Disclaimer: The characters belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement intended. I am only attempting to finish a riveting story from one point of view.
Rating: Adult / Slash
Pairings: UC
Summary: A collection of stories legends, poems, songs, lamentations, and myths from Antar. A majority of the material will center around Zan, Rath and Vilandra regarding the many legends that have sprung up since the fall of Antar.
OF
Majestic Kings of Antar:
Atarh, Suliuluma, Pyrrhic, Uthrox
AND
Shadow Warriors
From Master to Assass’inay
AND
Last of the Royal Line
Zandanathar, TellymonRath, and Vilandra
Translated into English prose and verse,
with preface, special introductions and notes
Translation done by
Dr. P.H. Leaktry
Professor of Ancient Languages of Antar
Berlin University
Edited by
Dr. Edwin Thranos
Professor of Alien Language
University of Las Crusces, New Mexico
From the original Antarian manuscript
“The Saga of the Great Warriors of Antar”
In Four Volumes
London: Berlin: Washington DC
F.R. Brillik and sons
2006 edition
</center>
<center>~~~~~~~~~~ </center>
PREFACE
At this time in the present, on Earth where the realm of alien mythology is unknown or scoffed at as flights of fantasy, it is this translator’s opinion that these great literately works of art, may have at one time or another held a fascination or impacted upon the common class of man. It is hoped that by publishing this book, a renaissance in interest will be kindled, in such classical material will again begum refreshed to open the ears and eyes of all.
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Tue Oct 17, 2006 10:57 pm, edited 5 times in total.
Another interesting idea! I can't wait to see where you go with this! I can't imagine how you're managing to work on all of these at the same time! I have trouble with two!
Island Breeze wrote:Another interesting idea! I can't wait to see where you go with this! I can't imagine how you're managing to work on all of these at the same time! I have trouble with two!
Thanks for reading… most of these come from my research on the Chronicle series and they have been filed away. Therefore, I thought I would put them all together, instead of strewn out. Some will be familiar, some are separate posting, some are in the books themselves but expanded upon, and some are brand new to posting. s_e_r :D
Who will now sing of the deeds?
Of the three who now lie dead
Upon the steps of the Palace
Their shredded bodies await dust
Antar will now sing the song of mourning.
She cries out for her lost loves
The rivers run red, veins of life
Gush forth her blood to soak the fields
She cries in despair for her lost loves
Who will now mourn the Warrior?
Whose ancient hear beats no more
Death before dishonor; the tortured soul
Honor before death; the tortured body
Antar will mourn her fallen warrior
Her heart is torn into two, no three
The pain of hurt is deep, for those she loves
Sadness fills the restless nights
The seas swell with tears, salted misery
Who will now mourn the King?
Whose vision of a halcyon Antar
Are now dimmed, blackness fallen
Screams of the innocence go unheard
Antar will mourn her fallen King.
She shakes, nerves shattered beyond repair
Mountains rumbles, fail in their strength
She can no longer stand on her own
Her legs fail, she sinks downward into the pit
Who will now mourn the Princess?
She who was deceived, through evil
Her beauty and position brought down the houses
She who hold the blood in her hands
Antar will mourn her fallen Princess.
Her head now heavy, pain searing through
Sleepless she continues, dazed dismal
No hope, no dreams, the end is sought
How long must Antar suffer?
How long must she remain punished for her mistake?
How long must Antar wait for
How long must she wait for her loves?
It is all ended, death has come to Antar
Finis </center>
<center>~~~~~~ next page ~~~~~~ </center>
<center>CONTENTS:
Introduction in Verse ……pages 1-2
The Magic Rose of Antar ………….page 3
Erotic Poetry of Ranteri: The Perfect Lover .... page 4
The Island of Enchantment ........... pages 5-6
Ages of Antar …….pages 7-10
A Well-Known Antarian Bar Song .....page 11
Antarian Children Stories
The Starry Maiden ............ 12 A
The Mean Giant ................. 12 B
The Maiden of Magic .......... 12 C
The Warrior’s Clash ........... 12 D
TBA </center>
<center>~~~~~~ next page ~~~~~~ </center>
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Sat Jul 15, 2006 8:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Alas, few remain that remember
Of lore and myth now, stand silent
In the mid morn din, the call goes forth
To hear of the Heroic Romances
These tales do wept in silence
The ancient words read by all
The living music echoes the
The adventures of the Heroic Romances
Few read these ancient tomes
Fewer still those who retain, who remember
The ancient knowledge of the living words
The written lore of Heroic Romances
From the lore of death, tears
Lamentations are set forth, morbid in depth
Each tale more fantastic than the last
The magical verses of Heroic Romances
With modern arts each tale does tell
Souls are haunted, ghostly images
A master’s craft is well turned
Mystic gleams from the Heroic Romances
Who tells these tales, about the hearth?
