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PostPosted: Thu 04 Oct , 2007 2:42 pm 
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Catherna turned around, and fixed him with her blue-green round orbs, although he was not broken.

"Is that the last known remnant of the sacred lapis-lazuli, stolen from the gods by my ancestor Thwyz-kx (may his hotly contested soul rest in softly somnolent peace) and brought back at great peril through the dusty plains of Gruyère and the soporific valley of Emmen, passed on generation by generation to his warlike descendants until it was divided into six equal pieces and distributed among the six mighty sons of Ylylyly, before their righteously wrathful squabbling divided the once-peaceful kingdom into civil war in your pocket, or are you just enthused to see me?" she simpered.

Grignr's stony features rearranged themselves into a cold, calculating smile. "Thou hast had me at 'remnant'," he purred.

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PostPosted: Thu 04 Oct , 2007 3:22 pm 
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PostPosted: Mon 08 Oct , 2007 6:28 pm 
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They continued to gaze into each other's orbs for a moment. A thundering silence ensued, not unlike (or, not to put too fine a point on it, like) the silence caused by one hand clapping. The tension was so thick that you could cut it with a bejeweled scimitar. They continued to hold each other's gaze for exactly 2.7 moments.

And suddenly, the moment was gone.

"So - we're on our way then?" asked the barbarian.

"Er - right! Yes! Abso-bally-lutely!" quoth Catherna.

They continued their epic journey.

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PostPosted: Tue 09 Oct , 2007 11:15 pm 
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Meanwhile, back at the castle

Bison's personal attendant, Leila of the Languorously Long Raven Hair, entered the room. "Madam," she intoned with excruciatingly correct pronunciation, "there is a visitor here to see you."

Bison looked up from the book she was reading ("One hundred and one creative ways to avoid saying the word 'eye'") and yawned vociferously. "What does he want?"

"An audience, no doubt", replied Leila with quiet respect.

"Show him in, then." Bison placed her steely cold bookmark between way number 67 and way number 68, and laid the book by. In a few moments, broken only by the sound of the tap-tap-tap of the sun upon the window-pane, Leila re-entered the room that she had so recently exited, followed by a young man carrying a lyre. He bowed low.

"Forsooth," thought Bison to herself, "his thews are not very impressive, but his countenance is so agreeable that I just might overlook that."

"The Queen will see thee now," pronounced Leila.

"Well, young yokel, you are in the presence of the Queen," exclaimed Bison. "Who are you, and what brings you here?"

"I am honoured, Madam," said the minstrel. "I come here through many dangers to speak with you in person. As to who I am, this song will explain everything." He pulled out his lyre, tuned it, and began to sing:

"I with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

Am with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

Called with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

Trevor with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

And with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

I with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again."

The young man stole a glance at Bison, whose eyelids were beginning to droop alarmingly. Leila was snoring gently. The young man smiled and continued his song.

"Come with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

From with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

The with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

Land with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

Of with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again.

Wensleydale with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no,
Fal-de-ral, fa la la in the spring,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
Sing hey for a glass of sweet red ruby wine,
Sing all you great warriors who fain would lie doon,
Fa la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la,
I'll never go down to that valley again."

Bison and Leila were both fast asleep. The young man smiled to himself and put his lyre away. Quietly he stole over and began to search the sleeping queen. Gently, furtively, he rifled her pockets, searching for the one thing he was commanded to purrloin by his master, the Cat God.

"Hmmm... a silver groat from the reign of King Hjgwb... a book in some strange language that I know not... surely it must be here... Shirley.... Shirley... surly..."

He moved her ensleepened arm and his heart froze. Underneath her thewy arm was an insignia sewn into her robe which read:

Sekrit poket do not look there s nuthing interstyng in itt.

With trembling hands he slowly and carefully reached inside. His fingers closed on a small, round object. He pulled it out.

"The sacred Ammolite!" he whispered in hushed awe. "Mee-Nou will be pleased!" He attempted to cackle nobly, but only managed a light bwahahaha. His mission accomplished, he stole from the room like a thief in the night, which was, in fact, what he was.

