The Path is Paved Monday, May 24 2010 

Should heaven burn or hell freeze over, yet the shieldmen would not let down their guard. And Maroph, knowing the strength of the guardians, spake thus in most commanding tone:

“Whoso raises his arm against Farin and his fellowship shall likewise suffer the fate of Savia the Silver, who is damned by God. You have no stake in such small skirmish. Farin of Rosgaliant is not one of your own, and does not belong in the Underworld, save by holy appointment. Put back your shields and let him by, for as my daughter may well say, Sir Farin seeks to break the curse that sits on the city in Overland.”

The unseeable guards smacked their spears across their broad breast plates.

“We are the keepers of Underworld’s deepest gates, and our way is shut. The curse shall not be broken ere the world end. Depart from me, you holy triad. An you live, I shall not see your faces.”

And Sir Farin spake:

“Who keeps the keys that bind the city in Overland?”

“The keeper of Underworld’s seas.”

“Then in good will lead us to him.”

Again the guardians refused, but Lilith fluttered forth from Farin’s breast and cast light in the darkness; and the knights were made visible, and they cowered like blinded mice.

And the goblin that bore Savia’s stained soul unleashed a cry of horrid fury, and died of fear, and Savia’s shade escaped from Lilith’s light and fluttered back across the wilderness to the confines of her castle.

And Farin raised his sword and wrought mighty works against the guardians, slaying none, for all were dead, but delivering such stinging blows that none was left unscathed, and each and every guard fled after his mistress across the vast blank wilderness, for the shores of Underworld’s seas, that lay a hundred miles off.

Knightly deeds deserve their dues. Wednesday, May 5 2010 

Shall we tell of the great works Farin wrought before he became St. Michael’s deacon?

Firstly, Farin was a swordsman with a prestiged name. He was knighted by the king of Arden, for he saved Princess Brigid from the jaws of Vyres the Worm. Her father gave him a small castle on the edge of a forest, and he called  the castle Rosgaliant.

In its gardens he began to think on holy things. We have heard these tales before.

He made a rosary out of glass beads and wire, and put it in his pocket to accompany him in all of his adventures. One day he left Rosgaliant and traveled far, far away, and entered a quiet town that lay on the edge of a very wide desert. Towers stood tall and plenteous. But the people of the town were starving like dogs. For they suffered from drought, a curse from the fiends of the underworld, and could grow no crops.

Sir Farin (so called in those days) was taken to the tall town’s King. The King gave him many gifts and much food, and then took him to a dimly-lit chamber filled with incense and heathen gods. The King dropped humbly to his bony knees (for the King was a good man and would not eat more than the people) and begged Sir Farin to remove the curse.

Suddenly the sky was clouded and the castle’s sounds ceased. The earth began to quake. The castle’s dull-marble floor split in twain, revealing a stairwell that led down to the center of the earth.

Sir Farin descended.

Many moons passed by overhead.

When Sir Farin returned to the land of the barely-living, his dark clothes were matted and the flesh of his hands was torn. He left the town. He said few words to the King – secret words that no book has ever recalled.

He left his rosary in the palace courtyard, hidden in the roots of a maple tree.

The tree blossomed.

What happened to the town thereafter, we do not know, nor will ever know – for we do not know which town it was.

There was an explanation for the tears in Sir Farin’s hands. Would you care to sit and watch me carry on, gentle reader?