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| Have it read aloud to you. |
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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 Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2009 1:43 pm
I'm all for writing stories - I mean, come on, I never stop myself - but I'd like to shine some light on a few bards out there who deserve some applause.
Here are some excerpts of some amazing stuff. Enjoy - but what would be even better would be to get the books yourself and read the whole thing!
Members: If you have something you want to share, go ahead and post it here. This isn't just my topic!
Readers: None of these are plot spoilers. I made sure of that.
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2009 1:44 pm
An excerpt from The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf, by Gerald Morris. Book three of The Squire's Tales.
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2009 1:48 pm
... they rode up to a shallow river, where Roger sat on his horse talking with a knight. The knight wore dusty and faded armor of a distinctly pink hue, minus the helm and breastplate, which had been laid aside for comfort's sake. The knight sprawled under a tree holding a long lance, to which was tied a fishing line. He was a picture of relaxed contentment.
When Lynet and Beaumains rode up, though, his demeanor changed. As soon as he saw Beaumains, he scrambled to his feet and gasped, "Percy! What are you doing this far south?"
"My name," Beaumains said loudly, "is not Percy."
"You're not Sir Percard, the Knight of the Black Woods?" the man in pink asked.
"I am not."
He relaxed. "Thank heavens. For a minute there, I thought you were my brother. Hate to say anything bad about family, you know, but old Percy's a bit of a rotter. Happy to meet you, though." Lynet stiffened at the revelation that this young knight was another brother of the Black Knight's.
"Mayhaps you will be less happy, sir, when I inform you that I have killed your villainous brother," Beaumains said rigidly.
The man in pink nodded sagely. "That would be how you got his armor."
Beaumains lifted his chin. "If you seek vengeance, I am at your service."
The man pursed his lips, then shook his head. "No, thank you. As I said, Percy was a stinker. He probably deserved everything he got."
Lynet could not help glancing at Roger, who was grinning back at her. This easygoing knight evidently had a different approach to family loyalty than his green-clad brother did.
"Are you so craven, indeed?" Beaumains demanded, evidently much shocked.
"Leave it be, Beau," interjected Roger. "It's not cowardly to turn down an unnecessary fight."
"That's my view of it exactly, friend," the strange knight said, smiling. "In fact, not so long ago, I saw Sir Lancelot himself turn down a fight."
"You lie!" Beaumains exclaimed wrathfully. "Never has that great knight so demeaned himself."
The young knight was taken back by Beaumains's vehemence, but he replied calmly. "Nothing demeaning about it. He passed through here, oh months ago, and I was feeling my oats. So, I asked if he'd like to joust with me. He said there was nothing he wanted to do less, that he was tired of fighting. So, we shared a meal and-"
"I said you lie, knave!" shouted Beaumains, drawing his sword. "And for telling such craven falsehoods, you must die!"
The knight looked plaintively at Roger. "What's wrong with this fellow?"
"He was dropped on his head when he was a baby," answered Roger.
"Really?" the man said, diverted. "That happened to another brother of mine. He wears a sort of blue armor. Poor chap never got quite over the knock. Dim, we used to call him."
"You called your own brother Dim?" Roger asked.
"Just a friendly name. And he never minded, because we told him that 'Dim' was another word for 'Courageous'."
"He didn't believe that, did he?"
"I told you. Dropped right on the noggin, he was." Roger and the knight chuckled together now, and Lynet felt the tension ease.
"Hast thou not heard my challenge?" Beaumains demanded of the strange knight.
Roger ignored him and asked, "You say this dim, ah, courageous brother of yours wears blue?"
The knight nodded. "Yes, and I've another brother who wears green. It was mother's idea. She liked things colorful. I believe old Percy only wore black because he knew she'd hate it. Nasty fellow, Percy."
Roger smiled, but his brow furrowed. "But, forgive me," he asked politely, "what color are you supposed to be?"
The knight glanced ruefully at his armor. "Mother wanted me to be 'The Crimson Knight', but it's gone a bit pink in the sun, hasn't it? I really should touch it up. Embarrassing to be 'The Pink Knight'."
Her sense of humor stirred, Lynet interrupted. "It's really quite a lovely shade of rose. How about 'The Knight of the Rose'?"
Roger and the knight chuckled, and the knight stepped toward Lynet in greeting. "Or you could call me Sir Perimones, my lady. It's my name."