They who once told them well
Flowers now grow where the blood seeped
Lost ages of the Heroic Romances
Speak out these words deserve to live
Each tale is great, more or less
Take the scribe’s pen write for all to see
Legends, live today, Heroic Romances
Dead legends half-known are to be feared
Those who lead us on the throne
Those who lead us in battle
Epic portions, all were true Heroic Romances
Fear the warrior’s bands of honor and death
His banner once again stands unfurled
Proud, he stands, unmoving, firm in his goal
Resurrecting the stories, truth, the Heroic Romances
The poets knew of the King creed;
They sang of love, of heroes' deeds,
From their lyre the accents toll, vibrate
Echoing the pulse of the Heroic Romances
Death for love: those who dared to love
Bounty true for armies feed
Wisdom in words, those fell mightily
Upon the memories of the Heroic Romances
And now once again, let the chimes ring out
Let nothing stand in the way, nothing added or minus
The ancient tales are to be told again
Antar’s Heroic Romances <center>
In the days before yore, in the days of magic and words, there lived a beautiful woman named in honor of the silver tipped blue rose of Antar, the alien life that was brought back by Atarh. This is her story and her love for a prince that brought her to life.
One day long long ago, a young prince was out riding in the forest when he and his retainers came upon a vast meadowland in the midst of the trees. Flowers of all colors and varieties blanketed the floor. In the middle of the meadow, a riverulet of fresh spring water meandered slowly along.
He stopped his horse, to refresh the beast as he sat under a large rose bush, as great as any tree that he had ever seen. He closed his eyes and dreamed of a great beauty that came to him from out of the rose bush. She whispered words of love to his ear; her breath was sweet upon his neck as he smiled in his sleep.
When he awoke he expected her to be by his side, but alas, he saw nothing in the meadow, except for his retinue and the rose bush. The prince returned to the castle, but each day he rode back to that rose bush where he fell asleep and dreamt of the beauty. This went in day after day; the dreams became more and more real as he fell madly in love with this creature, this fairy tale existence.
The one day the prince failed to come to his beloved rose bush, he had fallen in battle and now lay mortally wounded at the castle. The rose bush wept that day, as she shook; the petals fell forth in great heaps. Then the ground quaked as the bushed opened it leaves, the branches parted and the bark gave away as a mist came out of the center.
Slowly this mist turned into a captivating woman; dress in the fairest of silk garments, tinged with just a hint of pink. Her hair was more dazzling than the sun’s golden rays; her eyes were an odd color, black with a vibrant blue projecting from their depths. Taking a rose from the bush, she made her way to the castle. Once there she pleaded to the King to see the prince, for she had brought magic from the rose of Antar, the ancient rose that had lays forgotten in that meadow.
The King allowed it, all the healers had given hope, the prince had been poisoned and no powers could bring him back. If this woman had the ability to reclaim his son to life, then so be it.
The king asked of her name, “Le Rose” she spoke in an angelic quality.
“And where are you from my child,” the King asked.
“I do not remember,” she relied, her expression vacant.
She went to the prince and placed the rose, of blue with silvertips, upon his lips. Sitting back on his knees, she spoke in an ancient forgotten tongue, the language of magic, words that no mortal had heard for centuries. The King and Queen watched as a black cloud began to flow forth from their son’s mouth; the rose absorbed this cloud, just as quickly as it appeared.
Soon he awoke from his sleep, his eyes first laid upon the girl; it was she from his dreams. The one he had loved so dearly.
“Who are you?” his voice barely a whisper.
“No one my prince, I am only a memory of the past.” She rose and turned towards the window, in the distance she could see the edge of the meadow. Slowly she began to dissipate.
“Wait!” the prince screamed out, “Do not leave.”
“I must for my work is done; when Antar needs me again, when a prince destined to be a majestic king lies on death’s door I shall return.” She faded into mist and then nothing.
Since then Antar has seen her return twice gain, each time more beautiful than the last. She is the secret keeper of the ancient rose, the secret knowledge of what Antar is and what Antar will become.
So it is told that when you travel in the forest and come upon a meadow, and see this rose bush, you stop and pay homage to her, for she has saved Antar’s King.
