[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Lord Etceteron gazed into the very heart of the fire as he mused over his companion's sad tale. It seemed to blend almost seamlessly with the deeply moving and evocative portrait of mortality that Vogonwë had painted for them earlier in the day, not to mention almost half a bottle of "Captain Strangereek's Harvest Haemorrhage" that he'd found in his saddlebag.

I looked down at the rotting centipede,
My heart went out to the poor little bug;
It was so dead it didn’t even bleed.

Some called it just puppy love, but to us it was full-grown.

Warning: Highly corrosive. Highly flammable. Do not exceed 2ml per 24 hour period. Stains like the devil. Keep out of reach of everyone. Do not expose to naked flames. Avoid contact with ferrous metals. This product may cause scrofula.

It was all true. No centipede should drink neat Strangereek's with girls called Lola and that was a fact. Clearly he was in the presence of great bardic genius. That was the only possible explanation. He returned briefly to his own oral tradition with a gentle glug.

"The woven shtavesh have yeth worth inthem for woeful heartsh." said Earnur wistfully. "O bards of passion and of mirth, ye have left your souls on earth. All at once I saw a stately pleasure-dome. Look on my works, ye mighty and quaff while thou canst..."

He trailed off into a sleep troubled by dark dreams, in which a mad old man accosted him en route to a wedding in order to tell him at great length about his holiday. His horse and sword were for once too preoccupied with other matters to comment.

[ January 22, 2003: Message edited by: Squatter of Amon Rudh ]