Before Sir Perimones reached Lynet, though, Beaumains stepped between them. "Draw thy sword, foul recreant!" he demanded, "for cause of thy cowardice and thy lies about Sir Lancelot." He took a menacing step forward. "I shall not rest until thou art cleaved in twain."
Sir Perimones frowned and glanced at Roger. "Is that right? 'Cleaved'?"
"I thought it was 'clove'," Roger said pensively.
"Oh, I don't fancy that," Sir Perimones protested. "It sounds like part of a recipe. Is it 'cleaven', maybe?"
"Look," Roger said, "You say 'cloven', don't you? Like 'cloven hoof'? So it must be 'clove'."
Lynet looked at Beaumains, standing awkwardly to one side, and she felt almost sorry for him. Clearly no one had ever told him what to do when a challenge was ignored.
"Hold on," the knight said suddenly, "what about 'cleft'?"
Roger nodded dubiously. "Maybe. What do you think of 'clave'?"
Beaumains had had enough. He pushed roughly in front of Roger and with one heavy, gauntleted hand struck Sir Perimones across the face. Lynet gasped, and Roger sighed.
"Oh, blow it all," Sir Perimones said, rubbing his cheeck. "All right, I'll fight. Just let me armor up." He fastened on his breastplate, put on his helm, and then carefully propped his fishing lance in the crook of a tree. "Watch this for me, will you?" he said to Roger. Roger nodded, and the knight drew his sword.
Beaumains lunged forward, but Sir Perimones parried his blow and stepped back. Beaumains lunged again, and again the knight slipped aside. Roger chuckled suddenly.
"Why are you laughing?" Lynet asked. "This is all so stupid."
"What Pink, there. He's not fighting at all."
"What?"
"It's a schoolboy's game. You don't try to hit your opponent, you just defend yourself and wait. Of course he can't win the fight that way, but so long as he doesn't attack, Beau can't win either. It's how... how Sir Gaheris almost always fights. You may as well get comfortable. This'll take a while."
Roger was right. The two knights danced around and around, with Beaumains charging and Sir Perimones retreating. At last Beaumains began to show his frustration and call out insults. "Fight like a man, thou dog!" he gasped between breaths. "Ne'er have I faced so craven a knight"
"Can't hit me, can you?" Sir Perimones replied. "Nyah nyah!"
"You fight as a woman!"
"Can't say I agree with him there," Roger commented to Lynet. "My belief is that women are more bloodthirsty than men."
"Poppycock!" Lynet snapped. "You don't see us trotting around in armor picking fights."
"No, but that's because women are too vain to wear armor. They couldn't show off their maidenly figures."
"Stuff!" replied Lynet. "Men are just as vain as women. Think of those cute little tights that courtiers mince around in! Imagine if a woman wore something like that!" Roger smiled, and Lynet said, "Well?"
"I'm imagining! I'm imagining!"
"Oh, shut up," Lynet said, stifling a giggle.
Beaumains and the strange continued their defensive dance for another quarter of an hour, and Lynet began to get bored. Glancing around the field, she noticed the knight's fishing lance jerking and bobbing. "Roger! He's got a bite!"
The lance lurched toward the river. "Grab it!" Roger called.
Lynet reached it first, clutching it just before it went into the drink. "What do I do?"
"Pull it out!" commanded Roger.
Lynet jerked up with all her strength, and a large speckled fish came flying out of the river. It flew in a smooth arc over Lynet's head and, as if it had been aimed, smacked Beaumains in the helm. He whirled about quickly, and while the twisting trout was still in the air, sliced in neatly in half with his sword.
"Look what you've done, deuce it!" Sir Perimones exclaimed, irate. "You've gone and clefted my dinner!"
"I beg your... I'm terribly... I didn't see what it was," stammered Beaumains.
"That makes no odds!" Sir Perimones snapped. "It's not very knightly do go fighting a fish, now, is it? I can tell you that Sir Lancelot never had single combat with a trout."
"I said I was sorry!" Beaumains said.
"Look here," interposed Roger, stepping between the two knights. "Suppose we stop all this at once. Beaumains, you've already apologized for clooving this fish. Now, if Sir Perimones will agree that Sir Lancelot never did anything cowardly in his life, we can make peace."
"Oh, ay, I'll agree to that," Sir Perimones said amiably.