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PostPosted: Tue 09 Oct , 2007 11:40 pm 
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PostPosted: Thu 11 Oct , 2007 12:58 am 
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As Catherna and Grignr approached with latent foot-treads the bold, impassive gate of the city of fleas, they were overtaken by a coarse chunky man accompanied by a trusty sidekick who fleetingly carried a canvas, an easel, and a murky set of oil colours.

"What ho, good sirrah!" offered the chunky man, prancing with great dignity over to them. "I bring you greetings and slutations from the Kingdom of Catatonia!"

Grignr blushed a violent shade of magenta, unwilling to disclose that he had once led a rampaging expedition in the north of Catatonia. "And what tidings do you bring from Catatonia?" suggested Catherna, nobly covering up the awkward silence.

"We have cast off the putrid shackles of Luddite backwardness and have boldly moved ahead!" disavowed the chunky ambassador. "We have embraced the Matrix System and as of last moon, are converting to the ten-hour clock!"

"Why, surely the ten-hour clock is universally accepted," quibbled the cathartic Catherna. "What didst thou use to use to use, before thou embracedst the clock of ten hours?"

"Until most recently, we slavishly followed an antiquated abstract abtuse system. We divided the day into twelve hours, and the night into twelve hours as well."

"What!" exploded the graven barbarian Grignr. "'Tis most unnatural! Why, hath a man twelve fingers? Hath he twelve toes as well, forsooth? When he counts upon the hours and reacheth the end of the count of his fingers and hath yet two hours more, how shall he count them?"

Catherna swore she saw the chunky one wink at his sidekick.

"Aye me!" he sighed liturgically. "It was most difficult. I thank the great god E-I-E-I-O that we have finally moved into the twentieth century bee see!"

"And how will they blithely compensate?" grimaced Catherna, awonder with puzzlement. "Will you use longer hours, or shorter days?"

"I am but a simple ambassador, and these things are too great a matter to me. But might I take back your greetings and felicitations to my homeland? My good sidekick will record them for you, if you are willing."

"Most willingly are we willing," granted the gruff barbarian.

"Splendid! Formidable! Pray stand here, and look at the easel. Now, let's have a big smile."

Catherna and Grignr stood side by side, looking directly at the easel, which the sidekick set up. The latter began to paint them, as they grinned from ear to ear.

"'Tis a most strenuous expression to hold," loquaced Grignr through clenched teeth as he continued to hold the toothy smile."

"I'faith, methought thou didst not know the word 'strenuous'" grunted Catherna, barely letting her huge ostentatious grin waver.

The sidekick continued to paint furiously, leaving room at the bottom for the caption.

"Beautiful! Beatiful!" coached the ambassador as they continued to grimace. "Now - pronounce your greeting!"

"Congratulations Catatonia on your ten-hour clock!" expunged Grignr and Catherna in unison, as the sidekick took down their words, preserving them for an uneasy posterity at the bottom of the painting. The ambassador began to grin as well. At that moment, the frightfully frantic footfalls of a pearly steed ridden in desparate haste announced the sudden and unexpected arrival of a messenger riding a pearly steed in desperate haste. He stopped before them, and dismounted in desperate haste.

"Grignr! Catherna!" he yodelled imploringly. "You must make haste! Queen Bison hath need of you - she hath been robbed of her sacred ammolite!"

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PostPosted: Thu 11 Oct , 2007 7:38 am 
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"The ammolite!", groaned Gignr loudly.

"The ammolite?", scoffed Catherna.

"The ammolite," emphasised the messenger emphatically.

His steed gave a snort that resounded from the trees and was flung back at them, making the messenger shake in his saddle.

"But 'tis impossible," roared Gignir thoughtfully. "It was hidden in a place marked only by the Sekrit Code!"

"I fear," qoth the messenger with a frightened but haughty look in his ovals of sight, "the code has been decoded."

"I can has enigma?" Gignir mumbled clearly for all to hear.

