Play Minstrel Play.........

[Merelan]

This was inspired, so to start, by a song by Blackmore's Night with the same name. Here are the lyrics, if you can download the song and listen..... If not the lyrics shall set the stage...

Open thread to one and all. Who shall play our town folk? And who the minstrel????

OOC I have no idea where this is headed, as usual, let's play and see.

Play Minstrel Play
Underneath the harvest moon
Where the ancient shadows will play and hide...
With a ghostly tune and the devil's pride...
"Stranger" whispered all the town
Has he come to save us from Satan's hand?
Leading them away to a foreign land...
Play for me, minstrel, play
And take away our sorrows...
Play for me, minstrel, play
And we'll follow...
Hear, listen, can you hear,
The haunting melody surrounding you,
Weaving a magic spell all around you...
Danger hidden in his eyes,
We should have seen it from far away,
Wearing such a thin disguise in the light of day...
He held the answer to our prayers,
Yet it was too good to be...
Proof before our eyes, yet we could not see...


Lyra

In her mid twenties she had all her life behind her. Married young, as all did, two children and a small farm. Now, nothing. A simple illness and her family gone. Alone she now lives on the outskirts of town, making her living by the small return her fields offer and her wits.

Still pretty, in that small town way. But too old for any here to consider her a mate. For she was considered bad luck. How else could you explain how her husband and two children had died, yet she not even sicken? Whispers of magic had flitted from ear to ear as she knew the herb lore and sold it at the neighboring town.

In her loneliness she sits and sews at her door. Watching the children playing in the town square. Rumours of a distant war had come through in the last month, but who listened to them. Whether or not it happened, it made no difference here. Though it was also said there was magic in the fighting, evil wizards who had corrupted the High Lords.

Corrupted them? Were they not already corrupt?

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

A figure detatches itself from the woodline and begins to cross the freshly harvested field.

From a distance it appears to be a male wearing a cowled cloak with a staff in one hand, perhaps a pack or a hump on his back-although he walks erect and isn't bowed over and in the other hand he carries what seems to be a jug.

As the distance narrows, he pauses and yes it's a jug for he takes a long drink from it before continuing his slow and stately stride growing every closer to the hut and village.

 

[Merelan]

OOC Welcome Pheonix, are you the mintrel? Or a wandering someone???? Anyone else choose to play????




IC

Watching carefully I saw him approach. A stranger. What did he want here? There was not event he excuse of market, we had none, or passing through. We were off the well traveled roads.

Trouble. I could scent it in the air. A storm brewing too. If he didn't get to shelter soon, he would get soaked.

His problem, not mine. Going inside and calling the cat in with me.

As usually she had a half eaten thing with her, and tucked it behind the stove. Mentally I reminded myself to check for it in the morning, or I would regret it.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

OOC: Why thank you... and time will tell who's crossing your field. *lil grin*


I saw the figure in the doorway, a woman by all appearance, go into the house. A sniff, then a second a glance at the sky I muttered to myself, "Well seems I may be getting wet if I don't find someplace out of the coming weather to settle myself for the night, unless I dare to delve into the other realm for shelter.
"I wonder if this farm has any sheds where a traveler could lay up for the night.
"No sign of menfolk about, no dogs barking so at least they won't be a problem."

The dark storm clouds had gathered behind the wood and are now advancing pushed on by the growing winds as I reach the hard packed road leading to the village, still a bit of a walk away.

A look toward the house and I choose to toss the bones and gamble on a shed.

Walking openly into the yard of the house and avoiding the scattering chickens heading for their roosts to get out of the approaching storm I spy a leanto behind the small house and make my way there.

Looking in I see some few farm impliments on the back wall under the roof and some mouldering straw on the stone floor that's been laid and is raised some wee bit above the ground.

"This will do nicely," I quietly say to myself and if I'm asked to leave so be it. Tis in the hands of the Gods now."

Ducking I move under the shelter of the roof and hang my pack on a peg on the back wall and settle myself down on the straw.

I look at the tools and impliments on the wall and see that all could use some mending or tending and as the sky darkens far earlier that is normal for this time of year gather them within reach and begin to do what needs doing to earn my shelter.

Some are sharpened and rust is removed, some need to be rewrapped to hold them together and that's done with strips of leather taken from my pack.

I work slowly but steadily, for it passes the time, with one eye on the house in case someone objects to my presence, but so far there's no sign any are aware I'm even there.