For a long moment, Beaumains considered Roger's proposal, then he nodded reluctantly. "Very well, sir knight." Lynet let out her breath in a long sigh of relief. Stiffly, Beaumains sheathed his sword and remounted. "Let us be off," he said imperiously.
"Sorry about your fish, O Knight of the Rose," Roger said grinning. He glanced over his shoulder. "Other direction, Beau!"
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Posted: Sun Dec 20, 2009 12:23 pm
An excerpt from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling, book seven of the Harry Potter series.
And in case you're worried, a reminder that this is not a plot spoiler.
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Dec 20, 2009 12:43 pm
Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup.
"I assume that you are all familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"
Harry said, "No," but Ron and Hermoine both said "Yes." Xenophilius nodded gravely.
"Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole things starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'... I have a copy somewhere..."
He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermoine said, "I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here."
And she pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.
"The original?" inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, "Well then, why don't you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."
"Er... all right," said Hermoine nervously. She opend the book, and Harry saw that the symbol they were investigating headed the top of the page as she gave a little cough, and began to read.
There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight -' "
"Midnight, our mum always told us," said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermoine shot him a look of annoyance.
"Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" said Ron.
"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," said Harry before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. "Go on, Hermoine."
"In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.
"And Death spoke to them -' "
"Sorry," interjected Harry, "but Death spoke to them?"
"It's a fairy tale, Harry!"
"Right, sorry. Go on."
"'And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.
"'So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.
"'Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.
"'And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.'"
"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted again.
"So he can sneak up on people," said Ron. "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking... sorry, Hermoine."
"'Ten Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts.
"'In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.
"'The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.
"'That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.
"'And so Death took the first brother for his own.
"'Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of a girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.
"'Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered, Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.
"'And so Death took the second brother for his own.
"'But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'"
Hermoine closed the book.
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Posted: Sun Dec 20, 2009 12:45 pm
An excerpt from The Ballad of Sir Dinadan, by Gerald Morris, book five of The Squire's Tales.
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Dec 20, 2009 12:50 pm
Culloch, Bedivere, Sir Kai,, and Dinadan left the next morning, accompanied (to the displeasure of everyone but Culloch) by Wadsworth the minstrel. As they rode, Wadsworth hummed to himself a painfully simple melody with a short, four-stress line - Dah-de-Dah-de-Dah-de-Dah-de - over and over. Sir Kai had looked fit for murder since they set our, but when he actually moved his hand to rest on his sword hilt, Dinadan judged it was time to intervene. "Wadsworth, my friend," he said. "As you are accompanying our hero on his, ah, noble quest, it seems fitting that you should write the song of his adventures."
Wadsworth looked at Dinadan coldly and sniffed. "Why, I'm sure I could not do it so well as your lordship," he said, his lips prim. Dinadan stifled a grin. So Wadsworth still smarted from his story's poor reception, and Dinadan's success, back at Isbaddadon's court.
"But of course you could," Dinadan replied soothingly.
"To be quite honest," Wadsworth said, "heroic tales are not my real strength. I am far more skilled at love songs."
"Why then, you should write a love song for Culloch," Dinadan said promptly. "After all, these tasks of his are performed for the love of the fair Olwen, aren't they, Culloch?"
"Eh?" Culloch replied, surprised. Dinadan innocently repeated his question, and Culloch stammered back, "Ah, yes. Why, by Jove, they are, aren't they?"
Wadsworth peered closely at Dinadan. "Do you ever write love songs?"
"I've never written a one."
"Then I challenge you!" A duel of songsters! Each of us shall compose a song on Culloch's love for Olwen, and these knights shall judge between us!"
Dinadan felt a stir of pity for the old minstrel. Surely it must have been galling to have been shown up by a youth of Dinadan's age - who wasn't even really a minstrel. Resolving to compose a truly dreadful lyric so that Wadsworth could easily win, Dinadan agreed. Sir Kai then spoke suddenly. "This is an excellent plan for passing our time, but to make sure that each song is original, let us separate. Wadsworth, you ride ahead with Culloch - out of earshot, mind - and Dinadan stay with us."
