hey, if you ladies have nothing better planned, you could help me celebrate. There's a nice little cafe just on the corner that's having live Irish music tonight. They make a great Irish coffee too if you have a mind, it seems to be a theme today."<BR><BR>"Come along Mr. Muldowney," said Art. "Get the information you need and see about those catalogues."
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Postby KBrandybuck » Fri Jun 21, 2002 8:01 pm

"Live Irish music," said Randi. She didn't suppose anyone here knew what a session was. Irish music could mean anything from U2 to a buttonbox, fiddle and guitar playing traditional jigs and reels. She hoped it was the latter. But this was New England, riddled with Irish and she had her trust Copeland D whistle and Skip healey wooden flute in her backpack, just in case it was a session and she might be given the "nod in".<BR><BR>"Coffee sounds grand," she said. "Where is this place? What time shall we meet? Let me just talk to the gentleman over here about that sword."<BR><BR>She stepped to Art's desk. "Do you know anything about antique weapons, or do you know anyone who does? I have this short sword at home that is supposed to have been in my family for years and no one can tell me what it was made out of, or anything about the workmanship."
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Postby GlassHouse » Fri Jun 21, 2002 9:57 pm

"It's right down the street on the corner, a real folk place called <a target=new href="http://www.geocities.com/Nashville/Rodeo/4651/lw.htm"><b>The Queen of Argyll</b></a>. The music starts early." answered Fin, as he hurried to get behind the counter and search for the map catalogues.<BR><BR>"Going to 'The Queen' tonight?" said Art. "Don't worry, I close early on Fridays. You'll be out carousing in no time, but lets help this young lady first, shall we?" <BR>Art stubbed out a cigar that had been lying idle in an ash tray and moved slowly from behind the counter to let Fin by.<BR><BR>"This way miss, now what where you saying about a sword?"
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Postby AurabellaBolger » Sat Jun 22, 2002 7:49 am

This was a good beginning, Clea thought; Randi and Fin were as friendly as she'd hoped they'd be when she'd watched them across the room. They didn't seem to notice anything strange about her. So she was a little taller than she ought to be, and her face and its features were not quite as gentle and refined as they ought to be -- it didn't matter a bit. Any fears she might have cherished thanks to her parents' warnings -- "no one like you to talk to"; the voices hummed ominously in her ears even as she dismissed them -- dwindled to nothing as she agreed to join her new friends at the pub.<BR><BR>"I'm interested in art and photography," she told Randi. "I'm double-majoring -- photography and journalism. A place on the staff of a globe-trotting magazine would suit me perfectly."<BR>She liked Irish music, too, and she told her friends so. Really, she liked almost every variety of music in existence, except the most aggressive form of rap, which stimulated emotions and impulses inside her that she felt were best forgotten. She loved to read, she explained to them, and to listen to music while reading. Each great author had a CD connected with him or her. Beethoven's 9th belonged with John Milton. The Chieftains or Clannad went with W.B. Yeats. And for some reason she couldn't quite explain, she liked reading Shakespeare to the accompaniment of the Beatles. She was clearly talking quite comfortably with these people who were "not of her blood." She could snap her fingers in the faces of all her relatives and their crowd.<BR>Then she heard the mention of a sword. Her ears pricked up.<BR>Weaponry fascinated her. It always had, though she could not guess why. She had never thought of herself as a violent person. That "tie-the-bullying-basketball-player-in-a-bowknot" incident was regrettable but long past. But swords and weapons excited her senses as few other things did.<BR>Tensely, she waited to hear more.
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Postby KBrandybuck » Sat Jun 22, 2002 9:00 am

