THE LONG HIKE

 THE LONG HIKE

  One of the most feared creatures of the ancient world was the red dragon. Nearly forgotten tales have them from the northern ice lands; yet, older rumors say their origins lay in the far east. They were monstrous creatures. Enormous, beast-like lizards sworn to have had wings brutish enough to stir up a hurricane! Even their angry voices could bellow forth fires that devasted whole countrysides for miles around. Many other witnesses recounted that such demons would use their whipping tails to slay vast armies with ease.

   The last of those fabled worms have long ago been lost, only to be relegated to the campfire pastime or children's bedtime stories. Truth or imagination; all that has survived of dragons today are the fanciful things that spawned wonderment for eager listeners. Among them was the adventure of Moran the Mitharian.

   He was a young man from the Bay city of Mithar who had wandered east, deep in thought of all his troubles. Aimlessly he happened to find himself on the outer edges of the haunted woods called Kinderval. In truth, Moran had not desired to meander so far from home but rather had intended to venter to the Gardens beyond Mithar's wall. Even so, he allowed his thoughts and feet to follow a dry streambed, that soon trickled into a watery creek. The quiet stream grew into a wide river watering the forest about him. His heavy thoughts seem lifted with the sweet smell of lavender near a clearing. The clearing slopped down into a secluded bank when the young man sat, leaning his back against the raised mound. Dragonflies skimmed the water's edge. Sitting there Moran took in the view of the leaning willows and calm river's slow-drift. His thoughts begged as to why the woods were called haunted. So calm and serene were his surrounding the boy almost fell asleep. With his worries gone he felt it was time to return to the bustle of the real world. Suddenly a loud crunching noise startled him to his feet. Moran whirled looking about.

   His eyes searched between the many tree trunks and the lush bed of the fern they grew from; trying hard to discern the sound which broke the woodland silence. Moran cautiously stepped about the mound. Standing on the other side of the velvet hillock the sound came even louder. He tried to identify what it was. This time, it was like the crackling of floating embers above a campfire. But there was no smoke or dying fireplace to be seen. Again the chipping sound came to the wander's ear. Then, a few steps on his left in a dirt cleft lay a huge bluish-tinted egg. It moved with earnestness to free whatever inside had begun to shed scales from its shell. 

   For a long, while he watched the Saphire egg trimmer and the creature inside struggled to hatch. When a huge yellow eye stopped its roving and caught sight of the stranger starring back through the pecked-out opening, the egg shimmered and stopped all its efforts. Fearful of what might come next the boy could only stare back at the unmoving oval. Finally, the young man gathered the courage to risk a shaking hand. Reaching out, he gasped at the touch. It had become a cold, solid thing. The dragon-hatchling, that had only moments before so desperately strove to release itself, had suddenly turned into stone!

   Moran had discovered the last Dragon's egg. This was the very one, which many years afterward would be the rare treasure for a King's demanded ransom, but that tale remains for another to share.

LCARS

 System 47 (mewho.com) 

Beauty arabic east dance - Belly Violett Show 1001 and one night

Disorders of Thought

Without you

A SCROLL OF BOOKS: The Book of Tales: "The Forgivers"

 A SCROLL OF BOOKS:

The Book of Tales: "The Forgivers"

______________________________________

At the funeral ceremony of Mithar's first Queen, the distraught King Vedumar leaned over to his advisor, "Why has this affair not begun? Two days now and it has not begun. Do you not smell the corpse from here, despite all the lit oils and herbs?"

"My Lord King, the people still await the arrival of the Kubael," his counselor whispered in return.

"Kubael? What is this I have not been made aware of until now?"

Näahdaw heard the escalation in Vendumar's tone.

"Kubael - is a Forgiver, sire," Näahdaw's voice was low and calm. He continued, "Lord, you must not forget that these Bedouins have given up much in their compliance to your crown. Yet are they staunch in their unmoving belief in this unwavering custom."

Vendumar remained perplexed, "Pray, and what custom is this that I must now be made to submit to?"

"Sire, your wife, our Queen is and was first and foremost a Nasilian, and a 'Cicadite most faithful'." A stern smile came over the Counselor's face, "You saw both the gold and copper coins placed over her Ladyship's eyes? They are for more than closing them; they are payment for services rendered by the Kubael. The flat bread, dripped with three drops of the Queen's blood, that was placed atop her bosom was to absorb her -- sin, Sire. For all eternity she will be forgotten and annihilated to be unremembered. Yet, it is the voluntary task of the Kubael to accept the fate of being unremembered and eternally banished, until summoned for this task of forgiving the Queen's sin."

"A sin-eater? What is this superstitious rubbish, in our time and age," Vendumar blurted aloud!

"One that in time my lord you may devise a way out of, but as for today without his services the people are content in themselves to allow your wife to rot where she now lays," this Näahdaw did not whisper as all eyes fell on the King in validation.

Vendumar's sigh and slumping shoulders showed his resignation to allow the ceremony to continue.

The murmuring and mourning sobs all fell silent as the rear of the crowds began parting a pathway to the raised dais of the Queen Nalawë. A stranger had entered into their midst. He was dressed, from head to barefeet, all in black; his robe's high, oversized hood was draped back. The man's face was half concealed by the masking of the hood's removal. Only his darkened outlined eyes were seen. The figure's face, slicked back hair, hands and bare feet were caked in a cracking white paint. The Kubael smelt unbathed and looked like Death personified.

