Not one to pay much attention to the pleadings of the court gardener or Baron Hedge 'Voltaire' Shearers to line the royal roads with royal trees suitable for the summer's sun, King Vargnarson though neglecting his environment paid much careful attention to the demands of the court, the wiles of the dukes, the cock-fighting among the courtiers, the scheming of the housemaids. Among other things, tourneys have long been the good Old Majesty's passion, armored knights clashing in steel and skill bringing back memories of bandages, groaning band wagons and rusty metal to the old campaigner. Fairbridge Tourney being one of many such events is graced by the King this day, whose presence drew many a hero and bandit alike, eager to boast their swords and break their bones. It is one such adventurer whom we see now, making his way up the Summer highway. This infernal hellish abyssmal heat doth roast me in my armored seat. Oh Lord, gaze on thy servant here who's fleshly property the sun doth sear like a piece of roasted meat, a tavern's dish, a gruesome treat. Why didst thou make such terrored trial that honoured knights endure such vile and horrid torture in their armor to envy the clothes of the harmless farmer, the dew kissed face of the swampy toad, coveting eels and their watery abode. Ah, but am I not a Renhorden knight? Given to compassion and the noble fight? Should I ride this poor roan of mine and swear and jeer a day so fine? Onward! Now then to Fairbridge Tourney, with haggard will I'll enjoy this journey And ignore the burning poor sensations, and focus on cold pub compensations. Why, look! A tree, and oh so green Hard dry backs the likes I've never seen. You're rather quiet this morning cheery, my faithful horse, what's wrong my deary? Well yes I know you're just a mare and though I'd wager quite beyond compare, I hardly expect a verse or speech but to you I must offer a poor beseech To turn the Sun into the Moon! and ease the troubles of a soldier's gloom; this constant toasting on my helm will hasten me to the netherealm. But what ho is this, a frenzied cloud approaching swiftly with shoutings loud? What devilish sound approaches behind A magical tankard to cool my mind? No, tis a rider and a lean and hungry one urging his horse on a tiring run. Could it be old Grig the Musician? The bard of varied feats of fruition? Ah and yonder afar a larger charging, two, three, perhaps more a barging down this road with thoughts a dire for poor old Grig and his jewelled lyre? Perhaps some bullying or an unequalled joust four against one and meaning to accoust My stalwart friend, a splendid pal save for the odd wench or Zoukish gal? So it was then that two friends did battle with four loutish and dirty knaves (or Lord Gordon's Black Daggered Veteran Cavalry, depending on your feudal persuasion) on the King's Highway enroute to Fairbridge, this White Lily Day of the Summer's Moon, In the Year of our lord 67 and 2. 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. copyright 1997 Gerald Tan & Nigel Poh Currently playing "The Clothiers March or Limericks' Lamentation".