View Single Post
Old 10-19-2005, 08:15 AM   #283
Spirit of Mist
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Tol Eressea
Posts: 2,897
Mithadan has been trapped in the Barrow!
The battle raged and ebbed, swaying back and forth, now favoring one side, then favoring another, back and forth, to and fro, until the oddsmakers, who had been observing quietly from a nearby hillside, became dizzy and sick and dropped their books, and many other things besides including their lunches, to the ground. Thus was a valuable record of these days lost, but not all suffered from this sad event, for some, such as Kuruharan and Orogarn II, had the presence of mind to snatch up as many receipts as they could from the ground (and the hands and pockets of the slain) so that, in after times, they cashed in to their great profit and in later days... but that is another tale.

The battle... yes! The battle... it raged on. But though the Itship and their allies had fought valiently, they slowly grew weary and their arms heavy and Pimpiowyn experienced a hunger such as she had never before known, having not ever skipped so many meals. Thus, the forces of M˘gul pressed their advantage and the armies of the light, or at least a lighter shade of grey, were hard put to hold their ground. It looked dark indeed, unless you were M˘gul to whom things seemed bright, proving at last that good and evil are but differences only in perception and the winner writes the history and the loser goes quietly into the night never to be heard from again until revisionist historians take up the tale and, through careful analysis of the notes, letters, books and records of the time learn, or think they learn, that all was not truly as was told or written and indeed things were different and not the same and all is only shades of grey... or blue, blue is a very nice color, don't you think?

Anyway, the battle raged on and things didn't look good for the Lightershadeofblueship, most can agree upon that. Then, suddenly, horns, horns, horns, echoing through the bright (or dark) air. The Velour had come at last! And all turned, elf, man, dwarf, orc, troll, loyer, vampire, werewolf and a small group of leprechauns who had wandered into the wrong tale, to look at a nearby ridge to see a line of figures dressed in white robes (or surfer jams, whatever...). And to the surprise of the Itship, each of the figures turned and drew up their robes, or drew down their jams and bent over, waving their, ummm you know, for all to see.

"Oh my EMU!" cried Pimpiowyn. "What are they doing?"

But Merisu stared in awe. "It is an ancient ritual challenge, named Dissil after the great light that rides the skies in the evening. I have never seen it done, but it is the ultimate display of disdain. The Velour are Dissing M˘gul's troops!"

Indeed a great howl arose from the masses of Orcs and Trolls and other assorted nasties, and they gnashed their teeth and clashed their swords on their shields and some screamed, "We've been Dissed!"

"Yes!" cried Prada as she waved her... ummm, posterior before the might of M˘gul. "You've been Dissed by the best! Waht are you going to do about it?"

"Yeah!" yelled Manuel. "You want a piece of this?"

The Velour began dancing and prancing with their robes held high and their jams held low, and the armies of M˘gul could not be restrained. With screams of anger and cries of rage they poured across the plain and up the ridge and the Velour fled before them. Nigh unto half of M˘gul's forces charged over the ridge and disappeared from sight as they pursued the Velour...and they were never seen again.

It is said, and after a few drinks you can't stop Mantoes from talking about it, that the Velour led the army of darkness on a merry chase across the lands of Valleyum, over hill and under hill, across streams and plains and forests and swamps and bogs and fens and across a golf course and many other places besides until they came into the Uttermost West and reached the Edges of the World. Here, Manuel called up the winds and clouds and TM Ulmo called up the waters until all was covered in fog and the armies of M˘gul, aided by an occaisional well-aimed kick or shove, poured like lemmings over the edge... Perhaps someday we'll all hear a THUD and we'll smile and raise a glass, knowing what happened... until the revisionists research it, of course (there is a rumour that the Orcs, etc. were led to a giant nightclub with an open bar and are there even yet, and will stay there until the well runs dry, but that's also another tale... damned revisionists).
Mithadan is offline