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Total War Heaven » Forums » Bardic Circle - War Stories & AAR forum » Sepia Joust IX- A Poet's Soul. Submissions
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Topic Subject:Sepia Joust IX- A Poet's Soul. Submissions
Terikel Grayhair
Imperator
(id: Terikel706)
posted 02 December 2017 07:04 EDT (US)         
Greeetings en wassail, Nobles of the Last Realm.

On this day, we open a new joust.

Not one of dash and daring, though that may well be an ingredient.
Not one of horror or blood, though they to may spice the entry.
Not one of humor or laughter, though some may well chitter an guffaw.

No, none of the above. This Joust's theme will be Poetry, the elegance of imagery elicited by words, emotions painted by groups of runes. This shall not be of the rhyming sort, though that may well be entered. This is the Prose Poetry Joust.

Mine own entry shall be posted next week. Until then, please feel free to post thy entry upon this scroll. Note that this is the Submissions Scroll. The Discussion Scroll is located upon this other thread.

Submissions will remain open until sometime around Yuletide.

Voting will open sometime after I recover from the massive hangover illness I expect to develop during the passing of 2017 and the birth of 2018.

|||||||||||||||| A transplanted Viking, born a millennium too late. |||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||||||| Too many Awards to list in Signature, sorry lords...|||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||||||| Listed on my page for your convenience and envy.|||||||||||||||||
Somewhere over the EXCO Rainbow
Master Skald, Order of the Silver Quill, Guild of the Skalds
Champion of the Sepia Joust- Joust I, II, IV, VI, VII, VIII

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 12-02-2017 @ 07:11 AM).]

AuthorReplies:
Terikel Grayhair
Imperator
(id: Terikel706)
posted 16 December 2017 08:25 EDT (US)     1 / 1       
The Symphony of the Feast

My kind adores the Feast.
We are gluttons, there is never enough.
Always seeking our next meal, always hungry.
Yet come the Feast, our hunger fades as our bellies are filled.
We love the Feast.
Ever more!

The feast always begins with a symphony.
Music to my ears.
A low drumming, punctuated with an occasional chime
Announces the orchestra’s approach.
We gather, my kind does,
Waiting in anticipation,
Delirious with joy,
Hearts pumping madly in desire
The orchestra approaches.

There is silence as the conductor takes his place.
A glimmer of sparkle as he lifts his sparkling wand.
I stand entranced, watching, listening.

Silence.

It is the moment before the Symphony begins.

There is a low pounding, deep in tone
Often the choir chants, sometimes not.
Horns blow, the choir responds,
Strings hum a lethal melody,
Feathers whistle in reply
Crimson blossoms sprout amid the orchestra.
Food is being made to the sounds of the symphony
Delight and desire tickle my senses
I am enraptured.

A low rolling of drums,
The Clash of the cymbals,
The chiming of polished steel,
The hum of strings,
The blaring of the horns
A mighty roar rises from the pitch
Now it begins in earnest.

The choir joins in.
Some sing arias in high-pitched voices that soar above the orchestra
Others grunt in time to their chimes, sparkling glimmers spouting gravy
Others slam cymbals together in a disconcerted chaos to tenderize the meat
A hideous racket to some, yet a sweet opera to me.

Betimes the orchestra plays for hours
Betimes all day and night
We wait, salivating, knowing that the longer they play
The more food will be served
There is always food, the tastiest of morsels
And the longer they play, the more there will be

We wait with patience
For the patient are always rewarded
Already we begin eyeing the Feast,
Selecting with our sharp eyes the delicacies below.

The orchestra reaches the crescendo of the symphony.
My mouth waters in anticipation.
Food is already laid out, in spades
More is prepared, a worthy feast
The cymbals clash against chimes, and chimes against each other.
The choir sings heartily, some low, some high, some shriek.
It is all music to me.

Thunder signals the crescendo.
The orchestra plays its heart out,
The volume rises, the Choir shouts,
I am helpless to do ought than stare and enjoy

At long last the choir ceases,
A fading drumming signals the coming end
The orchestra moves on, the song fades
The feast is opened.

We descend on the meal left behind.
Rich pickings, this
We ignore meat laid bare, covered in crimson sauce
We ignore the metal shells as well, these are indigestible
We seek the tasty tidbits
An open eye here, a thyroid torn from a throat there
A bit of liver pressing out from a metal shell
Entrails spilled to pile high in a thick, rich gravy
Tasty, and plentiful is the bounty given

We gorge ourselves full
For this we have patiently waited and watched
Listened to the orchestra
Watched the dancers
And all the while, shivering with anticipation for this moment

We feast.
We gorge.
We are delighted.
We sing in our joy, dance among the gutted servings
Many come to join in,
Attracted by the scent of flesh and sweetmeats

At last it is over
The Choir returns, often less than before
They raise a great shout, signaling the end

We ravens take wing, replete
What is left behind will be burned or buried
A waste of good food
We care not, we are eaten our fill
And there will be another feast one day

So is it always,
When bands of men meet.
They strive and dance to our entertainment
Then leave us the Feast.

So shall it always be.

Quoth this raven:
Evermore.

|||||||||||||||| A transplanted Viking, born a millennium too late. |||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||||||| Too many Awards to list in Signature, sorry lords...|||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||||||| Listed on my page for your convenience and envy.|||||||||||||||||
Somewhere over the EXCO Rainbow
Master Skald, Order of the Silver Quill, Guild of the Skalds
Champion of the Sepia Joust- Joust I, II, IV, VI, VII, VIII
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