I can see a shadow now and then as it crosses the flickering light of a small fire, the damp air and wind brings it's smoke to me and I smile at the scent of burning apple wood, dried wood not green and freshly cut from a living tree.

"Tis good to know some respect the living things of the world and just gather the dead branches and the like rather than cutting them from a good tree," I mutter. Being alone has led me to talking to myself more and more it seems.

The rain comes with an initial fury and as the winds blow it into the scant shelter of the leanto a negligent wave of my hand seeming, had anyone been there to see, erects a barrier to most of the water just allowing a light mist to blow in with the wonderful winds.

Now that vision was blocked by the falling rain I turned to each of the tools, each impliment in turn and did what I do then hung each in it's place on the back wall.

Now short of deliberate destruction they will last longer than the life of the farmer and remain in pristine condition. "There are advantages. It's good to help someone and earn my shelter," I mutter before eating a bit of bread and cheese washed down by the contents of my jug.

Rolling over with my back to the opening, facing the wall, I say what's due and owed to those listening and pull the cowl over my head and fall asleep.

 

[patrick1]

ooc Pardon a newcomer having a try...

ic the old librarian

He loves the rain. He pulls his blue woollen hat a little more firmly down over his strands of greying hair and smiles at the heavens. Greying, yes, like him: clouds swirling in wildly from the east.

His face already soaking, a little bent, he walks his weekly walk, up the track to the house, singing to himself: There's a storm out on the water, oh bless the ships at sea...

You should have been a travelling minstrel, Rick, my good man. How did you let yourself take root in this small godforsaken place? Where no-one even cares for the great world of ideas? For the marvellous dreams and desires of people out beyond the horizon?

No-one but one. He bends into the rain, as it falls harder, almost horzontally, as he approaches the house. There's only one woman in the whole district with the brains and imagination to share dreams with him. And yet...they never meet. Not to speak. They nod sometimes, in the street. And every week, he comes to her house, and in the coal scuttle outside the old lean-to he takes away last week's book, and replaces it with a new one.

This week, 'Jane Eyre' is what she's been reading. And here, tucked inside the inner pocket of his coat, ready to exchange: 'Wild Sargasso Sea', Jean Rhys's tale of the madwoman, the first Mrs Rochester. Will it appeal? Will she have written her thoughts to him, as she usually does, on pink paper inside the covers of Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece?

He's about to exchange the books when he senses something different. Something has changed. The door of the lean-to isn't usually closed like that. Something has been disturbed. Should he...?

He bangs down the lid of the scuttle, and tucks last week's book inside his pocket. Don't interfere, Rick. Probably just an animal been rooting around out here. Noe of your damn business.

The rain doesn't relent. At last he turns, glances towards the house, where a light burns in her bedroom. He blows a foolish kiss in her direction. Then he turns away, the wind at last at his back. And sings, as he hopes for her words on pink paper beside his bed tonight, sings, There's a storm out in my lover's heart, oh god bless me...

 

[Merelan]

Lyra:
I knew he had gone into the lean to, but what was I to do? There wasn't anyway I could turn someone out on a night like this.
But I worried, was he dry enough? None of your concern dear. He is a stranger, thus, not to be trusted. None are.

Bang.

Except him. The man from town. Every week he came and switched the books. I imagined him at home choosing the one he would lend, and then reading the words I wrote. Sitting by the fire, his legs spread toward the fire. A dog at his feet. No, a cat. Independant and wild. It would have to be, for he was so forgetful, engrossed in his books and in the few children in town that took their lessons.

I waited before pulling the book, though eager. Always he chose something new, and different. Something to make me think. Did he like my words? For he came back every week. Though I had not expected him today. This rain would soak him.
Reminding myself that tomorrow I would slip into his rooms and make sure his clothes were in order. I did this once or twice before, when noticing buttons gone astray and pins holding coat together.
I had no other way to repay him for his words, for the world he was sharing with me.

The rain came down harder, in torrents, the wind so strong, Beating against the walls of my home, and the lean to. Would it stand against it? There was no money to fix it, and the tools inside would long have fallen to bits. Really I should tear it down.
Yet it had it's purpose.

Between it's walls it sheltered wild things, like the man there tonight. A shiver flitted up my spine as I imagined him there, soaked, no fire. The roof leaking in on him. Glancing over at the roaring fire.

Without another thought I slipped the knife under my belt, pulled my old cloak about me. But stopped dead at the door. What if he was danger?

Instead I laid aside my cloak and reached for the book. Caressing it's covers, inhaling it's scent. Not tonight would I start it. But tomorrow, after my chores and dinner, and my bath.

