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Author Topic: The riddles of the Three Bards  (Read 10081 times)
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Artimidor Federkiel
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« Reply #30 on: 08 April 2003, 13:28:00 »

Yeah, just write your story, Viresse, then, at a certain point we'll have to reveal the answers, cause judging from the answers we'll have to determine how we'll fill the space between the stories with more dialogue and when we'll place the answers. And finally the answers will determine what we might have as the possible conclusion. So just go on if you already have the idea in your head, if your story is done we'll we have another piece of the complete puzzle:)  


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"Between the mind that plans and the hands that build there must be a mediator, and this must be the heart." -- Maria (Metropolis)
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« Reply #31 on: 08 April 2003, 18:37:00 »

I'll post a story, after dinner :)    I had a good inspiration, someones checkin to make sure not too easy or too hard

Edited by: Sholtar at: 4/8/03 2:00:07 am
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« Reply #32 on: 08 April 2003, 21:13:00 »

Sholtar walked casually over to the quickly expanding group of people, the conversation catching his attention. Listening to each of the riddles and puzzling out their meaning, he recalls a story he had used to puzzle a group similar to this, a long time ago. As the last story is told by one of the bards, Sholtar pulls a chair up to the table, and remarks: "I hear there is a game of riddles going on? If I may, I can tell a story of my own..."

The bards nod their approval, and Sholtar continues: "However, before I start, I do believe that I know the answer to the riddle that good Master Traveler just posed.  I love to think metaphorically, Master Traveler, and this riddle strikes me as a perfect metaphor itself.  For if the oak is Truth, the worm eating away on it must represent Falsity, must it not?  And once your truth has been weakened by falsity, the smallest of Doubts can bring it down.  Is that correct, Master Traveler?

The man smiles, yet says nothing. But a silence gets boring; everyone is waiting for the next story. Figuring this to be a good start, Sholtar begins: "I will now tell you my own story, gentlemen.  Note that I say story, not riddle.  This is a story, but it has a deeper meaning, and if you think about it the right way, then you can see its meaning is a riddle at its heart.  Hopefully one of you can see it.

“It was a fine day in Horth, the sun high in the sky, and not a cloud to be seen.  A local man was walking down the street to the market, a full purse in his hand.  This was no ordinary man, however.  This man had never told a lie in his entire life.  He was trusted by everyone in Horth, and always gave an honest opinion, be it good or bad.  As this honest man walked down this street, a cutpurse jumped out of the shadows.  When the honest man resisted and tried to fight back, the thief slit his throat, taking his purse and leaving the honest man’s body at the side of the street.  

“The entire town mourned his death, and there was a tremendous memorial ceremony and burial.  The entire town was searching for the thief, but unfortunately, the thief was not found.  The man left behind a faithful lover; one who loved him with such faith that she would never leave him, no matter what he did.  She questioned his death, not understanding why such an honest man would die.  While others moved on to other things, her undying faith to this man left her questioning.  

“She went to others, looking for insight, and they questioned as well, not understanding why such an honest, good man would die.  The questioning spread, until one day, the honest man’s faithful lover went to a cleric.  This cleric questioned his god, hoping for an answer, or even better, an action.  A short while later, the thief was found, and as he was killed, the honest man was resurrected, and him and his faithful lover remained living and in love for the rest of their lives.”

After this, he leans back in his chair, enjoying the puzzled stares of many in the crowd.

Edited by: Sholtar at: 4/8/03 4:40:33 am
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Silfer Darkflare
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« Reply #33 on: 08 April 2003, 21:39:00 »

Before anyone states anything revolving around "newbies walking into a thread and posting something out-of-the-blue", it should be noted that i pointed him to here.


