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STORY TIME CONT *************** ***JOKES*** What's funnier than a dead Herald? A dead Herald in a clown costume. What's the difference between a dead Herald and a trampoline? When you jump on a trampoline, you take your boots off. What's blue and flies around the room at high speeds? A Herald with a punctured lung. How do you stop a Herald falling down a manhole? Stick a javelin through its head. What's more fun that strapping a Herald to a clothesline and then spinning it around? Stopping it with a shovel. ***ISADOR'S TALE*** I smiled in the sunlight. Around me the summer was coming to fullness, and I laughed. The thought of the coming battles excited me. Although I love being a scribe, inside me the beast hungers for battle. I laughed as I drew my blade. In front of me, hundreds of warriors cried out in a battle rage. I had brought with me The skills I had honed in Thera. As I led my army, I called the roar of the tiger and brought my blade to the fore as I charged forward into the battle, morphing into my tiger form. I roared a bestial roar and brought my sword to a human's throat, ripping his head from his body in a welter of gore and blood. Bringing my free claws around, I tore the chest of another apart, roaring in a bestial rage. The battle raged on for weeks as our armies clashed with the armies of a darker force. They sought to instill terror in the populace of the surrounding areas. Blade met axe and arrow met armor as the armies flailed and faltered. It seemed near impossible, but my army had come victorious from the battle. My men, what few remained, and I were covered in blood and gore. We stepped from the field of battle and returned to our homes. While I recovered from my grievous wounds, I knew I had to return to Thera for what time i could to do what I could to help its people. Now here I am, a warrior sheathing his sword and drawing his quill once more. -Isador ***UNDERAPPRECIATED MED AND WOMEN OF THERA*** In the last issue of 'Unappreciated,' we honored a young woman who dedicated all her time to her great city and the people who serve it. This time I took a more local approach. Existing peacefully alongside rangers and other forest dwellers is a tiny farming village, often raided by youngling evils of Thera. Within this community, several small families live and die, marry and reproduce, plant and reap a harvest. They wake up at the crack of dawn and the hard work starts immediately. The smallest of these workers is a young boy, nameless to passing Therans, but called Dulun by his kin. I first saw him coming out of the hen-house, thin scratches marring his arms, which carried an oversized, egg filled basket. "Can't talk now," he explained to me quickly, running past, and nearly spilling his load in the process. "Mama'd switch me...I'll meet you by the hay stack." An hour later, I bent with the boy, a heavy shovel in my hand as we spread the bedding around, I got a chance to speak with this young helper. Born the fourth of five children, he never lacked playmates when he was younger, but as the years passed and his friends grew, they were one by one put to work weeding and cutting and sorting. Torn between trying to play with his new baby sister and trying to help out, the strapping young man carried his hoe to the field and promptly dropped on his foot. His foot bandaged and bloody, the boy returned the next day, only to be turned away from the toolshed to carry the seeds to the 'real' farmers. In time his foot healed, and the boy took himself to the fields again. Still banned from the toolshed, he was resigned to the mind-numbing chore of cleaning the cotton. Unfortunately, his hand slipped as he nearly severed his finger. Now he spends his days doing whatever little jobs get handed down to him, but This doesn't mar his willingness to work. We finished covering the floor and he waved to me before limping back to his mother. The shovel had landed hard on both his feet, but one more heavily than the other. The young man would grow into a fine member of society if he was given a chance, but his family and all of Thera looks on him with nothing more than a note of pity. The boy gives his all into everything he does, and it is that which distinguishes him from the rest of society-for the better. -Jyrap |
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