I have been unable to get out much recently, as my Fool claims to be very busy, so busy that he can allow me out only every so often, and then only for a short time. This will pass, as do all things on this our mortal coil, but until then my life is dull.
Well, except for the excitement of teaching PearlyRose how to play her theorbo. It is always a serious pleasure to help others to find the joy in playing music, not just the joy in listening to me. My Fool does not do any teaching of others how to play, and (of course) nobody ever gets any joy from listening to him, so he rather loses out entirely. It's not clear why he bothers to continue breathing.
However, between my Fool and me we helped PearlyRose grab the right files, put them in the right place, how to hold her theorbo correctly, and what is the best fingering to use. It will be some time, and many many hours of practice, before she will be ready to play my own stupendous music, but she should do very well playing the trivial music of my Fool.
And talking about trivial music, the last BBB show outside the Bird and Baby was an unqualified success, except for the fact that very few people came to listen. But then, why would they? Beor was playing the pipes. However, the music came together well, mostly there were no mistakes, and I looked extraordinarily handsome.
Not so the others, I fear. I am planning on contacting one of the many fashion specialists to design outfits for the Aegthilettes, and a proper outfit for Beor as well. Looking good is important, which Beor doesn't yet seem to have realised. Bluebonnet had made a special effort for the BBB show, and was looking very splendiferous in a lovely black dress, but the others.... well... a hodgepodge of all kinds of inappropriate colours. You just can't be an Aegthilette if you're wearing green. I'm sorry, you just can't.
In other news, my Fool finished his piece for Casin. The Wyrmbane Forge. When he got stuck on that one he dashed off a quick TeddyBears' Picnic for Kyrian. Trivial nonsense. Now he can begin working on his piece for Ashmara, which is only a transcription of a song written by somebody else, and thus much less interesting, but it's a song my Fool particularly likes, so it's not all bad.
Come to think of it, if my Fool wasted less time on writing trivial musical rubbish I would be able to get out more. I shall have to contact my lawyer.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Aegthil's guide to legendary things for Minstrels
I have now reached the exalted rank of 51. Very impressive, I hear you say, and you would be right. And this exalted rank comes with the ability to wield things called legendary weapons.
Now, in case you don't know what a legendary weapon is, it's a special kind of weapon that comes with a legend attached to it, as in something untrue and probably defamatory. My special weapon, which happens to be a sword, was named by Beor as the Sword of Clapping, which might be untrue and is certainly defamatory (hint: the name doesn't refer to the act of striking one's hands together to make a sound). The associated legend is something about Apple-Sherie but I haven't enquired into the details. You shouldn't either, particularly if your name is Wrenaya or if you have a sensitive disposition, or both. Or, come to think of it, if your name is Ashmara, either. Or Delna. Or.. well, never mind.
Anyway, the system for legendary weapons is usually thought to be very complicated, but actually it's all very simple. First you get the weapon, then you identify it by taking it to an Identifier Person, and then you pick it up and kill stuff with it. There are other details such as relics and things, but these are unimportant and don't make any difference to how good you look.
I tried equipping various relicy sorts of things - one was a buckle I seem to remember - but I couldn't notice any difference at all in audience responses in the I-Love-Aegthil surveys (conducted by the Official Statistics Department of the Bree Mayoral Office). This is scientific proof that relics on legendary weapons make no difference at all; this, by itself, should be useful information to the entire Middle-Earth community and should help to prevent people wasting their precious time and money on unimportant things.
I also was given some sort of Minstrel legendary book thingy, but that seems to be of even less use than relics. It has only a very limited effect when you hit things with it, and some of the songs in it are Shire Country Music, which is not just offensive, it's scary. So I just don't see the point. On the other hand, I can certainly believe that the best way to kill a baddie is to sing him (or her) a Shire Country song. It is amazing how much damage can be done by a simple three-chord strum behind a cliche melody and tear-jerking lyrics. Just listen to my Fool's music, you'll see what I mean.
Anyway, it's not like I need to read music or anything, as I am a firm believer in the art of improvisation, so it's probably best just not to bother with that legendary book thing.