<center> The Perfect Lover
by Ranteri, poet laureate to King Prythric
I prefer a young male for sex, only young
For youth is full of courage stamina
My sole ambition, my lover’s dream
His member is strong, unyielding
Richly proportioned in size and dimension
The head emblazed with passion
For there is nothing like it in creation
Straight and tall, an immalleable shaft
The bow stretch taut, is always ready for action
Never to rest, to lie down, to sleep
My lover’s member, tall and proud seeks no ally
Virile and stately, it asks for no assistance
When fatigue, it pressures forth, duty calls
In the battlefield it never waivers,
In the valence of its actions
My body sings forth drawing him near, inwards
Full of life, no regrets as he plummets downward
Head first into the darkness, his bravery unmasked
Constant in movement, back and forth side to side
Speed variation he engages; slow, fast, never the same
Vigorous in demand, the pressure builds, mounting
He rubs the sides, the very core to my womb
He seeks to please with kisses of fire
My breasts stand erect, my belly quivering
Marks I endure, love, succulent bites, sweet nectar
I become lifeless in his embrace,
Swooned by the rapture as the end draws near
Shaking limbs, as tears from him fall within
My body accepts this gift as it does food
My lover’s member is welcomed into me
He lights my eyes, fire burning within
My young man fills me with his virility
My soul feeds on his vigor
Yet it must end as he pulls away
Kisses and embraces during those nights.</center>
Once upon a time, long ago, Atarh, King of Antar went for a sail aboard an barge to sail towards the mysterious fire stone mines of ancient prophecy. Ancient demons and furious monsters guarded these mines and it is said the only way in was through the River of Frathshe, which was more of a sea than a river as the name indicates.
As they crossed the southern type of the peninsula of Throatic and had headed in a northerly path when a sudden tempest, violent in its quake, swamped the barge, drowning all those aboard except for Atarh, though knock unconscious was miraculously carried by the waves to a deserted shore.
Atarh awoke to find himself laying face down in the black sand, he stood rather unsteady on his feet, his clothes dirty and still soaked to the skin, were heavy and cold upon his frame. When he attempted to dry himself off, Atarh noticed to his shock his powers were useless. This sudden lack of skill was detrimental to him, as he had always relied on that strength and now he found himself all alone having to do for himself in a common antiquated way.
Finding the shoreline too windy and cold, Atarh elected to move inwards through the jungle looking for some inhabited quarters. Finding none, he did stop to make camp alongside a small stream. Relying on books that he had read on deep space voyages, Atarh used that knowledge to devise a fire, suitable for drying his clothes. The acquisition of food proved more formidable than imagined. The King finally resorted to the local fruits, nuts and berries the area had to offer.
Tired from his excision into the jungle and foraging for food, Atarh lay back on the soft moss and slept. However, his was not a restful sleep, but one of dreams full of imaginative animals, the likes that he had never seen. There were large beasts with beings upon their back as they rode forth into battle. There were animals that slithered on the ground, black in color with tongues of fire. As he looked upward in the sky, he saw only one moon visible, whose face smiled down upon the strange occupants of this land. These beings were not Antarian, they did not have the Kandahar eyes of liquid silver, but they were brown or blue in a sea of white.
Atarh woke drenched from his dreams, their effects quivered through his body. He did not know what to make of them or this place that he had come to rest in. Taking to the stream, he bathed in the cool water as the bands of golden morning sunlight came up over the mountains. As he stood up and washed the sleep from his eyes, he looked straight ahead to the distant mountains where the sunrays now pinpointed a cave, which shone like a million lights.
He took off in great haste across the field to examine this cave and why it glow in the light. Upon reaching, he covered his eyes; the light was so brilliant he could not bear to look upon the side of the cliff. Soon the sun had moved and the rays no longer shone directly into the entrance but high upon the redden stone cliff face.
Atarh entered the cave where he saw thousands of rocks; obviously they had been mined and lay now strewn about the floor as if waiting for someone to come along an harvest them. Atarh picked up some of these rocks, on doing so he felt a fire race through his veins as he dropped them quickly. His energy felt drained, almost as if these rocks, these immovable pieces of stone had an effect on his system. Reaching down he tore a section of fabric off his cloak, wrapped a few stones in them and exited the cave.
Once again, he took to eating the bounty of the land, and as the night before he lay down to what he hope was a peaceful slumber. Nevertheless, this time instead of dreaming of a far distant world, his dreams were in the form of voices calling out to him across the spans of time and space itself.
“Two days from now, in the fifth cycle of the second moon, your people shall find you. Take with you these stones, but beware they are treacherous to your kind, for they contain a heavy metal which suppresses those natural gifts you inherited from the Bull of the Heaven, your father, an alien from the outer rim. An ancient people, now dead, in their attempt to protect themselves from alienation and the horrors their enemy brought with them, once harvested these stones. These were used to create a device long ago, which you now posse that of the ancient granolith, the stone’s power is vast, and though you have been granted permission by the ancients to use the granolith to protect the new Antar and her align worlds, you will never fully understand the power it contains. That will before another, centuries in the future, a recreation of you yourself, two that will become one for the granolith to be activate to its full potential. However, for now you must retrieve the granolith from the Mountain of Glass on D’warth, where centuries before it was placed by a traitor to his own people, one who felt you and yours deserved to live. Go now for already two days have passed while you remained in the dream plain with me. Go forth obtain the small black cone, for that is your future, your only protection when the need comes. Guard it will, it is your life and your people’s.”
