>>5244355The Virgin Land And The Coming Of Cadarn Of The Thunderstruck Rood
In the elder days before the seas kissed the fleeting sky the Virgin Land was barren and cold. Men sought to plough the rut of the unyielding earth, to break and release its fertile and moist furrows sown with the sweat and tears of their toil and seed. Yet the Virgin Land gave them neither succour nor relief, for it could not look upon the cruel eyes of men without fear and hate. Hither strode forth Cadarn, broad of chest and mighty of thews, bearing alone the burden of his great and lengthy rood, upon the sight of which maidens fainted and men glowered -
In the distant dark of the shadowed throne, a mournful, disheartened voice intones:
This tale tires me, old fool. Honour thy King with a bright rhyme that befits thy name.
(Learmont the Rhymer stumbles, momentarily adrift amidst the recitative swell of memory, and winces:)
Of course, Sire. At once, ahem. Er... Yes. Ahem -
Her love is not the hare I darest hunt,
Outlaw I may be, my desire bears not this... er... (how does it go?) er... (what follows, grunt? Blunt? Confront, punt, shunt...something else...?)
>politely suggest a word to complete his strange rhyme>loudly bellow: CUN-...!!!>stay silent and observe the curious muttering man, Learmont the Rhymer>introduce yourself and ask him a question>this antechamber seems strangely unattended for a royal audience. Oh look, there are all these swords and polearms lined besides the tapestries and walls. Why not seize one and twirl it around a bit. Impale this King and crown yourself? (QM: name a medieval weapon. within reason lol, I have to actually find a picture)>something else...? 