"Oh, early Clannad is ok,' Randi said as Clea detailed her musical tastes. "But I'm not into the new age stuff. All I listen to is Irish traditional music. And opera. I usually listen to opera when I'm working." But she hadn't said to them what "work" had been before coming to Vermont. But her colleagues had grown accustomed to the sight of Inspector Buckley with her headphones on, listening to 'Tosca' as she processed a crime scene or dictated her notes.<BR><BR>"Art and photography," she mused. "I'm kind of looking for someone to help me illustrate a book. My uncle Brian left me his notes on a book he was working on and I'd sure like to have some nice illustrations. Maybe we cn talk about this later."<BR><BR>She turned to Art. <BR><BR>"My uncle in Ireland left me sword. I'm not a weapons expert, but I have seen one or two Scottish swords from the 16th century and this is nothing like. The blade is very shiney and smooth - flawless just about as if it had been machined or else someone had spent a lot of time with very fine sand or slurry. There is not a flaw on it at all. There is some writing on it which if I didn't know better I'd say was..." She stopped herself and thought better of what the writing looked like. Because after all it didn't look QUITE like that and the words were meaningless, in a language she didn't understand. "Brian - that's my uncle - said it had been in his family for years and years. I've had it to several experts and they can't even tell me what the heck it's made out of." She laughed. "It's kind of like a medieval ginsu knife. It just chops through anything and the blade stays sharp. I've taken it to some museums as well, but no one is interested in it since they can't give it a context as far as a time period in history, or anything like that. I'm wondering if this isn't some kind of joke Brian was perpretrating - he liked having his jokes, you know." She looked around the shop with its arcane, obscure collection of scrolls and maps and books. "Something tells me you might have a line on an expert or two," she said. She pointed to the cigar. "Can't do that in California. Is it legal to smoke in Vermont in a store or a restaurant?" That was the other reason she liked to go to Ireland -- you could smoke in the pubs.<BR><BR>This was more than she had hoped for. In a week she knew where to shop, where the libary was,the dry cleaners, a gun shop, a good mechanic to service the old Land Cruiser, the police station, but she hadn't made more than any nodding acquaintances with anyone who looked remotely interesting, til today. She didn't care they were all much younger - except Art who looked anywhere from between 50 and 200 - because friends were friends after all.
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Postby Findarato » Sat Jun 22, 2002 9:10 am

Alaric returned to his letter. Of course, it was entirely in Feanorian script, which he knew to be Atar's preference. Something about modern writing being too clumsy and impersonal. <BR><BR><i>-and so that is how I landed my position at the dojo. My landlady sends her greetings, as does her son, who wants to know when you will come and visit me and if you will bring him a Yankees baseball cap. I don't know why either. Master Kim sends his regards as well some advice. I quote. "A journey is coming. Beware of easy and obvious ways." Ilyatur, even as our kind has endured, so have others. Tread lightly and never turn your back in the dark. Atar</i><BR><BR>Alaric refolded the note. <i>So have others?</i><BR><BR>He opened the other letters reluctantly. Routine information, no surprises. He took another sip of his coffee. The band had arrived and began setting up their equipment. Apparently they were fairly popular locally and the place began filling up. Alaric considered going back to the room he had taken in a B&B about two blocks away, but decided against it. That would mean a walk in the rain and why do that when he could stay inside? Eventually he would have to get back, if nothing else to pick up his gear and arrange a means of transport to the next town on his list, but that would be later and the rain might have stopped by then. He would stay for now.
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Postby NabooHuntress » Sat Jun 22, 2002 11:57 am

<i>That must have been very interesting</i> Kendra said with a smile, a coffee pot in her hand.<BR><BR>The customer looked up at the waitress quizzingly, her simple face concealed slightly by wisps of blonde hair that fell out of her ponytail. Her smile seemed sincere as she re-filled his cup.<BR><BR><i>The paper you were reading, it must have been interesting. I can tell, I'm quite the reader myself. Anything, really, I'll read, except for pathetic romance novels, those are so disgusting.</i><BR><BR><i>Yes.</i> <BR><BR>Kendra furrowed her eyebrows and her smile disappeared for a moment. The customer didn't seem to want to say much to her and Kendra was disappointed, but her enthusiasm soon returned.<BR><BR><i>The band will soon be here. It's a local Irish band, if you stay awhile you can hear them play. They are very good, at least, I think so. </i><BR><BR>Still he said nothing to her, but he grinned. Kendra was hopeful as she walked to her next table. She thought of taking the paper folded on the table, but it wasn't characteristic of her to do so. She tried to forget it, but it stayed in her mind. She kept her eye on the customer, hoping he would stay and watch the band.
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Postby GlassHouse » Sat Jun 22, 2002 2:38 pm

Art and Randi walked toward the back of the store, Randi going on about her sword, Art giving her his full attention.<BR><BR><< <i>"My uncle in Ireland left me sword. I'm not a weapons expert, but I have seen one or two Scottish swords from the 16th century and this is nothing like. The blade is very shiney and smooth - flawless just about as if it had been machined or else someone had spent a lot of time with very fine sand or slurry. There is not a flaw on it at all. There is some writing on it which if I didn't know better I'd say was..."</i> >><BR><BR>"Sounds fascinating, I'd like very much to have a look at it myself. I know a little about ancient weapons and I know others who know more. <BR>I'm sure we could find out something for you," said Art as he placed a friendly hand on Randi's shoulder to guide her around stacks of books that he never quite got around to putting in order.<BR><BR>"Don't mind the mess," he said gesturing with a new cigar. "I have an assistant to clear these things up now."
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Postby GlassHouse » Sat Jun 22, 2002 2:40 pm