A sit came to pass, when Atarh awoke he went to the water’s edge where he saw members of his guard searching for him. He took the stones back to the Palace where scientists marveled at the composition and soon were able to fashion devices that could shut down one’s powers making Antar mightily upon the field of battle. Unfortunately as time goes on, traitors for money or love come about, spilling the secrets of the special devices; sold, or bartered to neighboring worlds it did not matter. These devises, once so precious to Antar, are now readily available and thus worthless for effective use battle conditions for both sides are rendered powerless having to forge their victories in blood through the old methods of combat and the sword. This then of course gave rise to the Shadow Warriors, those who wield the ancient weapons with accurate precision.
<center>Behold, Ancients, Oh Lord of the Sacred Land
On the Name of the Great Ancients
In the Name of the Lord of us all </center>
I am a poor and lowly scribe, slave to the Ancients in whose image I now write the words of wisdom. I ask that the Ancients guide my hands in purity, I beg that the Ancients stand by me and drive away all evil as I endeavor to write what is true. The Ancients detest all falsehood, the ink in my quill defends our Lord of All, Master of us All, Lord of the all the known Worlds, Lord of Justice, Lord of Peace. I write in your name. Grant me your protection to a poor man, dispel the darkness and clear the away the storm.
<center>I come to you with my hands bearing Truth, and my heart has no lies in it.
I place Truth before you, for your inspection. </center>
Before Antar came into being, the Ancients lived, the Great Lord of all. From his celestial being all life, all beings were called forth, by his voice, into creation, to do his bidding. Our Lord was already Ancient, time immortal, from the beginning he was created onto himself, none stands above him. It is from that Antar owes its existence and we pledge loyalty and fidelity.
Antar’s fifty-seven ages commenced with a rock, a blue stone set in the pitch-blackness of space. This was the first age, the Age of Silence. Then from deep inside our planet red liquid, hot molted rock gushed forth onto the blue stones, this was the second age, the Age of Fire. In the nothingness a single luminous glow was created, this was the third age the Age of Warmth. The next four ages came as each of those planets in our federation was birthed; these were the Ages of Neighbors.
Then in the negritude, in the vacuum a small drop of water that formed from a single ice crystal that dropped from the black void, this was the Age of Beginnings. In time, Antar was blanket by a cushion of air in the Age of Breath. With air came the fours winds as the ages ten through thirteen were brought into being, they are known as the Ages of the Tempestuous.
The next three ages came about when our three moons representing the past, the present, the future, were from debris that surrounded Antar; these were Ages of the Shadows. In the sky, white clouds formed giving rise to imagination this was the seventeenth age, the Age of Imagination. Soon Antar shook from the assault of the Age of Terror in the form of lighting ripped the fabric of space and quaked from the sound of explosions created by the thunder defending the next age, Age of Explosion. Rains pelted Antar; this was the twentieth age, call the Age of Nourishment. The rivers ran, lakes were formed and the seas rose, these were the Ages of Turbulence.
In the morning, mountains were thrust upwards and by evening valleys were formed. This was the Age of Upheaval. Suddenly Antar was split apart as great cracks appeared across the surface, pulling and tearing at our world. This was the twenty-fifth age, the silver age, the Age of Violence.
The twenty-sixth age saw the changes in temperatures, snow now formed where water had once stood. This was the Age of the Seasons coming into being. The oceans gave birth to the first organisms in Antar’s twenty-seventh age; this was the Age of Birth of existence. Soon plant material filled the banks of the rivers, spread across the lush fertile valleys, and crept up the mountainsides as the twenty-eight age, the Age of Verdure came to an end.
The once blue stone rock, now teamed with polychromatic life as the next three ages brought forth red, blue, and yellow; red the Age of War, Blue the Age of Peace, and Yellow the Age of Life. These colors refused to be separated and mixed freely with the blackness of the void and the whiteness of purity. These were the Ages of Pigmentation.
The richness of the land, the sweetness of the plants, and the colorfulness of the flowers brought forth animals whose existence was tied to the land. In the oceans, the rich nutrients call forth animals that were sleet in body, graceful in movement, able to turn and accelerate with great speed. These were the Ages of the Animalia.
In the thirty-four age the Ancients brought sentient life into creation, this was the Age of Man. To help man, the Celestial Lord sent the religion of the Ancients to guide man in his path. This is the Age of Religion. Next was the Age of Instruction as man was baptized into the great wisdom, making him a vessel of the Celestial Lord’s word. Man was giving ears in the Age of Hearing so that he may listen to the voice of the Lord’s word. He was given a brain to know justice from depravity and a conscious so that he would know honor from immorality. He was given a heart to know love from hatred and he was given a soul so that he may rest eternal in the bosom of the Ancients, his energy never to fade. The end of the thirty-eighth age brought man the ability to listen and be instructed, as the Age of Obedience drew to an end. Unlike the animals, man was blessed with the ability to reason and rule over the animals and plants of this world. Man became the guardian of this world in these the Ages of Logic and Dominance.