Like a ritual I pulled it close to me, was it a new friend? or one I would not like? Haunting my dreams with the new thoughts it would give me?

Banking the fire I stripped to my chemise and curled into bed. Pulling the blanket over me, the book by my side. One hand laying on it, as if it was my lover.
Sleep came easily, for the day had been long and tedious. Another in a long line.

 

[patrick1]

the old librarian

Shivering, the grey-haired man wraps another blanket about him, and stokes up the fire. Outside, the storm still rages. And in his heart...

Lyra. He permits himself her name, once. 'Lyra'.

She has written to him, of the book. Her words are a blur on pink. With fumbling hands, he replaces her letter between the pages. It's that time of night when his spectacles often go missing. Lately even the spare ones have taken to absconding from their supposedly unforgettable secret place, and he must settle for an indistinct world until the light of morning.

He sits forward, staring into the fire. The wind howls outside. How calm he must seem, even now, if a ghost in the mirror behind him were to glance across. How a storm rages in his heart. 'Lyra,' he says again, and leans back, closing his eyes. Straight away - is it a blessing or a curse? - a vision of a woman appears to him, as she always does. Nude, twisting away from him, and yet imprisoned by his imagination...

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

The storm moves on during the night leaving behind the clean smell of washed air, green and growing things and all of the stars twinkling and blinking in the black sky like a myriad of diamonds sparkling in the light as they lay scattered on a piece of blackest velvet.

It's been a long, long time since I've slept the night through and tonight is no different. I hear a call, some small thing is in distress.

It's not the call of an animal who's fallen prey to it's natural predator rather the call of a small thing trapped or hurt and alone crying out silently for assistance.

A soft sigh escapes as I sit up and then stand, staff in hand. Ducking under the roof of the lean to I walk outside and stand silently turning to locate the direction of the silent pleas for help.

'Ahhh, that way,' I think to myself as I stride off toward the copse of trees bordering the edge of the cleared area of the farm's yard.

As I approach my head turns left then right slowly refining the direction of the calls until I can home in on them.

A short distance into the woods and I find the helpless one. It's a weasel and around it's neck is a wire noose. The snare of either a trapper or a poacher for all woodland is the property of the regent and so is the game within its confines.

Murmuring to myself and the small bundle of fur, claws and teeth I squat and move slowly closer and closer and see the wire's bitten into it's small neck and blood cakes it's fur.

My hand is slowly extended until it's well within reach of those predator's wicked teeth, but it just lays there sniffing before it looks up to me.

Murmuring, promising aid and healing one hand is joined by another and the noose is loosened and eased over the small head.

Coal black eyes seem to shine and glimmer in the subdued light of the starshine as I lift it, a him I discover, into my arms. Staff back in hand again I retrace my route to the lean to and my pack and jug.

Once back inside I sit myself down facing the backwall and crossing my legs to make a little cradle of my robe to lay my small patient upon.

From my pack I get the necessaries for a poultice for it's injured neck and a bit of jerked meat for it to eat as I tend it.

Muttering the necessary words to myself as I mix the herbs with some of the contents of my jug until I have a paste I wonder what the trapper or poacher will think when they find the rock very securely caught in the wire noose rather than a furred prey.

I begin to talk under my breath to my small new friend explaining all I'll be doing, apologizing for any hurt it causes and assuring him that he'll be just fine and right as rain in no time at all.

As I, as gently as possible, work the paste through the soft but matted fur into the wound I begin to chant or perhaps some would say sing very quietly to myself, my little friend.. and to those who are always listening, asking that the wound heal clean and disease free. Asking that my poor efforts relieve his suffering and allow him to lead a full life as I hope is ordained by the Fates.

I've been busy for quite awhile and concentrating on what I've been doing and haven't even realized that the night has passed and a new day's dawning has come and gone. Not even the added light alterts me to the new day I'm so engrossed in making sure he is well, fed and had a drink from my jug poured into the cup of my palm for him to lap up, before he nuzzles it in his way of thanking me.

 

[patrick1]

the librarian

Heigh ho. Fell asleep in the chair again.

The cat wakes him, leaping up on to his lap. Early morning. A glimmer of daylight through the curtains. He strokes her black and white fur. 'Another day, another dollar,' he says. It's an old joke between them: her name being Dollar: she always smiles.

He lifts her from him, drops her to the floor. There's always cat food in the refrigerator, even when he's forgotten to replenish his morning eggs from Mrs Purdew. 'Here, Dolly, Dolly...'