Fin arrived at 'The Queen' late. He'd stayed at the store for a long time after the customers left. Talking with Art and drinking left over coffee, while Art lit one cigar after another, apparently just to forget them in ash trays spread all over the store. <BR>Fin looked over some of the books, trying to get a feel for where things were, but mainly they talked. The old guy had a lot of knowledge tucked away inside his head and he appeared to be more than happy to share it.<BR><BR>They'd talked first about Fin and his family. Art was surprised to find that Fin was a local, not many college students were. Not that the locals didn't go to college, but they usually preferred to leave town when they did.<BR><BR>From there they moved on to the history of New England, one of Fin's favorite subjects. Art told stories of the first European settlers and then a little about the ancient history of the Native American's and how they'd lived for centuries before the European conquest. <BR>Natives American's brought up the subject of which European group could really claim to be the first to discover the New World. Fin mentioned Vikings and Leif Erickson and how Viking settlements had been found all the way to Nova Scotia, but scholars were still not sure where Leif's Vineland had been. <BR>Then it was Art's turn to surprise Fin by bringing up the controversial megalithic stone circles of New England. Some people (less reputable scientists and amateurs, in Fin's opinion) said they were built by the same people who had made Stonehenge. <BR>Fin smiled at the thought that an educated person like Art, could actually take this kind of quack science seriously. But apparently Art did, so Fin kept a respectful silence on the subject. <BR><BR>When they'd parted, Art took Fin's hand again and welcomed him to the store. "I think we're going to get along fine, young man... good to have you here. Maybe I'll stop by the Queen later tonight, I hear the band's is unusually good this week. <BR><BR>Fin walked to the corner. The rain had stopped and the sun had set an hour before. The September evening had the crisp kind of clear air that made the stars really stand out. <BR>In this small town, everything was close by. The cafe/pub was just down the street from the book store. That was always the liveliest corner in town on Friday and Saturday night. College students tended to spill out onto the street when the weather was fine, using the side walk tables that were meant for daytime customers. This allowed the young patrons a place go, when they wanted to have a more intense discussion than the music inside would permitted. <BR><BR>Tonight there was a small crowd at the outside tables, sitting with their jackets on, under the sign of the Queen. The door of the pub stood open and the music from inside flowed into the street of the otherwise quiet village center. A couple of these people looked up from their deep conversations and greeted Fin as he walked by.<BR>When Finlay finally got inside at The Queen of Argyll, it was nearly 8;30 but he knew that the band must have just started. They were kicking off the evening with a house tradition. <BR>Most of the bands, (traditional or not) that played The Queen, started their first set with the song the cafe took it's name from. Sometimes that could be pretty interesting, depending on who the band was. <BR>This time however, it was a traditional Irish group made up of college professors and a couple of students that called themselves <BR><i>Cu Chulainn</i>, after the hero of folklore. <BR>Fin could just see prof Thistelwool's curly brown hair on the stage, bobbing in time to the music as he beat the goatskin bodhran, he'd made himself. <BR>Fin stopped by the door and listened to their energetic rendition.<BR><BR><BR><i>QUEEN OF ARGYLL<BR><BR>Gentle men it is my duty <BR>To inform you of one beauty<BR>Though I'd ask you of a favor, <BR>Not to seek her for a while<BR>Though I own she is a creature <BR>Of character and feature<BR>No words can paint the picture <BR>of the Queen of all Argyll.<BR><BR>CHORUS <BR> And if you could have seen her there, <BR> Boys if you had just been there<BR> The swan was in her movement, <BR> and the morning in her smile.<BR> All the roses in the garden, <BR> They bow and ask her pardon<BR> For not one could match the beauty <BR> of the queen of all Argyll.<BR><BR>On that evening that I mention, <BR>I passed with light intention<BR>Through a part of our dear country <BR>Known for beauty and for style<BR>Being a place of noble thinkers, <BR>Of scholars and great drinkers<BR>But above them all for splendour <BR>Shone the Queen of all Argyll<BR><BR>So my lads my needs must leave you, <BR>My intention's not to grieve you<BR>Nor indeed would I decieve you, <BR>Oh I'll see you in a while<BR>I must find some way to gain her, <BR>To court her and to tame her<BR>I fear my heart's in danger <BR>From the Queen of all Argyll</i><BR><BR>As the band ended their song the patrons raised their glasses in solute to the painting of the 17th century aristocratic beauty on the wall behind the bar. "to the Queen!" the shouted as one.<BR><BR>He spotted Randi and Clea at a table. Randi seemed to be having no trouble talking over the music. He ordered a local Catamount Pale Ale that they pub had on tap, and made his way over to them.
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Postby KBrandybuck » Sat Jun 22, 2002 3:18 pm

