Any tale must, by necessity, begin with a courteous and cordial introduction of the narrator. My name is Monsieur Pierre, called such ever since my most blessed youth. Of me there is little to say. My conduct bespeaks of a gentleman of repute, though not one counted amongst nobles or the peers of society. Yet, it is not mine own nature that maketh this tale of marked interest, but rather the characters of mine illustrious company, of whom I shall now recount.
The Old Man of the Glade
Forth to the Celestial City of the Lord of Troubadours I travelled, merriment in my step. As I didst walk alone through an eldest glade, swept up in mine own thoughts, mine foot didst strike an object, and I didst tumble o’er the shrieking body before me. After picking myself up, I turned to sight the origin of mine disturbance. Why, twas an aged man, frail and white of hair, who didst seem most confused. With a bound most quick didst I reach his side.
“Yet, spoileth not mine field of wheat!” crieth he.
With surprise I didst look around. Nay, in this glade was there not any sight of crop of even disturbance of the soil. With mine mind thus confounded, didst I address the man.
“Venerable father, where is thine wheat that I have tread beneath mine feet?”
“Is it not obvious as we doth stand in the outskirts of Greenhill?” asketh he. “Tis the place I wast born and here shalt I always remain!”
Mine brow didst furl. “Reverend Father, we art a hundred miles from that place.”
“Well, one gets distracted.” The old man yawned. “Shalt a young hold a misplaced pace or two against their elder?” He cupped his venerable fingers roundst his lips. “Daughter! Daughter!”
“Thou hast a daughter?” asketh I.
“What? I have but a son!” he exclaimeth. “He awaiteth me betwixt my farm of strawberries and apples back in Bluedale!”
“Not back in Greenhill?” asketh I.
“Never heard of such a place!” sayeth he. “Mine daughter wouldst not wish to leave Silverglade, for such is the place we always hath lived!” He cupped his lips again. “Hey Sons! Where art thou? Shalt mine only child play hide and seeketh? Where art thou, mine daughter?”
As the Old Man continued his calls most futile, I didst consider the predicament before me. Wouldst it not be an action most uncharitable to leave such a man in confusion? Ne’er! Such a noble heart as mine couldst not bear such a harsh deed.
“Wouldst thou join me in mine journey, Reverend Father?” asketh I. “Towards thine home shalt I return in time. Wise company like thee wouldst suit me most well.”
“Why wouldst I refuse mine own daughter?” asketh he. “Of course I shalt travel with thee, mine son, though thou art a stranger to I!”
“It shalt be mine pleasure to accompany thee.”
“Aye, but watcheth for the eyes,” the old man didst whisper, leaning close to mine brow with ever widening eyes. “Watching art they always. Yonder order, ever, ever, ever!”
Unblinking I didst hold his gaze for an uncomely amount of time, afore he didst yawn and turn his gaze away.
“When shalt we be on our way?” he didst ask.
“But the eyes?” I didst reply.
“Eyes? EYES? Speak not thou of the eyes!” he didst screech. “Art thou amongst them? Doth thou seek to trouble mine life, e’er following mine path from place to place?” He didst turn his head this way and that, as thou seeking out a hidden foe, though nothing wert nearby.
“What doth thou mean, Reverend Father?” I didst inquire.
With a sudden burst of energy, he didst seize a packet from upon his breast and down its contents in but a single guzzle. And with that a calm most serene didst come over him and no more didst troublesome inquiries come to his mind. Thus two wert we, and merry was our journey.
Kotharian Lightning 