In A Llama's Eye

[Aedon Durreah]

I have spent the past few days trying to figure out a few things troubling my mind.

First, how did I so under count the guests for the dinner party? I was more than a bit embarrassed when I found that I did not have enough table space for those who were there. Oh, food and drink were aplenty, and even though they smiled gracefully, I could not help but wish I had over-planned instead of cutting myself short there.

Second, what is it about huge crowds which cause me to get the shakes? I am sure that many around the table were well aware of my discomfort. Hell, some may have even been a wee bit amused by it. But I could do little for the greater part of the night than stand there doing my best to conceal my utter fear of the number of folks surrounding me.

Was I always this awkward?

Third, what the feck is the deal with all these llamas, and why do they keep following me around?

The dinner party seemed to be going well in spite of my many foibles. The guests talked cordially with one another as more and more arrived. I took the drink orders, and enlisted some aid in seeing that each guest was served a meal. As I was looking across towards Deckard, I noticed folks were staring towards the entrance of the garden. Turing, I saw what appeared to be a not-too-tall figure, heavily robed.

He called my name, acted as though he knew me well. But the words he spoke confused me, and no question that I asked provided me with an answer that would quell my complete and utter confusion. He went on for a time, speaking in rhyme for the most part. I have written down here, to the best of my recollection what he had said.

Aedon; a man quite contrary.
Who could say were he human or fairy?
That the pooka kow-tow
To so errant as thou
Is a marvelous mystery, very.
My name does not import a thing.
Though give you much to wondering,
Still not a yell nor whispering
Shall bear my name to thee.
Aedon King of Aegis ale
And wine, thy wrinkles tell a tale
Too grand for any tavern hall
Or castle wall to bear.
Yet, fill my cup to bubble-up,
And I will secrets share
With he whose mead is fair.

I offered the man a drink, and accepting one, he sat and drank. There was an oddness about him. A profound weariness of spirit which seemed to emanate from deep within. He sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying his ale, and then spoke again.

Stories must be told.
History demands its due.
The dead must be heard.
No threat, my lord, no rancor, just
Requests of he who's all but dust.
Forgotten now are deeds so great
And bold. Yet it is not too late.
Recapture what is lost, and find
The stories in the clues.
For dead men speak in quiet words,
In rustling papers afterwards
Recovered. All their missing moments
Cast in hazy hues.
A mind so keen can pierce the veil
And give the dead their dues.
I looked at him blankly. I am sure that to him I must have seemed a complete nitwit. Draining the last of his cup, and with a sigh which resonated through the timbers of the deck laid over the small pond he continued;

My cup, I fear, is getting light
And time is growing short.
I leave you for tonight. Go tend
Your ale-and-whiskey court.
Rememberances more I have,
But come they I their turn.
For now, exhaustion takes its toll.
No oil I've left to burn.
Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.

And with those words, he walked towards the entry way, and vanished. I must have been dazed, confused. I stood, stock still, staring at where he had been, and as my wits returned, asked any that could to please grab a lantern and help me find this man. There were so many things I wanted to ask him. So many questions now causing my brain to throb.

We set off south from the Rest, and came to a clearing not too far from the pond. There, to my surprise, standing in a circle were llamas. And not just any llamas, oh no. By the way they looked at me I am certain they were the same beasts who refused to leave the garden area the week before. I am certain I even spotted the little bugger who nipped at me.

It was odd the way they presented themselves there. All standing still surrounding the one older llama. The one that had the saddle bag on that night. This one stood in the middle, and looked as though the weight of the world rested on his swayed back. As he looked towards me I could have sworn I saw an intelligence in those eyes. A silent pleading of some sort, as though somehow he thought I could ease some unseen burden he carried.

Slowly, the ancient llama turned, and started towards the Abbey. As he did, the others flanked him, on either side. I will admit to have almost chuckled as they walked away. They looked less like a collection of hapless beasts and more like some animal king and his guards marching off to do battle.

Returning to the dinner, we all sat and told those who had remained what had transpired. The dinner ended on a happy note, and as the guest filed out, I had almost forgotten about the strange visitor.

Later, Cara McBride stopped by as I was cleaning up. She had heard something at the party spoken by James that I some how missed, and had herself an interesting observation to share. Seems that as the stranger was speaking, James remarked, “I think he is a Satyr.” This comment escaped my ears, possibly because I have become so accustomed to James making odd remarks from time to time. James though has a quick wit, and sees things many of us may fail to see.