Randi and Clea were becoming quite chummy. As was the usual protocol with house bands, Randi did not approach the musicians, as it looked like a performance. If a session broke out, why they would see her flute case on the table and someone might ask her the obvious question, "Whatcha got in there?"and she would take it out if invited, but otherwise, would leave it sheathed. She waved at Fin. She had a Guinness in front of her - not as good as you could get in Ireland, but not a bad pour, which meant the publican kept the pipes cleared.<BR><BR>"Yer man's not a bad goat beater," she said, and aimed her glass at Prof. Thistlewool (though she didn't know his name). "Usually I hate bodhrans, most people can't play them right. This guy's ok, though. So, how's the first day of work?"
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Postby AurabellaBolger » Sat Jun 22, 2002 3:54 pm

Clea was getting more comfortable and relaxed with each sip of Johnny Walker Black she took. She liked Randi immensely. Her face, with its friendly, open smile and sharp, intelligent eyes, was quite different from any face she could remember seeing back home. Her parents were always so careful about the people she was introduced to. She knew so little of the world beyond that stony New York neighborhood, really, except what she'd read in books. This tiny college town seemed a larger universe, somehow, and she was glad to have an agreeable companion with whom she could explore it.<BR>"You're absolutely right, Randi," she said as she band wound up its set. "That New Age nonsense does ... suck." She winced a little at using a word like "suck," but it seemed appropriate in this case. "I suppose I always thought it sounded serene. I've liked things to be serene, as different as possible from... New York." She frowned. "What do you think of New York, Randi? Have you ever heard of the Amberlheims?" Regretting the question at once, without waiting for an answer she sighed and turned the talk in another direction. "I'd love to have a go at those drawings you'd like me to do. Just tell me what they're all about, and I'll see what I can do."
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Postby KBrandybuck » Sat Jun 22, 2002 4:05 pm

"I've been to New York a time or two," said Randi. "I have a brother who works there. He's not my brother really - I'm adopted, you see. As he says, if you can't find something in New York, it probably doesn't exist. I'm not up on who the famous families are, though. Rockefeller is about the only name I'd recognize."<BR><BR>She thought a minute about what she was after by way of illustrations. "I'm doing a book on the anthropological origens of certain fairy stories in Northern Europe, especially Ireland," she said. "It is my firm belief that there is an actual basis in fact for some of the tales told about elves and fairies and what not. So I am gathering all the data I can and cross referencing it and coming up with some theories. They're hairbrained theories, but in this age of alien abductions, what isn't."
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Postby GlassHouse » Sat Jun 22, 2002 4:39 pm

Fin pulled a chair up to the table and nodded hello. Clea and Randi were cheerily chatting about many things it seemed. New York...art... Randi's writing, she was doing a book about Irish folk lore. He took a long pull of his ale to clear away the taste of stale coffee and cigar smoke. <BR>It was quieter in the pub now, the band was into a ballad,<BR><BR><a target=new href="http://www.geocities.com/Nashville/Rodeo/4651/ifiwasbl.txt"><i>...if I was a scholar and could handle the pen<BR>Once secret love letter to my true love I'd send<BR>And tell of my sorrow, my grief and my pain<BR>Since she's gone and left me <BR>In yon flowery glen....</i></a><BR><BR><BR>His mood was much improved since earlier this afternoon, it wasn't often that you got an interesting job and met so many seemingly simpatico people in one day. He couldn't help grinning, he hoped it didn't make him look like an idiot, but he just couldn't stop. He got the gist of the conversation as he drank, and joined right in. <BR><BR>"I'm no expert on fairy stories, but I thought Ireland didn't actually have elves. At least not anymore......I think St Patrick must have had something to do with it." he said still grinning.<BR><BR>"But my old Gram used to tell stories about the Sidhe. Isn't their otherworld kind of a dark place?... like a parallel world of magical sociopaths - the way Gram told it, the Sidhe didn't really have what you'd call a conventional sense of good and evil.<BR><BR>You know, things like stealing children, leading people astray on hungry grass, tricking musicians..... She used to put a lump of butter on a saucer on the windowsill during the festival days, to keep on the right side of the 'good people'."
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Postby Findarato » Sat Jun 22, 2002 4:57 pm