"Will you come, then," implored the messenger, his pearly steed prancing nervously as it tried to avoid the ants filing towards Catherna's picnic basket.

"Not before breakfast," she scolded and sat down to put two slices of bread together like the Earl of Sandwich would once the sandwich was invented.

"But you have had breakfast," Gignr said in an exasperated and well-controlled voice.

"I've had one, yes." She passed him the bread. "Here, have an Earl."

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PostPosted: Mon 19 Nov , 2007 4:29 pm 
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After their second breakfast, as Catherna wiped away the last drops of the potent brew which she had most willingly quaffed, Grignr hollared bellowingly, "Lead on, Messenger! Take us to the land where Queen Bison hath her sway!"

The messenger, who had no patience for faux-Jacobean affectations (or, in this era, faux-avant-garde-post-modernism affectations), made no attempt to conceal his scorn.

"Hath?", he snorkeled. "'Hath???'" Ooh, Mithter Barbarian warrior wantth me to take him to Bison'th palath. Well goth, ithn't that thpiffy!"

"Thmart ath," thaid Grignr under hith breast.

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PostPosted: Thu 22 Nov , 2007 3:08 pm 
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"Here we are," he announced after a step to the north. His noble steed chewed on one of Queen Bison's rose bushes.

"Oh," said Catherna, emptying out her pincnic basket. "Time for a -"

"No more breakfasts!" Gignir growled and the messenger rolled his orbs at her.

"All right. Lunch, then." Before she could protest, she was whisked off by the messenger and hurled through the palace gate right in front of the queen's throne.

"Hello, queen," she burped, wondering if a second breakfast had been too much after all.

Gignir attempted a noble bow, his stubborn gleaming hair sweeping the floor. Standing up again, he blew the dust bunnies from his hair and ogled Queen Bison unashamedly and bashfully. "Hello, how now, hail and well met, welcome one and all, goodbye," he sang like a broken lyer and turned on his muddy heels. All birds in the palace's proximity froze, stunned, and gave up the ghost. The messenger grabbed him by his collar as he tried to leave.

In the stillness that followed, Queen Bison regally, royally muttered something about ammolites before swine.

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PostPosted: Tue 26 Feb , 2008 6:56 pm 
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Leila, of the langourously long hair and excruciatingly correct pronunciation, swept imperiously into the hall like a broom. "Are these commoners bothering you, Your Majesty?" she inquired, looking down her lithe, opaque nose at them with all the refreshing froideur that five years in finishing school could cultivate.

"Peace, Leila!" intoned the Queen. "There is no need to look down your lithe, opaque nose at these plebeians - I have scent for them!"

"Ah," breathed Leila. "Would this have anything to do with a certain gem that disappeared under mysterious circumstances after a certain rondo for solo voice and lyre?"

"A rondo? I would have called it a strophic song," said Bison. "And a most interminably long one, as well."

"Strophic? Strophic? repeated Leila, forming each syllable like clear drops of water in a limpid stream. "I definitely heard some variations on the ritornello."

"Well, Modified Strophic, then. If there was any of that ABACABA stuff, it happened long after I was lulled to sleep."

"Perhaps; I base my analysis on the section for which I was able to remain awake," said Leila carefully with crystal-clear diction, even pronouncing all the silent letters ("Silent letters are for lazy people," as Miss Hardstone of the Finishing School was fond of reminding her charges).

"Do you remember anything about the thief?" asked Catherna. "Did he give his name?"

"We'll find him, by the blood-encrusted sword of Tamjing!" roared Grignr with lusty vigour.

"Language, Mr. Grignr!" said Leila, flashing glances of ice-hot disapproval in his erstwhile direction.

"Sorry," mumbled Grignr, blushing a crimson scarlet. His mighty barbarian powers were no match for the cold disapproval of a Finishing School graduate. Leila tended to make him feel at least half a foot smaller, which left him at a puny six-foot-one. "We'll find him, by, uh... by damn."

"That's better," said Leila with an indulgent, condescending smirk.