After he said this, Cara said she looked towards the man and noticed that beneath his hood, all she could see was a long beard. And as she looked down towards his feet, she could have sworn the man did not have feet, but hooves.

And so, a dinner party thrown to honor and thank the many folks who have supported Aegis over the years turned into a bit of a mystery, and a new source for sleepless nights for me. Who or what is this man, and what is it he is looking for from me.

If he has been the source for the many items left in Aegis, Is there something I am not seeing and should be?

Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.

These words echo over and over in my mind, and when I close my eyes in an attempt to sleep, I see the old Llama's eyes pleading with me. If I were a wiser man, more educated, perhaps I could see some rhyme or reason to all of this.

What course am I to take from here,
What form my thoughts to take
If man and llama be but one
What sense of this to make

But lore of days , so long laid past
Will time to time be told
And held within a llama's eye
Are deeds daring and bold

So, sit I here a wee bit more
And tarry deep in thought
And then perhaps to understand
The wisdom Llama brought.

[Sage Aurora]

*Sage moves slowly in silence through the empty halls of Grey Manor, eventually reaching the music box she selects a gear and starts the box to playing [ grooveshark.com/s/David+s+Whisper/2O4mQW?src=5 ]*

It was a cold night for May in the mountains, wind blew down from the cliffs feather brushing the ever present blanket of snow in the canyon that held the Freehold of Roses. There was no movement in the freehold that Sage could sense, so she was surprised to see below her sanctuary window footprints in the snow leading up to and away from the mailbox below. Sage nuzzled her face into Myo's fur and kissing her Tressym's nose gently she put her down and made her way to the mailbox, pulling a wool cloak tightly around her shoulders once she got outside.

There was an unmarked elegant red enameled box gilded with gold left inside. Sage took the box and went back into the manor, to her office to open it. Sitting on the bench under the window Sage tucked her feet up under her and covering her legs in her deep green wool cloak, the Ghille Dhu set the box beside her and opened the latch. Inside the box Sage found an odd selection of items, a lantern, a pitcher of wine, a shoe and a bowl of corn. The items seemed out of place to be together in such an ornate container.

Sage lifted the lantern from its resting place and drawing a nearby candle close she lit the lantern, in its panes as the light danced behind them she saw Llyrwech Durreah, she knew him from the Aegis and several of his crafted items had homes in the Manor. She set the lantern aside and lifting the pitcher of wine the liquid began to swirl in the glass and it immediately turned foggy, like the dense banks of fog that cover the highland moors, so thick at times you could loose yourself in them entirely. Replacing the pitcher of wine, Sage next picked up the left shoe, well worn and still scented by its previous owner. Sage turned the shoe at arms length and as the cuff passed into view her inner eye caught a glimpse of Aramis Durreah, the man she knew to be the Heir of Connemara. Lastly Sage picked up the bowl of corn, running her fingers through the kernels she noted that they were fresh as if recently harvested but for all her attention, nothing happened while occupied with the bowl of corn.

Fare thee well, good Tavern King.
Forget not in your reveling
Those things which I have said to you.
You owe a debt to yore.
For not much longer can I serve
As keeper of the lore.

The words were carried on the melody from the other room, the music played on as Sage held the items left in her mailbox. These words held her thoughts for a long while till she noticed a note tucked into the gilded box.

These are the artifacts I have used through out the years to monitor and chronicle the history of the people of Connemara. I have discarded those that I know for certain to be of no further use. Traditionally I understand these things to be made from shiny stones or crystals, but I have never managed to get the damned things to work that way.

I do not know for what purpose you will use these, but I do know that I shall soon have no use for them myself. All I ask is that you guard them from those who may use them for ill, either towards the former, current or future King. Too much has been done to put this family where it is, and they are just and proper in their place.

Sage whispered to herself, "For not much longer can I serve as keeper of the lore".

The Seer of Connemara had left her with the tools of his craft; this wasn't the first time Sage had been entrusted with a relic of Connemara. Just this past summer King Aedon had left her with the Crown of Connemara, before he left to face his past. The man who returned knew not he was a King, nor that Sage kept his crown safe in the library of Grey Manor. Sage would not refuse this burden, her love for Aedon ran far too deep not to keep these artifacts safe; they would be added to the chest in the Library along with the crown already there, warded and safe from harm. The Ghille Dhu smiled softly thinking about her friend and the life he led. What new chapter was about to take place in Aedon's life that she would now record in the history of Connemara...