Language followed speech as man progressed along during the Age of Civilization. Words were formed; eternal powerful words that when written would change the face, structure, and mentality of society itself. This was followed by the arts, music, literature, and a surge in intellectual proficiency.
During the next four ages, Antar learned the elements of guardianship. The first, the Age of Plant Guardianship, was teaching of the soil, the plants and their function, the foods that are for the body to grow strong on, the herbs and medicines to cure the wounds. The second, Age of Soul Guardianship was to learn of the Dark Waters and the spiritual advancement required to avoid the temptations concealed there within. The third, Age of Sensual Guardianship, was that of sexual exploration, elements of love for pleasure and for continuance of the species, the bounding of souls, of bodies, the duties and joys of commitment. The fourth, Age of Prognostic Guardianship, was the age of visions of the sacredness of all living elements, the rise of prophecy that is destined in the end.
The forty-eighth age saw the seed of the Ancient spread to the four corners of the known universe, were they became guardians of the stars, planets, and life contained there within. They took the original instructions as given forth by the Great Celestial Almighty himself and set off to share their knowledge, wisdom, and understanding so that all may live in peace and contentment. Books forged out of sacred living metal, contained the destiny of each and every world. As the years passed these books updated themselves, kings and kingdoms changed. In the millenniums to follow, the races mixed one taking from one another what was pure and healthy, making the blood lines strong and secure. This was the Age of Amalgamation.
The forty-ninth age, the Age of Tears, saw the destruction of the original home of the Royals and the fiftieth, The Age of Enslavement, in which the new Antar was subjugated by the Royals. The House of Rath, a powerful warring faction that brought peace, stability, and great wealth to Antar, dominated the next four ages. Each of the ages began as a halcyon era only to fall. The first was the Age of Atarh, when that age fell it was the rebirth of Atarh in the form of Suliuluma, in whose time civil war created the divisions in the races. The Age of Suliuluma also fell after many generations. The Fourth resurrection of Atarh, the Age of Prythric resulted in the great architect, builder, and warrior known as Prythric. Finally, the House of Rath relinquished its hold on Antar during the Age of Uthrox, to the House of Thardan, which ushered in the fifty-sixth age, the Age of Thardan.
We are now living in the fifty-seventh age the last age of Antar before slavery, ignorance, and greed will replace the House of Thardan. We will wait for the prophecy now to finish. The fifty-eighth and last age of Antar is upon us, we await his rebirth and the joining of the Houses of Rath and Thardan. We await the return when the Warrior becomes the King and the King becomes the Warrior. We await the return of when two will become one.
I who live in this last age, before the age of slavery I humbly beseech you Lord of All, Master of us All to take into your heat and bosom the souls of those who will suffer unmercifully in the next age. I ask thee, Lord of the all the known Worlds, to bless those who remain pious in your name. I prostrate myself before you Lord of Justice, Lord of Peace that those who die before dishonor will be granted a seat in your kingdom. In your name, I have written the forbidden history.
<center>In all that is just
In all that is merciful
In all that is honorable
I write that your name will be victorious above all others.</center>
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a strange horse outside my door, where my old nag should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the fine black horse out where my old nag should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
Out in front, where you nag once stood is a poor goat with me
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a saddle on a goat, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a coat on the chair, where my old coat should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the fine black coat right there where my old coat should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a fine black haired blanket, where you coat would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen buttons on a blanket sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a sword on the table, where my old sword should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the fine silver sword right there where my old sword should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a fine silver knife, where you sword would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a hilt on a knife sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a medal in the case, where my old medals should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the medal of bravery right there where my old medal should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a tin whistle of your sons where you medal would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a whistle for bravery sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a boot under the bed, where my old boots should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the boot right there where my old boot should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a lovely flower pot where your boot would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a man wear a flower pot sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a head upon the bed, where my old head should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the head right there where my old head should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is my young nephew come to call, where your head would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a boy that size, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw two lips suckling her breast, where my old lips should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the lips right there where my old lips should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a baby boy, where your lips would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a baby boy with full beard, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw lump under my sheets, where my old lump should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns the lump right there under the sheets where my old lump should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a just big old hammer where your lump would be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a hammer stand so erect, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw a man come running out of the door at half past three
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who was that man who came running out with his pants to his knees
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a nothing but the tax collector probably having to pee
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a tax man pee in the leaves, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw his pole in her hole where my old pole should be
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who owns that pole inside your hole where my pole should be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a nothing but a candle ready to light the way
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen candle like that, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~
As I came home from battle one day as drunk as drunk, could be
I saw man come to the door as naked as could be.
So I calls to my wife, eternal old hag, tell me kindly what is to be
Who is that man whio came to the door naked as naked can be
Nay you are drunk, you are drunk you drunken old fool
You are drunk as drunk can be
That is a nothing but my rolling pin I had in my hand so be
Well it has been many a day, and I have traveled hundreds of miles
Drunk as drunk can be
But I have never seen a rolling pin with balls upon, sure that is a sight for sore eyes.