It was the most pleasant part of the day. Dinadan took up his rebec and occasionally even played a few desultory notes and idly experimented with a few rhymes, but mostly he chatted with Bedivere. Even Sir Kai, away from Culloch and Wadsworth, thawed somewhat and and became almost agreeable. Meanwhile, a quarter of a mile ahead on the path, they could see Wadsworth assiduously working at his lyre. Wadsworth must have taken the contest very seriously, because he worked at his song for almost four hours before at last he signaled his readiness to present the fruit of his efforts, and the two groups came together.
"Is your lordship ready?" the minstrel said.
"Whenever you are, friend Wadsworth," Dinadan said. "Shall I go first?"
Dinadan had offered out of generosity, feeling that it would be an advantage to go last, but Wadsworth's eyes narrowed with suspicion, and the minstrel launched into a long explanation of why it would be best for Dinadan to go last. Bored by Wadsworth's explanations, Dinadan agreed.
"My lords and ladies," Wadsworth began, assuming a formal tone.
"Ladies?" growled Sir Kai.
"I sing for you a melody of great love, the love of the noble Sir Culloch for his absent lady, the fair Olwen, for whom his soul longs, in whose memory his very breath moistens the air, and for whom his eyes stream tears." Here the minstrel paused, as if holding back tears himself.
"Off to a good start, eh?" Culloch asked cheerfully. "The next part's even better. I like the bit when he says -"
"Peace, Culloch," interrupted Bedivere. "Let the minstrel sing his own song."
Wadsworth continued. "The song is called, 'My Lief Is Faren in Londe,' which is to say, 'My love is far away.'"
"Then why the deuce don't you say it?" muttered Sir Kai, but at a look from Bedivere, he lapsed into silence. Without further introduction, Wadsworth began:
"My lief is faren in londe,
Alas, why did I go?
The cuckoo sings my song,
'Jug jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.'
"I travel far and wide,
Great deeds for love to do,
But I, like the cuckoo, cry,
'Jug jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.'
"Some day shall I be home
To gaze her eyes into?
I'll whisper as I come,
'Jug jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.'"
When the minstrel finished, there was a long silence. Dinadan carefully avoided looking at Bedivere or Sir Kai, but he could not doubt what they were thinking - "This took all afternoon?"
"See why I like it?" Culloch said heartily. "I like the last part best, when I whisper that thing."
"Jug jug witta poo poo," Sir Kai supplied.
"Jug jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo," Wadsworth corrected, giving Sir Kai a condescending smile.
"Ah. My mistake," Sir Kai said with a solemn nod.
Wadsworth turned to Dinadan, triumph in his eyes. "Now, shall we hear what his lordship has prepared?"
With a shrug, Dinadan swung his leg around and settled himself comfortably in the saddle with his rebec. He played a few bars, then began playing the same annoying little four-beat melody that Wadsworth had been humming earlier. He raised his voice and sang with a quavering vibratto:
"Great Culloch can be brave and gay
Throughout the sunlit hours of day.
But when upon his bed he lies,
Why then, for Olwen fair he cries.
"He sees her face, her pigtail stout,
The freckles sprinkled on her snout.
Then from hsi chest he heaves a sob,
And in his throat there grows a gob.
"He weeps; his pillow sogs with tears;
It oozes up around his ears.
The flowing trickle from his nose
Doth stain his face and cake his clothes.
"Because he mourns the absent Ollie,
Doth Culloch nobly grieve, by golly."
Bedivere and Sir Kai did not speak, both shaking with surpressed mirth, but Culloch frowned.
"Not meaning anything harsh, of course, Stearnes, but I didn't care for that one all that much."
Wadsworth's chin lifted. "If I might make a suggestion, lad, it was not seemly to use the familiar name 'Ollie' in your poem."
"Couldn't hatch a rhyme for Olwen," Dinadan explained. 'But I'm sure you're right."
"I could give you some other pointers sometime," the minstrel suggested.
Dinadan forced a smile. "You'd be wasting your time, I'm afraid. I could never have written a song like yours." Wadsworth graciously accepted his victory, and Culloch began to talk about stopping for dinner.
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Posted: Sat Dec 26, 2009 12:06 pm
This is "May Ellen's Wedding", by (or as written by, I'm not entirely sure which) Howard Pyle. Sung to Robin Hood and his merry men by Allan a Dale, on his first visit to Sherwood Forest.
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Dec 26, 2009 12:27 pm
MAY ELLEN'S WEDDING
(Giving an account of how she was beloved by a fairy prince, who took her to his own home.)