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Artimidor Federkiel
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« Reply #34 on: 10 April 2003, 15:31:00 »

Well, actually I have difficulties in seeing the direct relation to the wisdom-measuring theme we try to persue here in your story, Sholtar. Also don't know exactly what you want to convey in the story. Aside from that you should be careful with resurrections, they don't just happen in the Santharian world. Depends also on what you define as "resurrection":  


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« Reply #35 on: 10 April 2003, 15:59:00 »

The story is not meant to be taken literally, and I believe it is a very good measure of wisdom to see who can understand the deeper meaning behind this story.  There are several places in the story where i give hints, such as always putting 'honest man' as opposed to just 'man' and 'faithful lover' as opposed to just 'lover'.  about the resurrections, as i said above, it is not meant to be taken literally, this is just a story.

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« Reply #36 on: 10 April 2003, 21:46:00 »

* Maybe be a little untimely, but As I don't really need to answer the riddle, I decided not to. Okay?*

She sat in the corner, a distance from the gathered bards and muses, dark eyes clsoed, her fingers laced across her lap and a smirk upon her face. She was never one for riddles, for she found them a waste of time most often- she preferred true knowledge as opposed to clever wording. She let her dark eyes open slowly, and looked to the group that pondered over the Young Man's story. Her dark brows knitted, and she raised her voice so that all could hear it.

" Quite the Demand, Man there that tells Stories instead of Riddles. You come to play the game and change the rules. You demand for others to look deeper than the surface in a STORY when my Own Kind struggles from Cradle to Grave because people refuse to do the same in Real Life."

She rose from her seat and stepped forward. As she approached the group, those that did not recognize her appearance were awed, those that did were in shock. Her pallid skin glowed like the moon and her dark hair cascaded from her head like the ink spilled from its well. Her eyes sang dirges to those that got lost within their depths, and her thin lips looked ready to consume a man alive.

Few had seen a Drow from the Palelon, and those that had were surprised that one had been in their presence for so long without detection.

"When you all are finished looking upon me, I will begin."
Eyes dropped and murmurs ensued. She smirked, it seemed an odd concoction of amusement and disgust.

" Many generations ago, but not far from the land we stand upon, Or so the story goes where-ever it is told, laid a township. It was not a bustling metropolis like Voldar or Bardavos, but a meek little village of barely more than a few generations of several humble human families and their needs; goats,sheep, cows and taenish, and several hounds for keeping the livestock in and predators out. Again, not much in terms of commerce, but very rich in friendship and trust.

" One evening in Maáh'valannía, just as Injera prepared to rest, a weary old woman wandered into the Township. She looked as if she had been travelling alone for some time, as her clothes were filled with the dust of the road and were beaten quite well anong the hems. Several of the women came to her aid, and brought her to the Inn, where ergs were given to the tender to be sure that the elderly woman was fed.

"The lady was queried as she ate, of her lineage and of her travels. She answered each statement with some sense of both accuracy and yet insecurity. It seemed apparent she came from a well-to-do family from the north, but who or from where even she was unsure. But she was sure of one thing, as she stated it every time she answered a question.

" 'I am but a visitor Tonight- My Sister shall reside here soon."

"Soon queries rose about this cryptic sister, and the Old, weary woman's face lit up. She smiled wide and stopped eating, and looked each person in the eye as she spoke of her Sibling they would all meet.

" 'Oh, My sister is eternal perfection. She will make all the women choke with Envy, and all the men will Fall at her feet. Dogs will beg to recieve a touch of her hand. When she comes to Town you will know it, and your lives will never be the same." She smiled sweetly and patted a young girl on the head, who nodded sleepily and smiled.

" 'Now you all should go on to your homes. I have work to do tonight. And I must be done before my sister arrives- she dislikes it when I fall behind!"

"The people nodded as they realized they were tired. Chourouses of yawns and the rubbing of eyes were the actions of the people as they wandered toward the humble homes. The children were eager to meet the Old Woman's Sister, but could not keep awake.

"And so, in each home the hearth-fires were extinguished and the babes tucked in. There was nary a peep as they slept soundlessly through the night.

"The next morning, it was as if Injera had shaken the town awake. Every man, woman and child arose with the break of the sun. Everyone was excited to see the Old Woman's sister, and they scurried to the Tavern to see if she was there. When they arrived, all was cleaned, and the innkeeper had not noted her even sleeping in her room. Sad sounds were emitted by the folk, they had not even the chance to say good-bye.