Now, in case you don't know what a legendary weapon is, it's a special kind of weapon that comes with a legend attached to it, as in something untrue and probably defamatory. My special weapon, which happens to be a sword, was named by Beor as the Sword of Clapping, which might be untrue and is certainly defamatory (hint: the name doesn't refer to the act of striking one's hands together to make a sound). The associated legend is something about Apple-Sherie but I haven't enquired into the details. You shouldn't either, particularly if your name is Wrenaya or if you have a sensitive disposition, or both. Or, come to think of it, if your name is Ashmara, either. Or Delna. Or.. well, never mind.
Anyway, the system for legendary weapons is usually thought to be very complicated, but actually it's all very simple. First you get the weapon, then you identify it by taking it to an Identifier Person, and then you pick it up and kill stuff with it. There are other details such as relics and things, but these are unimportant and don't make any difference to how good you look.
I tried equipping various relicy sorts of things - one was a buckle I seem to remember - but I couldn't notice any difference at all in audience responses in the I-Love-Aegthil surveys (conducted by the Official Statistics Department of the Bree Mayoral Office). This is scientific proof that relics on legendary weapons make no difference at all; this, by itself, should be useful information to the entire Middle-Earth community and should help to prevent people wasting their precious time and money on unimportant things.
I also was given some sort of Minstrel legendary book thingy, but that seems to be of even less use than relics. It has only a very limited effect when you hit things with it, and some of the songs in it are Shire Country Music, which is not just offensive, it's scary. So I just don't see the point. On the other hand, I can certainly believe that the best way to kill a baddie is to sing him (or her) a Shire Country song. It is amazing how much damage can be done by a simple three-chord strum behind a cliche melody and tear-jerking lyrics. Just listen to my Fool's music, you'll see what I mean.
Anyway, it's not like I need to read music or anything, as I am a firm believer in the art of improvisation, so it's probably best just not to bother with that legendary book thing.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Party Time
Today was the party for some people called A Casual Stroll to Mordor which is, if you ask me, a name that is just asking for trouble. Personally, if I was going to Mordor, which I'm not, it wouldn't be a casual stroll. Maybe that's just me.
Be that as it may, the Fairgrounds were the scene of the party which was celebrating the Mordor people's second birthday, or some such thing. I didn't actually see anybody called Casual Stroll to Mordor, and I didn't notice any kinship called (in short) CSTM, and nobody said anything to me about CSTM, so I was left all just a little puzzled as to where CSTM came in, but it was a great Lonely Mountain Band party, that's for sure. Who needs a Casual Stroll to Mordor when you've got the Lonely Mountain Band?!
It was BBB's lucky night (BBB stands for Bards, Beers, Beards and Beor's Bagpipes. Beor can't count.). Beor couldn't be there, so we could perform without having to watch his waggling beard and horse-arse face. Or listen to his pipes. This has to be a good thing.
Instead, we were joined by the Wacky Buggerydoos, Irdu on something, Inzingagger on theorbo, Loryswine (or some such name) and the unforgettable Ashmara doing her usual stint on the drums. I was hoping that the lovely lady Wrenaya would join us as well, as she had thought she might (she is an excessively talented lute player), but I was doomed to disappointment there, as she was notably absent.
We were - I kid you not - super cool. Aegthil and the Aegthilettes.
If I had been sensible enough to take a picture I could have put one here, but I wasn't so I can't. Actually, it's my Fool's job to draw the pictures, so this is yet another example of his total incompetence. I should probably try and get another Fool, but I'm not sure that would be a trivial process. Nevertheless, someone in CSTM drew a picture, and I'm cheeky enough to use it. As you can see above, we were quite stunning. Handsome me in the middle, surrounded by my Aegthilettes, with the Buggerydoos out the front. Very nice.
Now, the music might have been fine (which it was), and I might have been super handsome (which I was) and the cheering crowds might have stamped and yelled praise (which they should have) but the real event of note was an unwanted insight into Ashmara's love life.
As always, she played the drums. Of course, I know, and my Fool knows, and everybody who is anybody knows, that the drummer gets the girls. (My Fool is not a drummer, but obviously this is not the reason he doesn't get the girls; no girl would ever be desperate enough to take up with my Fool. He has not even the basic charms, being old, fat, ugly and smelly.)