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PostPosted: Tue 10 Jun , 2008 1:21 pm 
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It was crowded and bustling in the Minstrel's Pub, where Grignr, Catherna, Bison, and Leila of the langourously long hair and excruciatingly correct pronunciation were trying to look inconspicuous in the hope of catching up with Trevor, the dastardly minstrel of the dulcet tones who had expropriated Bison's sacred ammolite.

"It disturbs me mightily how he knew to look in the secret pocket, when it was clearly labelled that there was nothing in it. He must have had inside information!" said Bison, thinking out loud.

"Indeed, who would have thought of looking in a clearly labelled secret pocket?" remarked Leila, waiting a full ten seconds between the second and third syllable of "labelled" to give the third "l" its maximum possible dramatic effect.

"But when will this alleged minstrel-thief make his appearance?" enquired Catherna with deceptive frankness.

"Ah, who can know?" said Leila, stretching the vowel in "know" into twenty-five syllables. Miss Hardstone of the Finishing School used to encourage the girls to make a game out of dividing the "O" vowel into as many syllables as possible (in the Finishing School, elocution was a vicious contact sport during which many of the girls had sustained major, minor, or mixolydian injuries). In the finals right before graduation, Leila had publicly transformed "although" into a 46-syllable word, finishing second to Susie Brimstone who managed 48.

"Stupid Suzie Brimstone, who thinks she's so great just because of her stupid 48 syllables... it was just dumb luck." muttered Leila under her breath. "I'll show her! So I will, by all the gods except for Tanquilidoc the god of chocolate thunderstorms, whom I've always suspected was a myth. I'll organize a rematch at our next school reunion, and wipe that stupid smile off of her silly, smirking little..." she stopped herself in mid-sentence, realizing that the others were staring at her in bewilderment.

"Well, never mind Suzie Brimstone now, we've got other things to think about," she said with an atavistic shrug of her shoulders. "Speaking of which - look!" She gestured towards the bar, where none other than the newly-arrived Trevor the minstrel was ordering his usual Bilateral Beer with the Peanuts of Despair.

The four of them made their way to the bar. "Well, well, well, look who's here - if it isn't Trevor the minstrel!" said Bison.

Trevor stopped in his tracks, suddenly nonplussed - minussed, in fact - and swallowed nervously before recovering his mathematical equanimity. "Why, Your Majesty! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Never mind that - you stole my ammolite, I want it back."

"I don't have it any more."

"Well, where is it?"

"I would be only too happy to tell you," said Trevor, taking out his lute. "This song will explain everything."

He tuned it, and began to sing:

"When my mistresse smiles at me,
Ay, when my mistresse smiles at me,
Timid cares and worries flee,
And brighter stars and days I see.
The stars excrete the letter 'T'.

When my mistresse smiles at me,
Ay, when my mistresse smiles at me,
Timid cares and worries flee,
And brighter stars and days I see.
The stars excrete the letter 'E'.

When my mistresse..."

Bison had had had enough. She had been taken in by this once before and was not going to fall for it again. She nodded to Grignr, who in a confrontational manner advanced on Trevor like a baggage collector on the Express Train of Existentialism.

"We'll have no more of your modified strophic ballads, brimming with angst and introspection! Take that cretin!" he roared, dealing Trevor a mighty blow across the side of his head.

"Which cretin?" mumbled Trevor as he crumpled to the ground.

"Um... what do you mean?" asked Grignr.

Trevor gingerly picked himself up and brushed himself off. "Which cretin am I supposed to take?"

Grignr's brow furrowed in thought, and then unfurrowed itself with a loud bang as the dawn of understanding passed over his features.

"Oh, I see. I was merely saying that you - a cretin - should take: this," he said, helpfully knocking Trevor to the ground again by way of explanation.

"Ooh, looks like someone didn't use Mister Comma," chortled Bison with hearty bonhomie.