~~~~~
Well I may be drunk, old drunk, for I am so drunk you see
I am so great in the bed free beer they give to me
Drunk I may be drunk as drunk can be
Dumb I am not, instead of one fuck I gets me forty-three
<center> Antarian Children Stories
The Starry Maiden
The Mean Giant
</center>
<center> The Starry Maiden </center>
Listen children ad you shall heard of the starry maiden and why she shines down on all.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, lived a beautiful maiden with hair of gold, her face shone like the sun, her skin creamy like milk, she sparked and twinkled with personality. Her heart was gentle, to all the creatures of the forest; she was compassionate in her caring for them. Everyone one loved this beautiful maiden whose name was Asherunth ‘meaning she who walks among the stars’.
Every youth of Antar wished to make her his bride. They all came from the kings to the meager servants, vying for her affection, trying to woo her. The kings came in wearing fine raiments of fur and velvets, sitting upon golden thrones as they brought her a multitude of jewels, furs, coins, and flowers. They were stately men of old, set in their ways, day after day the clock was set with their comings and goings.
"No,” she sighed “No you will not do at all. Day after day, you do the same thing, no that life is not for me”.
Then came the politicians, rich well positioned gentlemen. They brought her robes and jewels, statuary, and fine art, everything women of class would expect. She looked at these, so stern and old, yet they had one bad habit they changed from day to day, they had no roots. "No, you will not do either. You change your minds too often.”
As soon as the politician had left the princes, fine young men from all over the galaxy entered the room. They brought with them jewels, harps of gold, gowns, and baubles from all different alien worlds to win her heart. She looked at these, so young and fresh, each one more charming than the next, yet none had experience life.
She just yawned and looked at all of these finery, and then at the Princes themselves who sat there preening themselves, obliviously to life itself. “No” she said, “You only care for the mirror” and sent them away in a most discourteous manner.
From the hills, beyond the Palace a simple man of knowledge, a scholar of books and the words. He brought nothing with him except for ink, parchment and a book of love. He came with no escort, no fine garments did he wear, only simple cloth, clean and fresh to the sense. His face was youthful though his soul was old. His smile was regal even if his pedigree was not.
To her wrote of love, epic verses immortalizing her beauty for centuries to pass. It was this act, this simple gesture of live, of love, of togetherness that Asherunth yearned for, her heart filled with such fullness she thought it was gong to burst.
"You do not always travel the same path as the rest," said Asherunth, “You I choose for the love of words than material.”
That night they celebrated their betrothal as the sun, moons and stars looked down in glee. The next day the young bridegroom hurried away to his house to prepare for the wedding, promising to return in 14 days.
While he was away, she made a beautiful white wedding dress with a long train sprinkled with diamond dust. Asherunth then waited and waited as one day followed another, with no bridegroom. Summer turned to winter, which lead to spring and still no groom. She began to grieve and lament her loss and cried day and night until she slowly wasted away and disappeared.
The Sun, Moons, and Stars felt for the young bride because her groom had bee n murdered the day he had left. Working together, they had lifted her essence into the stars along with that of her young man.
Tonight when you go outside look up towards the second moon of Antar and you will see the bride and groom, her wedding train flows out behind her as they lay side by side.
<center> ~~~~~~ page 12 A ~~~~~~ </center>
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Tue Oct 17, 2006 10:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Once upon a time, a boy and a girl were walking near a lake when they spied a rowboat. Feeling adventurous, they took the boat and rowed out across the lake, to a small island. They beached the boat and went to play.
Now what the kids did not now was that a giant and his wife lived in a large cave on the other side of the island. This was no ordinary giant; he was mean and had developed a taste for small children, fat, well fed children.
Now the children were playing on the beach, yelling and screeching as children do, unfortunately the sound drifted over to the other side of the island, and into the ears of the giant. He followed the glees of happy children, until they came into view.
He smiled at his good fortune, as he called out sweetly to the children. They swore they heard their parents as they turned around to find them, the giant jumped put of hiding and snatched the two up in his powerful hands. He tore through the forest, knocking over trees like kindling. When he reached his cave, he shoved the kids into his wife’s face,
"Here! Fatten these children so you can prepare me a delicious feast."
The children heard and began to cry as the old woman put them into a wooden pen. She brought them a succulent dinner, on gold and silver plates. This was followed by rich deserts, heavy creams and puddings. She left the food there ordering them to eat it all.
Now the boy understood what was going to happen and prevented the girl from eating too much, only enough to keep them alive. Day after day, the kids did not grow in size, but the food disappeared. Unbeknownst to the giantess, the kids were feeding the giant’s pack of dogs.
After a time, the giant came down tot the pen to look and measure his food. He found them skinner than before, yet he saw the empty dishes strewn all about. He was filled with rage as he ordered his wife to bash their heads in and get rid of them. He went off to sleep as the wife shook her head and muttered:
“As if I have time to get rid of some pests, I am knee deep in laundry here, those kids can wait.”