The cat isn't hungry. She mews, leads him to the hall. Oh my. Blood, a flapping, a squawking. A great tumble of brown-grey feathers.

Dollar looks up at him: aren't you pleased, at this gift I offer you?

He's no good with these half-dead birds and mice and grubs she brings. He doesn't know what to do with them. He opens the front door to the smell of last night's rain. 'Shoo, shoo!'

It takes five minutes, the cat battling in his arms, to persuade the wounded bird to flutter out. He slams the door shut. Sweeps up the feathers and blood. Finally sits in his rocker with a cup of instant coffee. Poor thing's probably dead by now. Why don't I know how to care? Except for the likes of you?

He refuses the cat his lap. She skulks off. Soon, the day must begin. Soon. Close your eyes. Just a moment to dream...

 

[Merelan]

Half asleep I start my morning chores. Circling the book ont he table as if it is a precious treasure, for to me it is.
Then outside to assess any damage done by the storm.
Yawning, with my coffee in hand I see the lean to. And remember someone was there. Surely long gone by now though, but still I check.
Slowly peeking in and looking. A dark mass curled in the corner, with two bright eyes peeking from the middle.
Is that a person? Or an animal, not the first time one has sought shelter here. Entering quietly so as not to frighten it.

'Here sweetheart, ck ck." Clicking my tongue to arouse it.

"The storm was a fierce one wasn't it? Let's see you now, and maybe I can find a bite or two for ya." The dark mass stirred and I jumped, backing into the door the light streaming around me, outlining me.

"Oh, I thought, just the wee one was here still."

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

"My pardon good woman. I didn't mean to startle you. The wee one was caught in a trapper's or poacher's wire snare and needed to be tended after I released it so I wasn't aware of your presence as I was tending him.
"I hope that you don't mind I sheltered from the storm here last night.
"I tried to repay your unknowing hospitality by repairing your tools and implements. I trust that's enough, but if it isn't I'm more than willing to work off whatever I may still owe for the shelter," he says as he moves out of the shadows and into the light streaming from outside the with the weasel, that's looking at you then him, nestled in the crook of his arm.

 

[patrick1]

the librarian

...the day goes by in the stamping of books, old Spooner's twins causing mayhem till I found a picture book each for them to read and boast was better than the others...and just one moment when I looked into Miss Elwell the teacher's blue eyes (even though she's fifty if she's a day and anyway lifetime 'companion' to Miss McMahon) and found myself saying 'Lyra' before I could swallow the word...

 

[Merelan]

With a glance I saw how much he had done.

"But you never needed to do all that. My" Looking closer.

'You are talented with your hands. I thank you. Why don't you step inside and ahng your cloak before the fire, and have a bit of breakfast. It is the least I can do."

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

"Thank you. It would nice to dry it and enjoy breaking fast with you good woman, but you may allow me a contribute to the repoast," he says as he follows you across the yard toward your home.

"May my little furry friend join us?"

 

[Merelan]

Had I mistaken him?

"I couldn't eat him, and you saved him, how could you?" Reaching for the fella, and getting snapped at.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

His laugh is low and quiet, "Actually I meant may he also come in and eat with us not be eaten by us. I'll contribute from what I carry."

Still chuckling he looks down at the weasel when it snaps at you, "Now, now. Where are your manners. This fine lady is our hostess and has invited me to break fast with her and I believe she'll also allow you to join us, if you mind your manners now apologize to her please my little friend."

The weasel looks up as he speaks as if it can understand his words and actually looks over at you then hangs it's head as if ashamed of it's behavior.

"Please do pet him again. He's very sorry for his manners you know."

 

[Merelan]

Hesitantly I reached out, the little guy stretched his neck and met my hand, even giving it a lick. He was kinda cute, for a pest.

'There isn't much to offer, but I make a good cup of coffee. were you dry enough in there last night? I meant to come out and invite you in, but, somehow." I glanced at the book. "Well, it isn't always safe at night to invite others in. And with the men of the farm out working right now, I felt. Well. I hope you were dry enough." Without thought I had added the part about the men, realizing I was alone out here with a stranger, yet somehow, not feeling in danger.

We had entered the small cabin and he let the wesel go. Poking his nose into things and burrowing under the furniture. Checking out where things were and the smells. Till he got to the bed.
Eyeing him carefully was Aster. The cat. Her fur up on end and a hiss startled him. No, they would fight for sure.
Yet the stranger moved slowly, almost flowing, as he reached out a hand to her and spoke quietly. I missed her words.