"I... AM... A... BARBARIAN... WARRIOR... I.. HAVE... NO... TIME...OR... USE... FOR... PUNCTUATION!!!" yelled Grignr, jumping up and down in his fury and executing the nimble pirhouette that he had perfected during his stint as an extra in La Wench Mal Gardée.

"Oh ye gods, I can't stand it when he speaks in all-caps," snarled Catherna.

Leila pointed a delicately-pedicured finger towards the exit, through which Trevor was taking the opportunity to take himself.

"There he goes!! After him!!!111", she hollered, carefully pronouncing even all the ones, one by one.

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PostPosted: Mon 14 Jul , 2008 12:35 am 
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"There he goes," moaned Catherna, "and before we could wrest the truth out of him with infallibly vernacular means of persuasion.

"Maybe we should have listened to that whole dreary song," said Grignr. "He was telling us where the ammolite was hidden, albeit in a slow, plodding, tortoise-like fashion."

"No, thank you," decreed Leila with pusillanimous erquanimity. "I can't stand Country & Northern music, particularly when it's in the hypolydian mode."

Grignr did some math in his slow but thewy mind. "You mean - major?" he inquired.

Leila deflated like a balloon that was deflating. "Yes, yes, all right, fine, major. I just thought 'hypolydian' sounded more epic," she conflated.

Grignr did some more math in his slow but thewy mind. "You mean 'major' sounds more epic?"

Leila let loose an exasperated rural expression, in which she managed to pronounce all 34 letters of the Gorgonzolan alphabet, apart from those letters that are pronounced through the mouth. "It doesn't matter anyway. I know where the ammolite is."

Bison's orbbrows rose, caught by a sudden pique of interest. "You do? How did you manage to figure that out?"

"Did you notice his insignia? He serves the Cat God!"

"Well, what of it?"

"Don't you remember, before it was stolen, you received a visit from the Cat God himself?"

Bison smacked her forehead with a mighty blow, sending makeup scattering everywhere. 'Of course! And he tried to get me to give him the ammolite!"

"The first two letters of Trevor's coded message in that awful ballad were 'T' and 'E'. I would wager that if we had suffered through the rest of it, the next letter would be an 'M', followed by a 'P', and then subsequently, in a later stanza there would have been an 'L', all of which precedes the..."

"Get to the point, girl!" growled Bison, remembering to use Mister Comma despite her impatience.

"... all of which precedes the 'E' which would inevitably follow the precedence, after which, I am persuaded of it, there would have been a space followed by an 'O', which, if I am not greatly mistaken, would have been succeeded by an 'F', after which we would have been treated to another space, ..."

Bison had had enough. She nodded to Grignr, but the mighty barbarian warrior was too intimidated by the cool disapproval of Leila's glance, that he just mumbled something inaudible and continued listening.

"... which undoubtedly would have been subsequently succeeded by an 'M', which, of course, would only serve to precede an 'E', and I am quite confident that the next verse would have been an exact repetition, thereby landing us with another 'E', ..."

"Of course!"yodeled Catherna with equine sobriety. " 'Temple of Mee-Nou!' Leila, you're a genius!"

".. which would most likely have been followed by a hyphen (certainly the first example of punctuation in this early example of a Cheddarese Strophic Ballad, unless you count the space as punctuation, but I believe most grammatic theorists would agree with me in classifying the space as an entity separate from punctuation), after which the three subsequent verses would return to letters, the first of which would have been an 'N'..."

"Yes, thank you, Leila, intoned Bison with steely self-control. "You have been most helpful."

"... the second of which would have been an 'O', and then finally, this over-long, unending, disproportionately hyper-dimensioned, interminably and extensively elongated sesquipedal drawn-out and protracted song would have reached its grand finale with the letter 'U'. And what does that give us, you may ask?" She looked at the other three expectantly.

A silence followed. Catherna felt that she should contribute something.

"Of course!" she yodeled with equine sobriety. "'Temple of Mee-Nou!' Leila, you're a genius." Leila smiled with modest pride at this compliment.

"Well, our course is clear," beamed Bison. "We must go to the Temple of Mee-Nou and confront the Cat God himself!"