But back to Ash. Oh, said I, you're on drums, you'll get the chicks. (I have a natural facility with such cool phrases as that.) Hope so, said Ash, it's been a dry spell.
I just about dropped my cowbell.
In the experience of my Fool it is a common band practice to try and sabotage a performance by telling foul and obscene jokes to each other, while playing. If the music falls to pieces because the band are all laughing so much they wet their pants, this is counted as a success. He remembers one notable occasion when a Martha Stewart joke caused a total stoppage, and complaints from the client.
This was one of those times. I almost wet my pants.
Be that as it may, the Fairgrounds were the scene of the party which was celebrating the Mordor people's second birthday, or some such thing. I didn't actually see anybody called Casual Stroll to Mordor, and I didn't notice any kinship called (in short) CSTM, and nobody said anything to me about CSTM, so I was left all just a little puzzled as to where CSTM came in, but it was a great Lonely Mountain Band party, that's for sure. Who needs a Casual Stroll to Mordor when you've got the Lonely Mountain Band?!
Instead, we were joined by the Wacky Buggerydoos, Irdu on something, Inzingagger on theorbo, Loryswine (or some such name) and the unforgettable Ashmara doing her usual stint on the drums. I was hoping that the lovely lady Wrenaya would join us as well, as she had thought she might (she is an excessively talented lute player), but I was doomed to disappointment there, as she was notably absent.
We were - I kid you not - super cool. Aegthil and the Aegthilettes.
If I had been sensible enough to take a picture I could have put one here, but I wasn't so I can't. Actually, it's my Fool's job to draw the pictures, so this is yet another example of his total incompetence. I should probably try and get another Fool, but I'm not sure that would be a trivial process. Nevertheless, someone in CSTM drew a picture, and I'm cheeky enough to use it. As you can see above, we were quite stunning. Handsome me in the middle, surrounded by my Aegthilettes, with the Buggerydoos out the front. Very nice.
Now, the music might have been fine (which it was), and I might have been super handsome (which I was) and the cheering crowds might have stamped and yelled praise (which they should have) but the real event of note was an unwanted insight into Ashmara's love life.
As always, she played the drums. Of course, I know, and my Fool knows, and everybody who is anybody knows, that the drummer gets the girls. (My Fool is not a drummer, but obviously this is not the reason he doesn't get the girls; no girl would ever be desperate enough to take up with my Fool. He has not even the basic charms, being old, fat, ugly and smelly.)
But back to Ash. Oh, said I, you're on drums, you'll get the chicks. (I have a natural facility with such cool phrases as that.) Hope so, said Ash, it's been a dry spell.
I just about dropped my cowbell.
In the experience of my Fool it is a common band practice to try and sabotage a performance by telling foul and obscene jokes to each other, while playing. If the music falls to pieces because the band are all laughing so much they wet their pants, this is counted as a success. He remembers one notable occasion when a Martha Stewart joke caused a total stoppage, and complaints from the client.
This was one of those times. I almost wet my pants.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Shuga Mommy
The Mayor's daughter bears the remarkable name of Apple-Sherie. I have no idea why. However, her name aside, she is a very nice young(ish) lady, with enormous sympathy for struggling and starving, yet excessively talented musicians.
Like myself. What a coincidence.
Upon being informed of my remarkably unfair and unfortunate treatment, she rushed to my aid with significant pecuniary assistance. In short, she gave me money. Lots of it. Wasn't that nice of her, I hear you say, but I think it's only fair that she be allowed to help herself to feel better. I feel that, by accepting her assistance, I am doing her a good turn. It's my essential good nature speaking. I like doing good. I believe in helping humanity. That's just who I am.
Anyway, to get back on topic, I am now a wealthy man. No longer must I starve and freeze for the sake of my enormous artistic talent. I now have fancy new clothes, which you can see in the picture. A lovely new cape, new shirts and things, a very elegant hauberk to protect my nether regions while killing baddies, and frilly underwear (with lace. Not really my thing, to be honest, but Apple-Sherie insisted.)