"May Ellen sat beneath a thorn,
And in a shower around
The blossoms fell at every breeze
Like snow upon the ground,
And in a lime-tree near was heard
The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.
"O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet,
O lingering sweet the strain!
May Ellen's heart within her breast
Stood still with blissful pain:
And so, with listening, upturned face,
She sat as dead in that fair place.
" 'Come down from out the blossoms, bird!
Come down from out the tree,
And on my heart I'll let thee lie,
And love thee tenderly!'
Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low,
From where the hawthorn shed its snow.
"Down dropped the bird on quivering wing,
From out the blossoming tree,
And nestled in her snowy breast.
'My love! my love!' cried she;
Then straightway home, 'mid sun and flower,
She bare him to her own sweet bower.
"The day hath passed to mellow night,
The moon floats o'er the lea,
And in its solemn, pallid light
A youth stands silently:
A youth of beauty strange and rare,
Within May Ellen's bower there.
"He stood where o'er the pavement cold
The glimmering moonbeams lay.
May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes,
Nor could she turn away,
For as in mystic dreams we see
A spirit, stood he silently.
"All in a low and breathless voice,
'Whence comest thou?' said she;
'Art thou the creature of a dream,
Or a vision that I see?'
Then soft spake he, as night winds shiver
Through straining reeds beside the river.
" 'I came, a bird on feathered wing,
From distant Faery land
Where murmuring waters softly sing
Upon the golden strand,
Where sweet trees are forever green;
And there my mother is the queen.'
"No more May Ellen leaves her bower
To grace the blossoms fair;
But in the hushed and midnight hour
They hear her talking there,
Or, when the moon is shining white,
They hear her singing through the night.
" 'Oh don thy silks and jewels fine,'
May Ellen's mother said,
'For hither comes the Lord of Lyne
And thou this Lord must wed.'
May Ellen said, 'It may not be.
He ne'er shall find his wife in me.'
"Up spoke her brother, dark and grim:
'Now b the bright blue sky:
E'er yet a day hath gone for him
Thy wicked bird shall die!
For he hath wrought thee bitter harm,
By some strange art or cunning charm.'
"Then, with a sad mournful song,
Away the bird did fly,
And o'er the castle eaves, and through
The gray and windy sky.
'Come forth!' then cried the brother grim,
'Why dost thou gaze so after him?'
"It is May Ellen's wedding day,
The sky is blue and fair,
And many a lord and lady gay
In church are gathered there.
The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold,
All clad in silk and cloth of gold.
"In came the Bride in samite white,
With a white wreath on her head;
Her eyes were fixed with a glassy look,
Her face was as the dead,
And when she stood among the throng,
She sang a wild and wondrous song.
"Then came a strange and rushing sound
Like the coming wind doth bring,
And in the open windows shot
Nine swans on whistling wing,
And high above the heads they flew,
In gleaming flight the darkness through.
"Around Mary Ellen's head they flew
In wide and windy flight,
And three times round the circle drew.
The guests shrank in affright,
And the Priest beside the altar there,
Did cross himself with muttered prayer.
"But the third time they flew around,
Fair Ellen straight was gone,
And in her place, upon the ground,
There stood a snow-white swan.
Then, with a wild and lovely song.
"There's ancient men at weddings been,
For sixty years and more,
But such a wondrous wedding day,
They never saw before.
But none could check and none could stay
The swans that bore the Bride away."
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Posted: Sun Jan 10, 2010 8:41 am
"Mossflower Talk, Episode 4" by Katie Sullivan, alias Snowfur. Fanfiction.
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Jan 10, 2010 8:46 am
SNOWFUR: Welcome back everyone! It's time for another episode of Mossflower Talk, the only Redwall-based talk show on the Net! Today's topic is "coping with the Bloodwrath." My guests are Sunflash the Mace, Cregga Rose Eyes, Rawnblade, Felldoh and Boar the Fighter. Welcome, friends.
FELLDOH: Uh...I feel kinda small with all these badger warriors around.
CREGGA: And badger wariorresses.
SNOWFUR: Don't worry, Felldoh. I won't let anyone sit on you.
FELLDOH: Er, thanks.
SNOWFUR: Now, then. I have a healer fox on the line from Southsward who is an expert on the Bloodwrath.
VIXEN: Hello.
SNOWFUR: Would you mind giving us a quick definition of the Bloodwrath?