Grignr sounded the Ear of Neon motif (TM) on his horn. "Awake! Awake!" he roared. "Great deeds are afoot! Aurora toom-de-ay! A might wind is breaking! Fourth the fore hunters!" Then, noticing that the other three had already left, he hurried to catch up with them, accidentally tipping over a couple of tavern wenches in his hurry.

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 Post subject: Re: The Ear of Neon
PostPosted: Wed 20 May , 2009 1:00 pm 
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With flintruvious rupidity, the three, nay, four adventurers made their weary but tired way through the bustling streets towards that seedy area of town where was located the Temple of Mee-Nou.

"No doubt this minstrel intends to impress the hierarchy of the Cult of Mee-Nou by his purrloinment of my ammolite," rasped Bison the Queen. "Perhaps he aspires even to the priesthood!"

Leila smirked a gentle smirk. "Nay, oh Queen," she smirked. "The ballads of the minstrel Trevor may be long and monotonous, but his voice is a pleasing baritone. If he aspired to the priesthood of the cat god, his voice would be a light soprano."

"How so?" intoned Bison with equilateral morbidity.

"Well, it is known that the worship of Mee-Nou is a stern one, that exacts from its priesthood vows of chastity. Indeed, aspiring acolytes are chosen at birth, and the chastity is um... enforced."

Bison's expression remained one of polite incomprehension.

"Um... with an operation," continued Leila delicately. Bison continued to regard her with questions written all over the blank effluviousness of her visage.

"An operation to enforce chastity," ejaculated Leila with astonishing tact.

"Castration," said Grignr helpfully.

The round organs on either side of Catherna's nose widened in horror. "How awful!" she expostulated with pedantic thoroughness.

Bison considered carefully. "So," she mused, "the cult of Mee-Nou is run by a Eunuchs Operating System. In that case, it would be of scant use for me to use my feminine wiles to wheedle the precious jewel from their ravenous clutches. On to Plan Squee*."

________________________________________

*Squee: the second letter of the Gorgonzolan alphabet. The correct pronunciation is achieved by a sharp intake of breath with the tongue pressed flat against the roof of the mouth, with the cheeks puffed out, all the while affecting a facial expression of mild distaste. Unless one speaks Gorgonzolan from early childhood it is difficult to pronounce this sound like a native. In fact, people from the neighbouring land of Brie, although fluent in Gorgonzolan grammar, usually fail to get the expression of mild distaste just right, giving rise to the famous "Brie Accent", which is considered cute in artistic circles. There is a famous joke that goes "Didst thou hear the one about the pedlar from Brie who went into a bar? He sidled up to the barman with exasperating self-confidence, and said, 'What ho, good publican! I desire 500ml of your finest cleaning fluid!' " This joke is side-splittingly hilarious when told in the Gorgonzolan dialect, and never fails to produce gales of laughter.

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Melkor and Ungoliant in need of some relationship counselling.


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 Post subject: Re: The Ear of Neon
PostPosted: Fri 22 May , 2009 2:09 am 
The Grey Amaretto as Supermega-awesome Proud Heretic Girl
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 Post subject: Re: The Ear of Neon
PostPosted: Sun 13 Feb , 2011 4:38 pm 
Aspiring to heresy
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Location: Canada
The Temple of Mee-Nou was irresistably located in one of the less desirable areas of town, and nothing contributed more to its undesirability than the Havartian Tavern that was incontrovertably situated across the wild, windswept thoroughfare from the dark, dank, dreary, doleful, distinctly dirty temple itself. It was into this tavern that our four fearless heroes entered: Bison, the great barbarian warrior queen, her attendant Leila of the Langourously Long Hair and Excruciatingly Correct Pronunciation, and the off-duty tavern wench Catherna with a figure like a baseball bat with two strategically-placed cantaloupes. Oh, and Grignr too.

"Let us blithely carrouse ere we perform our daring assault on the Temple," quoth Bison as they seated themselves. One of the on-duty tavern wenches filled their tankards with a smoky resonous liquid, and handed them each a menu.