===

The Wanderer by Christopher Brennan

The land I came thro' last was dumb with night,
a limbo of defeated glory, a ghost:
for wreck of constellations flickerd perishing
scarce sustained in the mortuary air,
and on the ground and out of livid pools
wreck of old swords and crowns glimmer'd at whiles;
I seem'd at home in some old dream of kingship:
now it is clear grey day and the road is plain,
I am the wanderer of many years
who cannot tell if ever he was king
or if ever kingdoms were: I know I am
the wanderer of the ways of all the worlds,
to whom the sunshine and the rain are one
and one to stay or hasten, because he knows
no ending of the way, no home, no goal,
and phantom night and the grey day alike
withhold the heart where all my dreams and days
might faint in soft fire and delicious death:
and saying this to myself as a simple thing
I feel a peace fall in the heart of the winds
and a clear dusk settle, somewhere, far in me.

[Aedon Durreah]

I have sat here all night reading as much as the contents of this chest as light and sensibility would allow. It is a container not of books, but of history. A vast repository of tomes which to me seem unending. I have stacks of material surrounding me at this time, and yet still the chest seems quite full.
How can this be? How can any container so packed be light to carry, in fact so light that it seems empty or filled to capacity with down.

I found it sitting on the floor of the Aegis shops after returning from concluding the sale of one of the Magincia properties. I thought at first it might belong to Huma. He had been busy moving some of the items for his shop in over the past days. But attached to the top was a note addressed to me. Taking but a moment to look over the old chest, I opened the note and read it.



Aedon,

For many centuries I have served a heavy purpose. I have watched many of your kind come and go, from womb to tomb. I have born witness to tremendous joys and to heart-rending sorrows, yet I have not been allowed to become involved. I could not comfort a grieving husband over the loss of his wife, nor celebrate with him the casual birth of the child she left behind. All I could do was watch, and write.

I have written much.

As it would happen, one mans duty is often tied to that of another, one mans fate akin to a second. Now it would seem that I have seen all I was intended to see, and my time grows thin.

The deeds of those I have witnessed were of great import and worthy note, yet they have gone unnoticed by the eyes of so many, and must remain untold by those who attended the final days of A Houn and her master. This is a great sorrow in my own heart. The difference now is that I am no longer on assignment. I need not simply watch; I may act.

Contained within this chest are my various accumulated writings—those of my own observation and those produced by the great people I have had the pleasure to observe. I entrust them to you. Keep them well, and tell the stories found herein to any who would hear great tales of valor, of compassion, of sacrifice; tales of sorcery and of shield, of hammer and plow; tales of men and women who worked together—across time and hidden from each others eyes—to ensure the betterment of a world which hardly knows they existed.

Word has reached me that you are soon to open a mercantile of literature; consider this my gift of an opening investment.

Fare thee well, good Sir Aedon, and may you find peace in your years.


Lamaste


-Aralanth of the Lamerians

Chronicler of Connemara



Aralanth, I have thought and thought and yet cannot recall knowing this man or any Lamerians. How is it then that he seems to know me and think that he knows enough about me to leave so many valuable tomes intrusted to my care?

Many of these writings seem to have known years far beyond my counting, and some seem to be of more recent years. So many names both odd and, in some way, familiar to me. Aramis, Malac, Llyrwech, each of these seem unusual, a bit out time and place, and yet I seem to know them. Perhaps they are from tales told to me long ago in my youth seeing that they appear to be men of some note.

The Durreah family's history is something I have always been curious about. I had hopped I did not simply spring up out of the ground one day. It has, I will admit been difficult for me to exist with no sense of who I am, and where I came from. If this is indeed the tale of my family, then I am grateful to Aralanth for this gift.

To know ones history is to know ones self.

This has always been a thought of mine through my many years in Aegis. Oh I have gladly tended this glade and been thankful for the many friends and helpers that have stood with me. The Knights Rest was for so many years the center of my being, a statement of who and what I was. And yet, each night as the guests departed, I was left alone as they returned to the warm embrace of family and loved ones.

Aly has a rich history, and a knowledge of where she came from and the path on which her feet were set. With the love of her family she has accomplished much in her time, and when she is called home she will leave behind a heritage in her children and grand children. Beleg and Ahmaya have carved a respite from the world in a place not far from the Drow lands long inhabited by those seeking to destroy them. Phaen, Sage, Elisandra, James, Ian, all names forever etched in the journals within the Freehold, long to be kept as burning light in the heart of the balefire.