VIXEN: Not at all. Bloodwrath is a state of berserk rage wherein the person wants to kill everything in sight.
SNOWFUR: Sort of like P.M.S.
VIXEN: Worse than P.M.S.
SNOWFUR: Wow.
VIXEN: Badgers are most prone to the Bloodwrath, although other creatures sometimes have it, too.
SNOWFUR: Like Felldoh, here.
FELLDOH: Honored, I'm sure.
SNOWFUR: Hmm. We have another caller from...Marshank! Hello, you're on the air.
BADRANG: I'll be sending you my chiropractic bills, squirrel!
FELLDOH (sarcastically): Ooh, I'm so scared.
CLOGG (in background): Hah! You let yourself get beat up by a squirrel! Harharharhar! Some warlord! Tee hee!
BADRANG: At least I don't talk to myself, you drooling moron.
CLOGG: Hey! No one calls Cap'n Traumun Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg a drooling moron!
[Sounds of a scuffle. Phone goes dead.]
SNOWFUR: A perfect, albiet quite mild, example of the Bloodwrath, folks. Anyway, on to our guests. Lady Cregga Rose Eyes, it's been said that you're perpetually teetering on the verge of the Bloodwrath. Is that true?
CREGGA: "It's been said?" By whom? I'll tear their paws off and stuff them down their throat, the cur! Why, I'll--
[Cregga lifts a chair and hurls it across the studio, breaking a stage light.]
SNOWFUR: Uh...something tells me this would be the perfect time for a commercial break. We'll be back after this.
CREGGA: I'll tear them to ribbons! Grr!
SNOWFUR: Uh...security?
[Serious male voice]: In a time when vermin roam the land, it's important to protect your valuables. Your treasure can't be stolen if the vermin can't find it. Fermald the Ancient will hide your valuables where thieves will never find them. Never lose anything to robbers again! Just call 1-800-FERMALD!
ASMODEUS: Death issss inevitable. But that doesn't mean that the ssssstink of decomposssssition isssss inevitable. Just call me, Asmodeusssssssssssssss Poisonteeth. I'll make good ussssse of any dead thingsss you have lying around. Unwanted meat and bodies removed free of charge. Jusssssst drop by the old quarry to make an appointment. Ssssssucessssss guaranteed.
SNOWFUR: Uh...we're back. Not to mention totally grossed out!
FELLDOH: I really don't like snakes.
SNOWFUR: People generally don't. Now then. On with the show. Let's talk with Boar the Fighter. Boar, tell us what it feels like to experience the Bloodwrath.
BOAR: I feel like killing everyone in sight.
SNOWFUR: Well, yeah. But can you elaborate?
RAWNBLADE: In public?
SNOWFUR: No, no. Elaborate. Explain. Give examples. Add details.
BOAR: O.K. Uh...I really want to kill everyone in sight. So much that I can't think about anything else. I just have to destroy things. I fight like a whirlwind, and I don't feel any pain until afterward.
SUNFLASH: Except you don't usually kill your allies. You can usually keep that in perspective.
SNOWFUR: We have another caller on the line, this time from Salamandastron. Hello, you're on the air!
HARE: I say, there, chaps and chapesses, I just wanted to add that a badger with the Bloodwrath is a pretty fearsome sight. Best thing in the world to have on your side during a jolly old battle, eh wot? And if you've a pickle jar that won't open...no problem, m'lad! A tight lid is no match for badger muscles, y'know! Ha ha!
SNOWFUR: Uh, yes, I suppose there are benefits. So, does the Bloodwrath come on only during battle, or at other times?
CREGGA: P.M.S.
SNOWFUR: Er...we already covered that.
RAWNBLADE: I get a thirst for battle just thinking about searats.
BOAR: Me, too.
FELLDOH: I generally need a personal grudge to get so worked up.
RAWNBLADE: Getting stuck at a red light.
SNOWFUR: We've been through this already. There are no cars in your time period.
RAWNBLADE: Oh, right. Never mind, then.
SUNFLASH: When one of those big-footed hares walk through my garden just after I've laid seed.
CREGGA: What was that about Bigfoot in your garden?
SUNFLASH: No, no. Big-footed hares. Hares with big feet.
CREGGA: Isn't that all of them?
SUNFLASH: Well...most.
RAWNBLADE: I get the Bloodwrath sometimes when someone else eats the last scone.
