> To put it at its most prosaic--there are probably a lot more Nysalor
> riddlers who speak New Pelorian than, say, Heortling or Praxian or
> Darkspeech. If you understand New Pelorian, you can riddle with them.
Ah, right, yes, now then, this is very true don't you know. Very.
Allow me to introduce myself, you vigorous and handsomely painted warriors all. I am Faltikus Thrice Spoken, trader and sage, whose home and heart are forever in Pommel Creek Stead in the Goodsword lands of Sartar. I live and breath the ways of my forefathers and am invigorated by the winds of Orlanth. Absolutely, and all together yes indeed.
Now it may, in at least one of seven senses, be true that I am rarely actually there these days. I am sadly forced to stay in my modest mansion north of Runegate to continue the holy work that Garzeen the Goldentongued has called me to. How I miss the simple charms of the wooden stead hall, the righteous smell of the cattle, and the natural beauty of the creek bringing life and fresh, crisp, though quaintly only cold, running water to my . Understand truly blue blessed ones, that I care little for the under floor heating, mosaics, and carefully tended garden of my adopted prison of marble to the North.
Oh yes, and a thousand blessings of redemption on us all together. Believe me, for I speak as true as Garzeen himself spake on his way to the Purple Market. Yes, yes.
And I see you gaze on my rich quilted coat of shimmering blues and greens. Yes, I would agree the tassles are a bit much but I took it as given my sweetling. From this ineffectual hauberk I work tirelessly for the cause. I do, I do.
I have, only after much ecstatic dancing I can tell you, been guided by ever wise Garzeen to learn some of the moon speech. A slippery tongue I must warn you, where all meaning is a rainbow of clarity as old Delidus would say over a pitcher of Doblian red. Ah, that old dog...
Where was I? Ah yes the moon speech. I know only enough to serve me in understanding the workings of our hated enemy. This wretched tongue will one day work thunderously for my clansmen, as my fellow heroes rise up, like Darjiin sugar cakes, in the most splendid of rebellions. My yes.
But enough of this idle chin twitching. I too can boast of battling the tendrils of foul chaos. Oh yes I can and thrice truly. A dangerous contest of riddles I have endured, woven in the intricate fabric of the hated moon tongue. The pilgrim sat with me for a short while. A tall wiry man, entirely shaved and innocuous looking in an intense sort of way. He spoke in pure liquid moon tongue, telling me that he traveled south to the Hairy Country I believe, seeking sublime irrigation, which I have to say seems rather odd even now.
As he spoke I noted that the air around me weighed heavy and Elmal seemed to shine fiercely, the light an unusually clear sharp pink. We spoke of inclement weather, tribal harmony, and cheesecakes, when suddenly he looked at me with a wide toothy smile. The very middle air tightened around me, and I swear, on the seven most important things you can think of, that he said to me:
"What is the difference between a spot hidden." I mean, I ask you. He looked at me expectantly. It was then that holy Orlanth blew between my ears, whispering my very next actions. I thought a moment and replied, "there is always another way". Then I punched him very very hard in the face. Violence is always an option don't you know, my very large friends.
Now, can I interest you in these not in the slightest bit curved Carmainian blades? No? Then allow me to detain you no longer from your energetic cow chasing. Farewell and well met. My yes.
-- Faltikus Thrice Spoken Argrath. No honest....
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