So many folks I have known, so many lives that have touched me and will continue to do so no matter where I travel or live. It is only in Aedon Durreah that I have seen no light, no sense of purpose and life.

To know ones history is to know ones self.

Is it possible that I am one of these Lamerians? That the story of this family is that of a people long erased from the history of this world? It is an odd thing to me that his title is Chronicler of Connemara seeing that this is a name that I came up with for the house in which I live. I do not think this happenstance. Perhaps on some level I recall a bit of my family history, perhaps this was the name of a farm or an estate.

And what of A Houn? I had seen that name before. Deeply etched in the edge of a blade I found some years back as I was cleaning out the building. I could not bring myself to discard it, so elegant the blade in the turning of the steel and the lay of the hilt. It sits now on a case within my study. Was this the sword of one of my forefathers, carried into battle long years past? Or perhaps just a gift from a friend in payment of services rendered?

I have many questions, and at this time few answers seem to be making themselves manifest in my mind. It is good that I no longer tend the Rest or walk the paths of the Aegis. I will have time now to read through all the writings contained in this chest. I have tried to be content in my life. To understand that we all serve some purpose in life be we peasant or poet, king or Tavern-keep. And yet always I hoped there would be more to my life then ale and rum. Perhaps it has always been as simple as this. I was born, and have existed to reach this place in my life. That I was intended to keep this lore, and in doing so give voice to the past, lest the past be forgotten.

[Aedon Durreah]

There are few things left to do in Aegis. That part of my life is swiftly drawing to an end; and yet, I feel no remorse, no regrets at my decision to leave. Long years now stand between the day I first set foot in the Glade, and this final walk through the buildings which have, for so long, been all to me.

Walking through the Rest, I paused and laid a hand, palm flat against the wall. In the wood and stone I could feel the echos of lives past resonating through my body. My soul touched by memories happy and sad. Visions of many faces flooded my mind.

The world is rapidly changing and those like myself are a part of the past. I have stood guard through some of the darkest hours of Aegis, bringing her through to the other side; and now, my work done, must hand her to the care of the future.

If it is the desire of men of good conscience to attempt to leave the world a wee bit better off, then I must be content with my efforts. For though at times my foot steps may have faltered, my reasoning called to question, I can say that I truly tried to make a difference.

My time here shall not haunt my remaining days, nor will I spend them in bitter thoughts of those things I was not able to accomplish. I leave the Glade in good hands, perhaps better hands then my own. And I retire to my library to study the many tomes left to my care by Aralanth. There is a peace to be found in books, a solace that brings rest and healing to my weary soul.

Though I leave the Aegis behind, I do not sever the ties I have to the people here or to the many friends I have in other towns. I will have more time for tea with Sage in the freehold, more freedom to set sail in search of adventure, and, more importantly, time to spend with my family, and watch my daughter grow.

Leaving the Knights Rest, I walked to the shops built on the grounds where Connemara once stood. It is a good design and a place I hope will be for many years a great service to the people of the Glade. The Goblin Pharmacy seems fully moved in, and the Book shop is taking shape. In time, more businesses will occupy this spot and the economy of Aegis perhaps change for the better.

As I picked up my last crate, I walked out onto the deck of the building and allowed my gaze to stray out into the woods before the building. There, not too far in front of a line of trees, stood a tired, forlorn looking figure. Walking down the stairs, I set down my box, and looked towards Aralanth. His eyes searched mine and I was surprised to see the confusion in his gaze for just a few moments.

As we stood there looking at one another, I could feel in the back of my mind a sense of searching, probing. Then doubt gave way to reassurance, and a smile slowly traced his lips. Then, lifting one hand in a slow gesture of farewell, the old man turned and started walking towards the treeline.

It was an odd thing I then saw, and I am not sure I will ever fully understand it. As he moved off into the grey shadows of early evening, I saw walking at his side, the old llama who had been on the bridge in the garden that day.

And then, it seemed for a moment that they merged into one being, and then became two once more. I am not sure if the man was the llama or the llama the man, but one thing stands out clearly to me. Whoever he was, whatever he was, his task was now complete. His eyes told me so, his wave and smile a thank you.

Just as I have passed the Aegis on to the keepers of the future, Aralanth passed on, to me, the lore of the past. In that moment, in each others eyes, we both knew that all was understood. I have moved on from being a Tavern Keeper to a keeper of history and lore. And as I learn more of what is written in these many tomes, perhaps I will truly come to know myself.