"But their spirits soared as they heard off in the distance a great caravan making an approach. It was as if Merry-folk had come to Carnival in their town. They went to the main road and watched for hours as the dark, long procession approached. And as it entereed the township, harlequins and clowns entertained the people as great mosntrosities were ridden and pulled through town. Some were afraid- the way the folk dressed was different that other Carnivals- leathers and furs of all sorts, with silver and gold adornments, not the bright flashy colors as they were used to.

"And finally, the largest Carriage rolled into town. As big as a house it was, with silver and gold strewn about it. The most elaborate clowns swung from its supports, and the most elegant animals were painted upon it. Black and white leathers made a festive tapestry that dropped before the door of the Carriage.

"The townsfolk oohed and Ahhed at the marvelous and beautiful parade and the Carriage was the most splendid piece of all. " Could it be... her Sister?" Murmurs were exchanged and a consensus came to. "It must be!" Not just any caravan like this came to a small town with no warning! The Old woman was just a messenger, to protect the most Beautiful Creature they thought existed!

"Except they hadn't seen her Yet.

"One jester leapt to the door of the Caravan, and held the handle.
" 'Do you wish to See her?!" He cried in a singsong voice, a smirk upon his masked face.
The crowd cheered.
" 'And so you Shall!"
And he pulled open the door.
The woman that emerged was the most gorgeous creature they had ever seen. Skin like milk, hair the color of a river in Exhón'almár. She was perfect in every way. She seemed eternal...

"And the women choked, and the men fell to the ground, and the hounds pawed at her to touch them. Ever beast seemed to kneel toward the earth upon recieving her gaze...
And never arose."

The Drow woman raised her head confidently as she let the tale sink in.
"And so, my friends. Who are the Sisters?"


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Edited by: Viresse  at: 4/10/03 4:48:56 am
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« Reply #37 on: 10 April 2003, 22:19:00 »

After listening to the remarks of the Drow, Sholtar nearly rises with a retort, but decides to wait and listen to what she says first.  Puzzling over her story a few moments, he decides that now would be the proper time to respond.

"You scorn me for telling story as opposed to riddle, but then you tell a story yourself?  I have asked as good a question as you, the true question is are you wise enough to see it.  My riddle was merely 'What is the meaning of this story?'  Yours is alike, the riddle being to discover the identities of the two sisters.  If you do not appreciate the telling of my story, to put it simply, I do not care.  We are in a contest of wisdom, and it is a mark of wisdom to discover the question as well as the answer, don't you think?"

Hoping he was not too outspoken, Sholtar leans back again into his chair, habitually checking to make sure that his hood covers his forehead.

Edited by: Sholtar at: 4/10/03 5:20:30 am
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Silfer Darkflare
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« Reply #38 on: 11 April 2003, 12:29:00 »

Excllent, Viresse, excellent.

Now, aobut the final chapter: Arti, are you still up for writing it?


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« Reply #39 on: 11 April 2003, 13:59:00 »

Before I can thing about writing a conclusion I'd need the answers to the riddles of course, so please provide them as part of the dialogue...


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"Between the mind that plans and the hands that build there must be a mediator, and this must be the heart." -- Maria (Metropolis)
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« Reply #40 on: 11 April 2003, 14:06:00 »

As the drow finishes the story, I take anohter sip of my wine, thinking a little. Then I speak up: "Surely, the last sister is Death. And her "younger" sister would be...Disease, maybe? But so on that; my riddle was carefully guessed by our young companion here - for indeed, the worm is Falsehood, and the wind is Doubt. Once the strong truth is weakened by falsehood, the smallest of doubts will topple it and turn it to dust."  