Alaric found that more and more he had to concentrate on the notepad in front of him and the notes he was making from the papers that had been sent to him. It wasn't that the band was distracting him, far from it, they had faded to a background noise. Instead, the cafe- everything really, seemed to be also fading and a white mist of some kind was before his eyes. <BR><BR><i>"Alter course!" someone shouted, but it was lost in the roar of an enraged sea. "Too late!" someone shouted back. There was a hideous grinding crash of wood against wood and the wind howled all the louder, drownding the cries of any survivors. A voice spoke softly, but Alaric could hear it very clearly. "Ware. Do not tread this course." There was a rushing feeling...</i><BR><BR>Alaric suddenly found himself back in the cafe. What-what had just happened? He tried to breathe normally, but that didn't seem to work, his lungs felt starved for air as if he'd been holding his breath and he felt sick. Finally, he could drink some coffee, not minding the fact that it was now no longer hot but warm. What had just happened?
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Postby KBrandybuck » Sat Jun 22, 2002 5:52 pm

"The tale goes that when the Milesians came from Spain, the Tuatha de Danaan agreed to share the island with them," said Randi. "The Milesians, who would be the Celts, took the upper half, the the Tuatha de Danann took the lower half - the underground. They became the Sidhe. The general theory is that many invaders make up stories about the indigenous people which make the aboriginals sound mystical and can change shape and have magic powers. I am wondering whether tales of giants and trolls and leprachauans aren't in fact tales about misunderstandings about variations in the human species and these misunderstandings predate written history."<BR><BR>She pointed her glass at Alaric.<BR><BR>"Take yer man over there. Suppose a chap like that walked into a place where there were some short dark people. Why, they'd think he was a spirit, or an elf or some kind of thing like that. And they'd make up stories about him. And if he had some special knowledge they didn't have, they'd probably think he was a god. We've seen that sort of thing during the course of written history. Who knows what happened at the dawn of time?"<BR><BR>Someone listening in leaned over and said. "There would be fossil evidence if there were other types of humans around," he said. Randi snorted.<BR><BR>"Look, think about the dinosaurs," she said. "It's a flippin' miracle we have as much fossil evidence as we have. Do you know the series of events that have to take place to create a fossil? The animal or human has to die or be buried someplace where the whole body doesn't just melt - and trust me I know about decomposition - where it can be preserved, or where the right combination of water and minerals can turn the bones to fossils. It's just nothing but a lucky accident. There could be whole races of humans - maybe even sentient tool using humans - who were erased off this planet without a trace." She snapped her fingers to illustrate the fragility of life, then drank some of her Guinness.<BR><BR>"And my Uncle Brian had even wilder theories," she said. "Hey, the band is playing my favorite reel!"<BR><BR>they had launched into the Bucks of Oranmore. Randi couldn't help pulling out her trusty D whistle and playing along with.
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Postby GlassHouse » Sat Jun 22, 2002 6:26 pm

"What about the peat bogs?" said the guy at the next table. <BR><BR>"Aren't things generally preserved intact in the bogs? I heard they have bronze age musical instruments that are still playable."<BR><BR>Music and Ireland were subjects dear to the hearts of many of the customers tonight.<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0>
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Postby KBrandybuck » Sat Jun 22, 2002 9:44 pm

"Peat bogs have preserved more than instruments," Randi said. "They've found a few mummified humans in the bogs. And when we consider how thick the peat is over there - could be loads of interesting things way down in the bottom that it could take hundreds of years to uncover." She was lost in a revery where some lucky farmer found a small little adult human from some distant past- a real fairy maybe or a leprechaun. <BR><BR>But the band was going to have a session now and a few others were breaking out instruments. Randi saluted the apparant alpha male of the band with her whistle, he nodded towards an empty chair.<BR><BR>"'Scuse me while I have some tunes," she said. "I'll be back. Don't let anyone take my seat."<BR><BR>
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