Post by domikko on Oct 8, 2010 19:55:08 GMT -6
Zeth was sat in front of the large fire that had been burning steadily since early evening. The bright flames brought him great comfort on this darkest of nights, as did the merry folk around him. He knew that soon enough, it would be his turn to perform for them, to pass on another story.
The fire had been lit in an attempt to make good use of a short spell of sun and warmth that had feebly clawed at the surrounding countryside, and Zeth found the air to be crisp but pleasant. He was looking forward to telling his story, as the stars were shining, and the moon was out - the perfect time for a story, around a fire.
Magic was in the air, and Zeth loved the chance to use his gifts to colour his stories. Even now, he was thinking up some illusions to implement in the telling of his epic.
He knew, after a while, that the time was right, and he took the wooden fife from a deep pocket in his torn and scarred leather-coat, and played a tuneful, trilling jingle. Those around him that had decided to endure the evening in the company of the old storyteller looked at him intently, as he stood up where he was sitting, and slowly started telling his story.
"This is the tale of great love, and sorrow, and of a deep longing beyond the measures of simple men, like us." He said, his deep, dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "It is the tale of Lleu Llaw Gyffes. He was born a twin, the son of a cold cruel malicious mother, who loved his brother greatly over him, and cursed him in spite.
She cursed him that only she could name him, and that only she could arm him, and that he could never find a wife from among men." Zeth paused dramatically, to allow this to sink in for his audience.
"Now," He continued, "Lleu had an uncle, named Gwydion, who raised him, and rescued him from the clutches of his mother. When he was eight years old, Gwydion took him to his mother, in disguise, for Gwydion was a powerful sorcerer, and Gwydion tricked Lleu's mother..." And so, Zeth continued to colourfully recite the story of how Lleu broke the curses of his mother, and of how Gwydion, and his friend Math made him a wife of flowers.
He told the awed audience of his wife, who was named Blodeuwedd, and of her extreme beauty. he demonstrated this with illusions that were so realistic, it was impossible to tell them from reality. He told of Blodeuwedd's affair with Gronw the hunter, and how Gronw killed Lleu with a spear made only on Sundays, while others in his house are at prayer to their god, and that this spear must be made over the course of the year, if it is to kill Lleu.
He told the horrified crowd of how Lleu was stricken, and how he became an eagle and flew away, before being returned by Gwydion, and how together with Math, they defeated Gronw, and turned Blodeuwedd into an owl, and she was forced to roam the night forever.
His story ended with a shining white owl soaring away over the heads of the spectators, and him playing a shrill fanfare on his fife.
When he was done, he was awarded with a tankard of ale, and a clap on the back, as he sat down on the stump that was his seat. He scanned the crowd for any that might wish to congratulate him further for his magical reenactment, and especially a woman - however, ever since his hair had prematurely turned grey, he didn't tend to get many women...
Oh well. Such was the life of a story teller.
The fire had been lit in an attempt to make good use of a short spell of sun and warmth that had feebly clawed at the surrounding countryside, and Zeth found the air to be crisp but pleasant. He was looking forward to telling his story, as the stars were shining, and the moon was out - the perfect time for a story, around a fire.
Magic was in the air, and Zeth loved the chance to use his gifts to colour his stories. Even now, he was thinking up some illusions to implement in the telling of his epic.
He knew, after a while, that the time was right, and he took the wooden fife from a deep pocket in his torn and scarred leather-coat, and played a tuneful, trilling jingle. Those around him that had decided to endure the evening in the company of the old storyteller looked at him intently, as he stood up where he was sitting, and slowly started telling his story.
"This is the tale of great love, and sorrow, and of a deep longing beyond the measures of simple men, like us." He said, his deep, dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "It is the tale of Lleu Llaw Gyffes. He was born a twin, the son of a cold cruel malicious mother, who loved his brother greatly over him, and cursed him in spite.
She cursed him that only she could name him, and that only she could arm him, and that he could never find a wife from among men." Zeth paused dramatically, to allow this to sink in for his audience.
"Now," He continued, "Lleu had an uncle, named Gwydion, who raised him, and rescued him from the clutches of his mother. When he was eight years old, Gwydion took him to his mother, in disguise, for Gwydion was a powerful sorcerer, and Gwydion tricked Lleu's mother..." And so, Zeth continued to colourfully recite the story of how Lleu broke the curses of his mother, and of how Gwydion, and his friend Math made him a wife of flowers.
He told the awed audience of his wife, who was named Blodeuwedd, and of her extreme beauty. he demonstrated this with illusions that were so realistic, it was impossible to tell them from reality. He told of Blodeuwedd's affair with Gronw the hunter, and how Gronw killed Lleu with a spear made only on Sundays, while others in his house are at prayer to their god, and that this spear must be made over the course of the year, if it is to kill Lleu.
He told the horrified crowd of how Lleu was stricken, and how he became an eagle and flew away, before being returned by Gwydion, and how together with Math, they defeated Gronw, and turned Blodeuwedd into an owl, and she was forced to roam the night forever.
His story ended with a shining white owl soaring away over the heads of the spectators, and him playing a shrill fanfare on his fife.
When he was done, he was awarded with a tankard of ale, and a clap on the back, as he sat down on the stump that was his seat. He scanned the crowd for any that might wish to congratulate him further for his magical reenactment, and especially a woman - however, ever since his hair had prematurely turned grey, he didn't tend to get many women...
Oh well. Such was the life of a story teller.