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« Reply #41 on: 11 April 2003, 21:42:00 »

Outwitter grinned, and took his pipe from his mouth. "Ahh, the folly of youth... and the follies of mind. Sholtar, my friend, while your story has a great truth at its heart, y've still to learn a great deal of tale-telling. And you, madame-" Nilifus bowed at the waist. "-An excellent tale, though I do wonder why all your kind seem so infatuated with the Dark Lady... 'twould do the feared Hunter-Clerics good to have a smile now and again. And for those who wonder what my riddle might be... here's the end of my tale."
Nilifus laughed. He noticed the confused looks on the faces of those around him, and elaborated.
"'Tis like so many things... so simple once you know it. Laughter's the downfall of tyrants: a joke cannot last as king. The highest are brought the lowest by it... the tournament champion becomes a mockery. You've seen it before. Of course, laughter lights the worst life... there's some here, among which myself, who can attest to that. And of course, how else could a fool such as me make his fortune?"
Outwitter grinned, and for a split second the assembled could see the viciously wise man who lurked behind the rustic mask.
"So, I immortilized a wizard for the price of some leaf, and that leaf got poor ol' Nilifus enough gold in his pockets to worm his way into this very Hall. All's well that ends well, they say... suppose that's why all's been well since!"

Xarl Bluestride, Archmage of the White Tower, Elder of the Magic Forum, Master of RP Sorcery and generally cool guy. All requests are to be written on the back of a ten-dollar bill (or equivelant thereof) placed on a dead ferret, and tossed in the sewer system.
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« Reply #42 on: 12 April 2003, 17:21:00 »

She darted her eyes to Sholtar, her brows furrowed. But she shook it off and looked to Silfer as he explained his riddle. His was a good one. She was quite confused by his- so many options, so many ways to choose. Now that the answer had been told of his, she nodded and smiled confidently. A tasteful one indeed. She could not have come up with a better one.

The teller of the second tale spoke good words in all directions, and presented his answer to the riddle. Simple laughter... While she should have known it, again she had not thought in that direction.
Perhaps not only did these folk need to learn of her... but she of them as well.
Perhaps that was the Drow's folly.
... Another riddle to unravel.

" Well, Riddlers. Silfer had come close to the answer to mine. Yes, Death surrounds us- we seem to like it that way. And Mind you, Master Nilifus, we Eophyrhim do smile... just about different things...

" The sister of Death, whose touch quiets all in a smaller way, is Sleep. Sleep comes in the night to visit, and departs with the Morn. Or so it goes to those outside the Palelon."

She smirked, then looked to the young man who told the story. " Well, we have told the Answers to our Riddles. Will you grace us with the answer to yours?"


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« Reply #43 on: 12 April 2003, 18:05:00 »

After thinking awhile on the answer to the drow's riddle, and then shaking off a small discrepancy, Sholtar replies, "Indeed I will.  The riddle itself, as I have said, was simply to discover what the meaning of the story was.  As I have before said, I enjoy metaphors, and that is exactly what my story was.  The honest man, as some of you have surely figured out, was an embodiment of truth and honesty.  His faithful lover was faith itself.  The thief was a lie, appearing to cut down the truth.  The faith of his lover questioned the lie, and then the cleric took action against the lie.  When the lie was struck down, truth rose up once again.  The meaning is simple.  Lies can tear down the truths of the world, but if there is remaining faith in those truths, enough to take action against the lies, then the lies will fade away and the truths will resurface."  Sholtar then sits back, watching the reactions of those around him.

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« Reply #44 on: 12 April 2003, 21:12:00 »

Nilifus stroked his thin beard as he grinned good-naturedly.
"Ah, good riddlers all. Master Ergless, your tale is a good one, and your riddle fine because of the wisdom of your audience. 'Twere we a bunch of half-wits, you'd've not found such easy victory! Mistress Elf, your story weaves the same aura as you yourself... strange, dark, and despairing. For all I dislike the message, your taleweaving skills are truly wondrous, and your riddle another like mine... so very simple, once you have the benefit of knowing it. And I meant not the smile of a predator, the one your people always seem to wear. 'Tis not a smile, 'tis just showing teeth. But a smile, a good-natured smile... that I'd give a year of my life to see between those pointy ears."
Nilifus spoke the last lines almost longingly, and seemed like he would have stopped, but he soon recalled the last riddler.
"Ah, yes, and Sholtar. 'Tis a fine truth you tell, if a bit..." The bard reached for words. "... Idealistic. Faith can be used for truth or falsehood just as easily, am I not right, Mistress Elf? The heavens must know of the crimes done in their names, no? But asides from that, I'll tell you what I should have told you first, Master Sholtar. Y've a talent for song and for story... but even the ripest fruit starts off as a flower: easy on the eyes, but not as easy on the stomach. Practice makes perfect, though."