The strange figure approached the Queen's body and slowly removed the coins with both hands, slipping them soundlessly into previously unnoticed outer pockets. Then, taking the flat bread, he tore it in half and ate it until fully consumed, then turned back and left as eerily as he had entered. A breath later and all the sounds of whaling cries continued as before.

Vendumar looked utterly spent emotionally, a changed figure from that moment onward.

STORY: Nadan; His Purpose

 A SCROLL OF BOOKS

(Story By David DeLane Snow)

After the death of his wife, Nadan sat quietly by the widow while holding his infant son wrapped in swaddling. He gazed out pondering the meaning of his life. "If there is a reason for all of life's pain and struggling I would love to know - if only it was revealed in even the briefest I would so follow it the remainder of my life."

It was in that very moment that his life changed. A Cicada landed on the window seal. The incest's wings fluttered and yet it did not take flight before the father holding his son. As Nadan looked on, the creature walked about to face his onlooker. The Cicada began its shrilling call. Nadan was captivated by the sound and then became bewildered by it. The shrill continued, and then within its noise Nadan began to hear the voice of a man speaking to him. "LISTEN! Listen and know who you are before! From henceforth, even as I am speaking to you in this manner shall others learn the answer to your question - from me; through you! Thereby, even your son shall be bolder than you, and his voice a Cicada's shrill before others. His words shall be a hard thing to withstand before Men."

Nadan was bewildered and leaned in closer to ask the insect to explain, but the creature flew away.

Nadan pulled a cord alongside the wall and a young Nasilian maiden entered the nursery, to attend to the babe, Kyon. After breastfeeding she lay the infant in his bed, then turned to leave.

"Lome, please - may I inquire something of you?"

"Certainly Prince."

"With all due respect, my name alone is sufficient," he smiled at the youth.

"Yes, Nadan," returning his smile with honor.

"I had a most peculiar thing happen just before I called you." Nadan then relayed his visitor's comments.

The young girl's eyes grew large as her countenance brightened with a joyous smile, "Indeed, you say!" She crossed both of her arms to embrace her own shoulders with a brief head bow. Adding, "The appearance of a Cicada is a most auspicious encounter Prince Nada. Long have my people revered them as Holy Presence. Rare indeed, and only to those called Shamans have heard Cicadas speak with the voice of men!"

Nadan's eyes questioned, "So - it is a good thing, and that I am not going mad?"

"You have been chosen, Nadan to be a mouthpiece of the Lord. Two others - shall come to you in like manner, only then will you fully understand whom it really is that is speaking to you. Yet, I pray Nadan you keep all these between us alone until they come. The fourth voice from him will come through you to the people and then indeed even they will know! Gratitude for your sharing." With that the nurse left the babe's room.

Standing near Kyon's crib, Nadan looked down, "My son, I feel that both our lives have changed, we have a purpose to answer."

.....

THE BOOK OF TALES: The Boat

 THE BOAT

One hundred and fifty eight years after the Dwarf alliance ended with the city of Mithar an echo from the past sounded in a most peculiar way. A small boat entered between the guarding twin-peaks of the Bay of Lhun. It seemed to drift on its own power and direction. The sentries in their towers above spied an occupant; a man lying down.

"The Dead have returned!" A guard from another vantage point called out to those on the shoreline who gathered to witness the alarm. Those in the kata fishing crafts steered clear as they watched the tiny white boat pass them, heading for the harbor of Lindol. At the end of the longest pier the funeral boat came to a soft stop on its own. The stranger who lay silent within had a war ax across his chest, garbed for battle; a mighty dwarven warrior to be sure! Seen by all was a scorched arrow that failed its task to ignite the hero's honored ride into the afterlife; rather he found his landing in strange waters.

The Lord Mayor of Lindol was quickly informed. Vishva Dol ordered the craft to be tethered, guarded and remain unmolested, upon pain of death. Two weeks after a raven was dispatched a dwarven ship, with full complement arrived to retrieve one of their own. The occasion marked the final time eyes were laid upon those eastern mountain people. The dwarves of Jebul worked in utter silence to bring their fallen lord in tow, leading the tiny vessel back out to the open sea. With the boat set upon its renewed course, tributary horns and solemn songs rang out even as three torches were tossed alongside the cherished cargo. Moments later, those from the shoreline and guardian peaks watched as the great Dragon bowed ship from Jebul turned homeward. Sometime later the frail firelight at dusk was lost beyond the rim of the world.

Following that somber day, the people of Lindol recalled the night a warrior's boat entered their harbor every year thereafter by setting paper crafts to sail candles. The first witnesses unto their heirs recounted in songs and tales those they would never see again.

...THE BOOK OF TALES

THANK YOU!! Trina

 My wife had to have Physical Therapy. The person they sent over was a young woman whose personality was over and beyond extraordinary. Pleasant, courteous, and impeccable professionalism, engaging and very personable. Lady Snow was instantly won over by Trina Berend King. As a "Thank you" from the bottom of our hearts I used the my artistic talents to draw her picture as a memento of the lives she has touched. Too many times people fail to simply say thank you to those who 'serve' us, and people like Trina can't be thanked enough for "just being themselves".

(PS: She never took her mask off once, and when I found this picture of her discovered she was still beaut
iful.)

THRIYEL: A Scroll of Books

 A SCROLL OF BOOKS: TABLE OF CONTENTS (watchersbookofbooks.blogspot.com)

THRIYEL