It is twilight by a dusty road. Two disrobed individuals tied back to back and stripped of their dark robes of Amalkon the Slayer are just beginning to revive from the beating they were rendered by Grig Syllable and Sir Bastien Gudo. But why relieve them for their vestments you ask? This mystery reveals itself in... Grig. I say, Bastien, a truely inspired and original plan To dress as priests of the Amalkon Klan T'would hasten our journey if our pursuers to elude even forest thieves and all manner of bandits rude Sir Bastien. Fasting over evil sacraments and monastic work make it difficult to fit over my chained hauberk Here, take, this rangy wicked friar's robe 'Tis a tad of a squeeze for my common wardrobe Aye, I do remember that name much afeared Amalkon the Terror, twenty foot and bloodied beard The blood god of pillage with the three pronged name Suitor of Hamagush, Curser of the meek and tame The foul perpetrators of varied things of badness joyous in mourning, cheered in a widow's sadness Who would have thought these followers of blood would announce their true nature to a knight and bard? Grig. We hardly look the part of questing bard and paladin more dirty faced mercenary and strumming ragamuffin our untidy dress from lack of sleep and thicket running inadvertently aided us in offering up a drumming Of their backs. I've a good mind to with my dagger relieve them of their grisly beards and verbal swagger Especially yonder fat one who would carve out my spleen make them warning examples to the wicked and the mean 1st monk. Release our persons from this affront, and we will serve your corpses up to the Dark and Hungry One in mercied haste. Sir Bastien. Our dinner companions have awakened from their slumber Should we thinkest you beat them blu'er and dumber? Their dark incantations defeated thus by binded wrists Shave their heads and beards and like gruesome nudists Leave them here? I for one know not to chortle or lament that beneath the robes of the evilest monks bent are worn underwear with sigils and pentagrams sewn of skulls and skeletons and even the odd tombstone. 2nd monk. Nulla poena sine lege. Thus is it written that the enemies of the brethren findst themselves in the burning river of coals. 1st monk. Indeed, and with the invocation of duplex querela, their rewards in the river of torment will be doubled. Grig. I've heard quite enough from you two cursing swine Unappreciating of music or the odd rat-god rhyme Here? See, the sharpness and glint of my jewelled knife? Behold, Beard Killer, Hair Slayer, Trimmer of strife! [The bard goes on to relieve them of their beards and long unkempt hair. In the meantime, Sir Bastien searches through their belongings, discovering a veritable treasury of evil prayer books, wicked symbols, icons of Amalkon and other unpleasantries you'd expect evil monks to carry. These are enthusiastically tossed into the burning campfire, coaxed it were by the vials of unholy oil. Just as the bard finishes the last of his hair trimming exercise, a small, mouse-like creature about two feet high appears calmly from the bushes behind, dressed in white silk shirt, corded leather belt and purple, red striped pantaloons] Triskal. Well well it seems that Justice comes to all - to foxes low and evil eagles grand To owls great and even kittens small She judges all with fair and mercied hand I've spied ye two since early yester-morn thy nasty speech and silly shambling gait with hissing chants that nearly made me yawn I've tracked and followed since and here await For tired limbs to yearn a camping fire and when these odds were evened by surprise I'd swiftly pounce with vicious valiant ire and give ye two the thumping of thy lives Be it from a mouse or knightly muscle Doomed werest thou to lose this nightly tussle Sir Bastien. Heavens be! First four guardsmen of un-natural skill Then a witch with a countenance to make anyone ill Then two evil monks who curse us to a river burning now a speaking mouse of noble earning? Triskal. Please hold suspicion firm I humbly ask I am in service to that wretched hag Who aided thee and bade thee on thy task I promise thee I am no scallywag Let not here my small and frail appearance deceive thee to my soul and dignity To fair rules I hold with great adherance here beats a heart of true nobility I mean no harm, in fact I mean thee good Fierce elephants and cheese I'd hold at bay I'd fight thy foes and hug thy friends I would So really please don't wave thy sword that way And let me share here thus a little tale Of where to go and where to find our grail 2nd monk. No more will your fate be that of the swimmers of the stream of unending hotness; we shall to the Thrice-Named One request that you be - Grig. Oh and how will Amalkon recognise his priests who no longer look the part of ominous shaggy beasts demanded of his faithful? Summon him in your prayers dark and he'd sooner hear the pleadings of a hushpuppy's bark. 1st monk. Dark brother, the fool speaks true. How canst we inspire the fear and dread commanded in the Way, stripped such of our robes and items and bereft of fearsome visage. Amalkon commandest much. [The monks sink into a brooding silence.] Sir Bastien. Come then, Triskal, and feast on some roasted deer That was chiefly prepared by these two monks here and of the Blue Lotus Flower, share what you know Thoughts on Where we should begin? Where might it grow? copyright 1997 Gerald Tan & Nigel Poh Click on the dragon to proceed with the tale... ... the dagger to go to the previous page ... and the snoozing gnome to return to the Home Page. Currently playing "Lawn Tennis" by Wilhelm Peterson-Berger.