The boy had overheard the giant and knew they had to escape. He had been fooling with the bars of the pen and had loosened one, moving it aside. He slipped through and his sister followed. The quietly crept out of the house, and then when rounding a corner when they came upon the dogs. They were petrified. The dogs sniffed them and then licked their faces as the two petted them on the heads.
They then took off running, not stopping until they reached the beach. Jumping in, the boy cast off and they rowed back tot the mainland. They ran all the way home and told their parents, who in turn notified the city fathers. Soon hundreds of men were armed and rowing across the lake.
They scouted the island, looking for the giant and his wife. After several hours, all they found were the dogs and an empty cave. They had vanished from the island.
The city fathers decide the island was so nice they made it the center of a new university. To this day, the students swear that they can hear voices and grumblings far beneath the ground under the dorms. They say it is the giant and his wife still hiding underground, waiting to come up and take children away.
This is to let you know I will be gone fro Saturday, July 29th till Aug 18th. My sister has been diagnosed with cancer and I am traveling up to Montana to see her and be with my mom to help out. I hope everyone understands, the situation unfortunately is very serious. No guarantees on any postings while I am gone, I will try and get caught up as soon as possible after I get back home. Thanks s_e_r
<center> Antarian Stories of Fright
The Princess and her Firestone Ring
Ultimate Terror
Step Drag Step Drag
The Lady of Bones </center>
These are a collection of stories told around Antar campfires intended to scare children and adults alike, old fables handed down from generation to generation. This collection was written down by the archivist Harek Naramen from the House of Thorei as told to him by an elderly lady of the Gentrub Tribe in the southern regions of the kingdom.
Beware of those wishes that go unfilled, while you guard the urge to defile the dead, for you may regret the moment as one young guard did when he met:
<center> The Princess and her Firestone Ring</center>
Once upon a time, the daughter of a King, not a child though had not yet married, become deathly ill before the traditional Blood Moon feast during which she would choose a husband. She had always wanted to marry but at the last festival, she was still too young and had to wait 5 years till this one. Now she was on the verge of being titled an old maid, and what she wanted most of all in the world was to be married.
The healers were called, but before they could arrive, she had died from some unknown aliment. Her last words were “Please do not let me die wit a husband for the next life. I do not wish to be alone.”
The king was grief stricken and withdrew of all public events, including that of the funeral of his daughter. He could not bear to see her lifeless corpse laying there, so still so pale in color. He was unable to give her the last request of a husband, for she had died too quickly.
The guards carried the body to the chapel where the rites were said over it, the guards then laid her in the crypt, covered her body with the burial shroud and closed the iron grill gate to the vault.
Well as luck would have it, one of the guards was not exactly honest, and had noticed the firestone ring she had upon her hand, the ring she was to give to that man she chose to marry. He decided he could sell that ring and use the money; after all, she was dead and did not need the ring.
The guard snuck back into the chapel and entered the vault where the princess lied. He tore back the shroud and took the cold hand in his, as he stared at the large expensive firestone.
“Hmm I will have to have the stone cut in half,” he thought as he struggled to remove it “or remove the stone from the mounting or else it will be recognized.”
Unable to budge the ring, he took out his knife and severed her finger pulling the ring off. He smiled as he looked at his prize; placing it on his own hand, he was amazed at how it fit him so well.
As he turned to throw the finger onto the corpse and return the shroud, shriek with an unearthly wail, moments before he fell over dead his heart stopping in mid beat, his eyes reflecting the scene. There sitting up on the marble slab was the princess, in a fine white wedding dress, smiling holding out her hand to him.
The next morning the priests found the door to the crypt open. Gingerly they entered not knowing what horrors had been committee the previous eve. There they found the princess laying, a smile upon her blue lips, holding hands with the dead guard, his face contorted in terror, the ring symbolic of her husband on his finger.
<center> ~~~~~~ page 13 A ~~~~~~ </center>
<center> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ </center>
It is said when you find yourself on a deserted road late at night never, leave the well traveled road for that infamous shortcut and finally when lost never seek shelter from the lonely house on the hill, for no one knows what terror lurks inside. Shramant was one that failed to heed such a earning and has come down in stories over the centuries as a warning to all future Antarians of:
<center> Ultimate Terror</center>
The night came upon Shramant, far quicker than he had realized possible. It was just a short distance to the town, and he figured he could make it on foot, after his mount had thrown him when spooked and tore off across the countryside. As he looked up he saw the second moon rising just above the horizon, “Damn!” he thought in his mind, it will be pass dinnertime when he arrived at the inn where he had planned to stay. The innkeeper was very particular and his cook always closed the doors at before 12, no matter if you had finished eating or not. Maybe if he took off cross-country he could saves a couple of miles and get some food before the kitchen closed. He had been this way before many a time, and had seen the shortcut sign but had never taken it since he was always early
He walked a few more yards, where around the bend he saw the narrow rut path off to his left. Shramant’s growled as he made the decision to turn left and traveled though the countryside. Fortunately, with both moons up it gave him just enough light to travel by safely down the road and was able to avoid placing his food in a deep rut and twist an ankle. Then just as luck would have it, the heavens open up in a violent thunderstorm. Shramant cussed as he was soon soaked to the skin, and to make matters worse the road became nothing but a big mud hole with minutes. Wiping the rain from his face, he vaguely noticed in the far distance upon a hill, an old stone house where a light was shining out of the window. Walking had become an impossible as the road and valley in which it plotted out in, was filing with water as the rain washed down the hill, for a good mile in both directions he would be waist high in fast moving water in a few more minutes.