CREGGA: And I thought I had a temper.
RAWNBLADE: You do. You once killed a caterpillar with a gigantic battle axe just because it tickled your paw.
CREGGA: DID NOT!
RAWNBLADE: Did too! Twayblade told me last weekend while we were golfing.
SNOWFUR: There's no golf in Mossflower, either.
BOAR: There isn't? Then why do I own so many tacky shirts?
SNOWFUR: I don't know.
SUNFLASH: When I was little, Swartt used my mouth as a hole for putting practice. I had to spit out so many golf balls that summer. I get a twinge of the Bloodwrath just thinking about it!
SNOWFUR: Then let's please change the subject. We're already minus a chair, two lights, the refreshment table and a stagehand after Cregga's last tantrum.
BOAR: She wrecked the refreshment table? There were donuts! And coffee! CREGGA!
CREGGA: Sorry.
BOAR: Sorry doesn't cut it, sister! I'm hungry!
[Boar unsheaths a gigantic sword, and Cregga grabs her huge pike.]
SNOWFUR: CALM DOWN! My studio can't take another battle!
BOAR: You'll pay for destroying my after-show snacks, scum!
CREGGA: No one calls me scum and lives to tell about it, Boar the Bore!
BOAR: GRR!
[Boar and Cregga lunge at each other. Snowfur dives under the desk.]
SNOWFUR: COMMERCIAL! QUICK! COMMERICAL!
SKIPPER: Howdy, mateys! What are you having for supper tonight? Salad? A boring flan? Dry old scones? You deserve better than that, y' old wavewhalloper! Now you can get away from it all and have a great meal, too! With M.O.F.E.T, Mossflower Otter Fishing Excursion Tours, you'll get out on a boat in the River Moss with trained, experienced fishin' otters like myself. We'll show you the ropes and help you catch yourself a great big fish! So sign up today! Just stop by Camp Willow for more information!
[Show returns, with the guests brawling all over the studio.]
SNOWFUR [from under desk]: What? Are we back already? Do another commercial! SECURITY!!!
MOLE: Burr oi, oi be gurtly afeared uv hoih places!
MOUSE: Huh?
MOLE: Oi said, oi be gurtly afeared uv hoih places!
MOUSE: Your ear hurts in five places? Huh? What?
EGBERT THE SCHOLAR: Attention all moles! You don't have to struggle to be understood any more! Now, with Hooked on Phonics for Moles, you'll be speaking clearly in no time!
MOLE: Wow! People actually understand me now!
MOUSE: It's a miracle!
EGBERT: Available whereever books are sold!
SNOWFUR: Ah, we're back. There's not much left of the studio, but we're back. I should have known better than to have angry badgers on my show.
SUNFLASH: "Angry badgers"...isn't that a cartoon show on Nickelodeon?
SNOWFUR: No, that's the Angry Beavers.
SUNFLASH: Oh. Never mind.
SNOWFUR: Cregga, get a napkin or something. You're bleeding on my new carpet.
CREGGA: Sorry.
BOAR: That was a good fight. No hard feelings, eh, Rosie?
CREGGA: Don't call me Rosie.
BOAR: Sorry.
CREGGA: You'd better be.
SNOWFUR: Uh...before the rest of the studio gets demolished, I think it's time to end this episode. See you on the next episode of Mossflower Talk!
[credits begin to roll]
Mossflower Talk is © 1998 Katie Sullivan and may not be reproduced without permission.
The character Snowfur is © Katie Sullivan.
All other characters and Redwall-related items are © the wonderful Mr. Brian Jacques.
Any resemblances to actual bad-tempered badgers is completely coincidental.
Be sure to visit the Redwall Encyclopedia at http://www.sullivanet.com/redwall
and the Official Redwall Website at www.redwall.org
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Posted: Sun May 30, 2010 12:17 pm
The Lobster-Quadrille, a dance sung by the Mock Turtle in Lewis Carrol's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Jenivere-the-bard Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 30, 2010 12:18 pm
"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle - will you come and join the dance?
...........................Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, wo'n't you join the dance?
...........................Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, wo'n't you join the dance?
"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"
But the snail replied "Too far, too far!", and gave a look askance -
Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
...........................Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
...........................Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied.
"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France -
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
...........................Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, will you join the dance?
...........................Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, wo'n't you join the dance?"
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