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Old 01-16-2003, 06:13 PM   #31
Rimbaud
The Perilous Poet
 
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Join Date: Apr 2002
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Pipe

It was a cold grey day near the end of one of the cold grey months predominant in that part of the world. The East Wind was streaming in from the West, sweeping all northwards, and seething in the dark locks of Halfullion’s hair like a breeze of irate hair-stylists. Ragged urchin clouds scudded around, Dickensianly.

The company took plenty gear of war, for their hope was in battle not in secrecy. Halfullion bore his mighty blade, of great repute, and also a small carved tin-whistle, of great power.

“Loud and clear it sounds in the valleys of the hills” he said, “and then let all the foes of Lord Gormlessar flee!” Putting it to his lips, he blew a shrill and painful shriek, and the echoes leapt personificationally from rock to rock, and in a sort of hyperbolic and entirely inaccurate sense, all that heard that voice in the wilderness sprang to their feet. Except those without feet who just sufficed with looking slightly more alert than they had been previously. Unless, of course, they were footless people (or those already afoot) who had already been looking especially alert at the time of the whistle blowing; it was difficult to judge with those sorts of folks whether or not the whistle had any effect. However, this paragraph digresses, and leaps from tone to tone like a drunken pianist with three hands, in a simile sort of way.

“Slow should you be to wind that…whistle again, Gormlessar,” said Pimpi, ‘until you stand once more on the Borders of The Strand and dire need is on you.”

“Maybe,” said Halfullion. “But I really like tin whistles.”

Everyone waited expectantly for the pun, the build-up having been so precise. Again, they were disappointed. “Maybe he’s losing it,” muttered Merisuwyniel hopefully.

At the Ford of Buicken, they left the Road, and turning southwards, went on by narrow paths north among the folded lands of origami. Their porpoise was to hold this course west of the Mountains for many miles, then report back to them. Their purpose was still a little murky. Well, indistinct anyway. A bit like a shadowy shadow, trying to be unobtrusive, their purpose hung around them like a garland around the neck of a god become bull. As the Greeks would have it.

[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]
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