Shramant trudged up the hill; the house looked deserted except for that light. He shuddered in the unnaturally cold air, stories from his childhood surfaced as he looked around for a ghost to suddenly appear and snatched underground. The old iron knocker was heavy in his hand, and as he let it fly, Shramant feared the old worm-eaten door would splinter upon impact. Nothing but a dull thud echoing inside happened. He waited awhile as he heard slow methodical steps coming closer to the door. The hinges creaked and moaned loudly, rusted as if the door had not been opened for centuries.
“Yes?” came a gruff voice, a bedraggled craggy old face appeared in the small slit opening of the doorway. “What do you want?” the feeble voice continued.
Please excuse me Madame, but I got caught in this sudden downpour taking a shortcut to town. And now the road is impassable. May I request shelter here until the rains lets up and the path is clear again?”
“Ah right but except no sup from me, I am an old woman with little to offer.” The door opened wider and Shramant entered the dry interior.
He offered his thanks to the woman and money for the nights lodging. Her yellowed eyes peered at him, he felt like he was on display, being examined for some mad experiment. Shramant laughed to himself, his imagination was getting the best of him, wives stories, he was remembering old wives stories of travelers who are way laid and killed in out of the way haunted places. The room was comfortable, not lavishly furnished, more modest but well kept up compared to the outside.
He soon found himself, as his body began to heat up, growing more uncomfortable with the hour. Now whether the dreams brought on the fever or the cold ice rain had brought it on, Shramant knew not which. His rest was not easy, every shadow held evil intentions as they stole silently through the old vermin infested attic that laid just above his bed. Even the bed, has a sense of morbid frustrations as it creaked and moaned with his every turn. He woke up at every flap of a curtain, every clap of thunder, even at two old tom cats fighting under the window, Shramant was positive eerie spell was working in obscurity on his imagination. All he had to do was make it to the morning and he would escape fever or not.
Darkness and unexplainable noises were bedmates; they feed one on the other, crating sounds that shook the very foundations of a man’s common sense and well being. He went and out of conciseness, but even in his sleep his nervous system was on full awake.
It was late when Shramant awoke the next morning; his eyes finally closing at daybreak, when the howling had passed ad a gentle rain lulled him into slumber. As soon as his head and eyes cleared of the fog that closed off his senses, Shramant jumped to his feet and dressed quickly, his clothes were still slightly damp, the coldness as it caressed his hot feverish skin, made him shudder.
He found the old woman in the palor rocking and reading a book. She smiled at him; her fangs looked unusually sharp in the sunlight as it filtered through he dirty windows. Shramant thanks her, placed some coins on a table, and began to make his way to the door.
“Did you sleep well my young lord?”
“Well to be honest, I found myself ill at eased, I am sorry to say, mistress of this house.”
"Did I frightened you? The children in town are fraid to come here.”
“No, it is just strange and unusual locations.” Shramant smiled at his silly notions last night. He turned to leave, when suddenly he felt a sharp blow to his head and everything went dark, a deep darkness.
Shramant came to hours later and found himself strapped securely to a table that he recognized used to carve animals for meat production. He could see on the wall to his right a collection of knives, bone saws, and scarpers to remove the skin from the animal caresses. His head was tied down and he could not twist his head to see the other side, if he had he would had seen the four of them, all alike, licking their lips,
“Ah I see you are awake, I would have hated for you to miss your death.” The old women appeared from nowhere in his face.
“What are you doing let me go.”
“Yes the terror level is increasing, my sisters and I will enjoy feasting on you, it has been so long and we are so hungry.”
“What, what the fuck let me go.”
“You know the funny thing is that no one ever expects to die in broad daylight by an old lady. Do they?”
She produced a blade, 7 inches long, sharpened on each side to gut and slice tissue. She smiled at him as she slowly drew the blade down his abdomen, elating in his body as it shook and trembled under her hands.
“Should have listened to your mother; all those old wives tales. Dear oh dear when will young people learned. Those stories were created form the truth. Now be a good boy and scream for me, it makes the meat tastier.”
<center> The End</center>