Grignr eyed his tankard with mild distaste. "Verily, this brew is not very virile; therefore I quaff it most unwillingly," he expostulated, raising his turbulent tankard and draining it with one epic gulp.

"If it walks like a duck, and quaffs like a duck...", whispered Bison to Catherna and Leila, who giggled under their breath. They picked up their menus and merrily perused them.

"What the zrgtk5b is this?" exclaimed Grignr mid-perusal. "It's just a bunch of little pictures!"

"Of course it is," said Leila with patient fluidity. "This is a Havartian tavern, it stands to reason that the menus would be written in native Havartian."

"Hurrh, hurrh, hurrh," chortled Grignr. "Stupid Havartians, too dumb to come up with an alphabet, hurrh, hurrh."

"Keep your mildly offensive voice down!" hissed Bison. "The Havartian civilization is a very ancient and civilized one, and their writing system is actually very complicated!"

"Hurrh, hurrh, hurrh," Grignr continued to inform them.

"I can order for all of us," declared Bison. "Back in Queen school we were required to learn the languages of all the neighbouring countries. My Havartian may be a little rusty, but I think I remember enough."

A sombrely-clad waitress made her undulating way towards them, carrying a large slab, a hammer and a chisel. "Two round eyes, a square one, and a bird?" she asked.

Bison smiled. "A cloud over the water, a barren tree, a bushel of grain surrounded by two teeth," she said. She pointed to the menu and continued, "Three parallel lines followed by a beetle?"

"Three parallel lines followed by a beetle," smiled the waitress, nodding her head.

The waitress placed the slab on their table and began to etch out Bison's order. They waited patiently as she chiselled out the required images.

"This doesn't seem so hard," remarked Grignr. "Hey, this looks good - can you order this for me?" He pointed to a spot on the menu on which was depicted a series of empty jars and raindrops.

Bison looked at where Grignr was pointing. "All prices are inclusive of BST*", she translated. "Look, Grignr, I really think you should leave the ordering to me." Grignr's stony features arranged themselves into a dramatic pout. The waitress had caught up with her hammering and chiselling, and was looking at Bison expectantly.

"Three trees depicting a small forest, a chariot wheel, a man pouring water out of a barrel, and another chariot wheel," continued Bison.

The waitress began her rhythmic pounding again. Then she stopped, and raised a questioning orb of sight to Bison. "Horizontal line above the second chariot wheel?" she queried.

Bison pondered, and then shook her head. "Horizontal line under the second chariot wheel," she said.

The waitress continued to etch the figures. When she reached the second chariot wheel, she also etched in a few arrows pointing to the line underneath, as a reminder.

Grignr cleared his throat. "Um...," he began gallantly, "badly-drawn tree with misshapen fruit, a seascape so dire that even a two-year-old could do better, and a stick figure that somehow manages to violate every known law of anatomy." Grignr beamed, pleased with his cleverness. Bison buried her face in her hands. "Oh no," she groaned.

The waitress's's's's dark green occuli widened themselves with unbelief before she burst out laughing, unable to help herself.

"Come on," hissed Bison as the sombrely-clad waitress hurried back to her erstwhile colleagues to tell them what had transpired. "I think we'd better leave."

"Why?" yammered Grignr, returning to his pout.

"You just proposed marriage to her. It's just as well she thinks you're an uncouth barbarian and doesn't plan to hold you to your word."

"An uncouth barbarian?" said Catherna as the four of them made their fearless but timid way to the door. "Where on earth did she get that impression?" The three women shared another private giggle.

Just as they reached the door, they were arrested by the sound of a sharp whistle. They turned around. With a huge grin, fixing her succulent occulent opulent eminent orbs on Grignr, the sombrely-clad waitress lifted her skirts a few inches to reveal her ankles. With a mighty crash that resounded throughout the tavern, Grignr swooned to the ground.

________________________________________________
* Benign Superficial Tax

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