*if someone besides Arti is going to add something, disregard the following. If he is next, I figure it makes for a decent intro.*

Nilifus would have rambled on, but he saw movement in the doorway that led deeper into the Bards' Hall. In the shadows beyond the doorway, a lantern flickered, and holding it was the unmistakeable figure of...

Edit v3: Here comes the ending bit. If anyone wants to add something more onto anything I've said above, fine, but I'm going to try to finish this thing off. And if I didn't say something believable for your character, please, tell me to fix it.

And so the bards riddled on into the night. And as hour faded into hour, more and more of the school's riddlers were drawn to the common room. From the bawdy to the mythic, from the silly to the noble, tales of all kinds flew through the pipesmoke-darkened room. When, at long last, the sun shone through the Hall's windows, the first few riddlers still sat in their chairs, along with the Masterbard Dariset Threestrings, who had joined the group late in the night.

"You know, my fellow tale-weavers," said Threestrings, his words slurred by sleepiness and drink, "I could never have gotten this many of my students into such a debate. My thanks to you, wizard."

"Now, don't be giving him all the credit; 'twas me who gave him the first response, neh?" Nilifus' body gave all the indications of being asleep, but somehow his mind hadn't yet succumbed to fatigue.

The Drow woman still sat as if in an iron-cast seat, all right angles and alertness. "Without your assistance, Masterbard, the tales would not have flowed for long after our first ones. You are more responsible then any of us."

I grinned for a second before I spoke. "Hah. And I've certainly picked up more than enough stories to help me around any of the campfires I'll be sitting around soon." I rubbed the upholstry of my plush chair with a longing look. "Sadly, I can't say I'll be glad to be on the road again."

Sholtar looked as though he had finally submitted to sleep, and for the first time that day, the little group noticed the porters who had been kindly bringing the collapsed bards back to their beds.

"My friends," Dariset said to the porters, "how is it that you know where to place them?"

"Easy enough, Masterbard," replied one of the porters. "We listen. They sleep deeper as they get closer to their own beds."

"Hmm. I wonder why." Dariset stroked his beard once or twice, contemplatively.

"'Tis one of those other riddles, Masterbard. One of those-" Nilifus rose from his chair and stretched. "-that's best pondered in the morning, or afternoon, or whenever I'm to wake up..." The bone-tired bard's voice degenerated into a mutter as he shuffled off to his room.

Dariset, lost in thought, didn't notice. "Hrm. Here we are, riddling for amusement, and there's all the other riddles that-" The bard paused to yawn. "-we'll never know the answers to. Maybe it's not us who are wise... maybe it's just those who seek all the unanswerable ones..."

In mid-sentence, Dariset's head dropped, and he started to snore lightly.

The Drow woman grinned, softly, and walked out, picking up the one knapsack in the room that hadn't been opened sometime during the night. As she left, I thought I heard her say "Perhaps that is the true wisdom after all..."

* * *

I stayed in Barvados for another week before I set off once more, but that night, swapping tales with bards and learning wisdom from servants in that smoky room, is one I will not forget for centuries...

Xarl Bluestride, Archmage of the White Tower, Elder of the Magic Forum, Master of RP Sorcery and generally cool guy. All requests are to be written on the back of a ten-dollar bill (or equivelant thereof) placed on a dead ferret, and tossed in the sewer system.
Xarl Bluestride
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Edited by: Xarl at: 8/6/03 2:07
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