'Careful, she isn't the most friendly of things. She is the owner here, not me, and ..." My voice trailing off as she allowed him to stroke her fur.

"Well, damn me. You do have a way with the critters don't you?"

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

"Some say so good lady and as for the men, if they can't tend your tools and implements better than that I'd suggest that you give them a talking to. Good tools are hard to comeby since "The Troubles".
"I noticed that you're a reader. A wonderous thing reading. One of the greatest things still remaining are the books from the Old Ones."

Looking down at the cat and the weasel, "Now you two behave yourselves. No fighting, no scrapping. Get along and go about your business together.
"Find the mice and rats for this good lady and dispatch them for tis your task and your food, but first here, have a drink to fortify yourselves for the hunt to come," he says squatting and pouring from his jug into the palm of his hand. Cat and weasel both drink, one from either side of his hand, at the same time and more is poured out until they've had their fill.

Their coats seem glossier, their eyes brighter as his palm is licked and the two of them hop off the bed and head out the still open door.

"Now," he says rummaging into his backpack, "perhaps, if you wouldn't mind cooking, we can have this for our meal."

He produces four eggs and a small slab of bacon along with the part loaf of bread, a bit of a round of cheese and several apples.

 

[Merelan]

I took his food, knowing what I had in the cupboard was my last, and cooked it up for him. He sat silent, watchign the two chase and play.
I was uneasy, it wasn't natural, yet there was a subtle something that felt like I had done this before. I set the table for him and served, then poured my coffee and sat before him. Sclinging the food.

"I am not a morning eater, but I thank you just the same. A roll and coffee usually suffice me till the nooning."

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

"If you don't share the repast with me it will taste as if I'm eating ashes. You wouldn't with to condemn me to that taste to begin this glorious day would you?
"Half for you and half for me and I'll accept no less good lady," he says as he divides the food into two equal parts and moves the plate so your half is facing you. Then he waits until you've begun to eat and joins you with a warm and pleasent smile on his face, in his eyes.

 

[Merelan]

We eat almost in silence, I wish to know. Who he was, where he came from, and where he was going.
But it wasn't polite, or safe to ask questions these days.

We shared out the coffee, my last. Today was market day.

'Thank you for the food." Just then Aster meowed loudly, for attention. The two of them had found a couple mice and brought them to share. She seemed different, rubbing against my leg as I stroked her. Tring not to flinch I realized this stranger must have power.

Was it good? He seemed okay, fixing the tools and sharing his food. Saving the animal, but had he? All I had was his words, and words were clever. As I had learned in my reading.

"I filled the sink with water and let the dishes soak.

"I am heading in to town, it is market day and there are things I need. If you are looking for work, that is where you should head. Many farms around here could use the help, with the men being called up."

 

[MyFriend27]

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

"If you don't mind, before the treck to town, could we walk your fields so I may see them and your crops.
"I have an interest in all growing things, animal and plant, and some small knowledge of those things. Perhaps I could make suggestions for increasing your yield or for a crop better suited to your lands than what you may be growing.
"I'm sure you know that some lands grow some things better than others. I seem to have a bit of luck in telling what prefers what."

 

[Merelan]

"You are welcome to walk the fields, but i don't work them anymore. They are rented out to a neighbor farmer. He should be at market if youw ant to meet him. I just have a small grden for me. I mean.." Realizing I have just admitted it is just me.

'Hell, you can tell there isn't anyone else here. If you were goign to murder me you would have done it last night, and I have nothing to rob. Besides, you aren't the type. I don't think." Eyeing him and trying to look suspicious, and probably only looking half witted.

"Or are you a wicked man come to take my lands?" and laughing, pulling my shawl over my shoulders, and gathering a few baskets.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

"No fair lady, I take nothing that's not freely given and never have. It's not my way.
"Only what's given has value. What's taken is cheapened no matter what it may be or what it's value maybe to others," he says smiling at you.

"In that case could I see your garden plot please and lets see if we can increase your yeild and if you receive a portion of the crops from your fields then perhaps walking them would also be fruitful in that it would bring more to you.
"Perhaps then we could go to town and, if you allow me to remain in your shed, I could even help in buying provisions, if we'll be sharing meals."

As you're walking along and talking, several birds fly by and one, a thrush, lands on his shoulder and begins to twitter as if talking with him in its musical language. . . and stranger still he answers it and it almosts seems to understand him and he it.