Now, I know this isn't black, and is therefore slightly less sexy, but it's really only for use while out and about. Incognito, so to speak, although that's not really possible for someone of my immense fame. But Apple-Sherie had her own ideas (see above) and she is a lady of immense persuasional capability. I still bear the bruises.
To compensate, she also bought me a lovely new cloak for my performances. That, of course, has to be black. No compromise is possible, when art is in question. And she got me a new horse, a nice fancy grey one, very handsome.
I got the shoes for myself. I was so immensely crushed by the lovely Lady Wrenaya's scorn for my boots, that I went out immediately to refurbish my feet. She saw them last night, and I think she was very impressed. Very impressed indeed. So impressed that she claimed she couldn't walk home, and had to stay the night in the Dancing Goat. Always the gentleman, I immediately offered the use of my room. I hope that Apple-Sherie never finds out.
Talking about the lovely lady Wrenaya, I am moderately perturbed by the string of dorks that trail around behind her. There was another one last night. Forlan, or Dorland, or Forthen, or something like that. He was quite handsome, I suppose, in his way, but that might just be the result of his sexy hair style.
Finally, Apple-Sherie has also bought me a lovely new deluxe house. Well, it is for my own personal and exclusive use, although I believe there is some small matter of rent that she deals with. Nothing to do with me, of course. I don't enquire into such sordid financial details. I am an artist. I am above all that. My new house (or Apple-Sherie's house, perhaps I should say to be perfectly honest) is close to Bree and has three lovely rooms, a bed, two chests, a few rugs and a breakfast table.
What I need now is servant help for cleaning, polishing, and other such mundane matters. I think I shall have to hire servant girl Saini. She looks strong. Marginally clean, but strong. I wonder how much she charges...
Like myself. What a coincidence.
Upon being informed of my remarkably unfair and unfortunate treatment, she rushed to my aid with significant pecuniary assistance. In short, she gave me money. Lots of it. Wasn't that nice of her, I hear you say, but I think it's only fair that she be allowed to help herself to feel better. I feel that, by accepting her assistance, I am doing her a good turn. It's my essential good nature speaking. I like doing good. I believe in helping humanity. That's just who I am.
Now, I know this isn't black, and is therefore slightly less sexy, but it's really only for use while out and about. Incognito, so to speak, although that's not really possible for someone of my immense fame. But Apple-Sherie had her own ideas (see above) and she is a lady of immense persuasional capability. I still bear the bruises.
To compensate, she also bought me a lovely new cloak for my performances. That, of course, has to be black. No compromise is possible, when art is in question. And she got me a new horse, a nice fancy grey one, very handsome.
I got the shoes for myself. I was so immensely crushed by the lovely Lady Wrenaya's scorn for my boots, that I went out immediately to refurbish my feet. She saw them last night, and I think she was very impressed. Very impressed indeed. So impressed that she claimed she couldn't walk home, and had to stay the night in the Dancing Goat. Always the gentleman, I immediately offered the use of my room. I hope that Apple-Sherie never finds out.
Talking about the lovely lady Wrenaya, I am moderately perturbed by the string of dorks that trail around behind her. There was another one last night. Forlan, or Dorland, or Forthen, or something like that. He was quite handsome, I suppose, in his way, but that might just be the result of his sexy hair style.
Finally, Apple-Sherie has also bought me a lovely new deluxe house. Well, it is for my own personal and exclusive use, although I believe there is some small matter of rent that she deals with. Nothing to do with me, of course. I don't enquire into such sordid financial details. I am an artist. I am above all that. My new house (or Apple-Sherie's house, perhaps I should say to be perfectly honest) is close to Bree and has three lovely rooms, a bed, two chests, a few rugs and a breakfast table.
What I need now is servant help for cleaning, polishing, and other such mundane matters. I think I shall have to hire servant girl Saini. She looks strong. Marginally clean, but strong. I wonder how much she charges...
In other news, Singamerrydo, one of that merry and very very perversely weird band of dancing bobbits (Singa, Linga, Zinga, Pinga, and Dingaflinger) very nearly had to take occupancy of the jail cell I so recently didn't vacate. Apparently, after our show the other night in the Dancing Goat, she gave a sterling and anatomically unlikely performance with a muffin. I guess she just got a bit overexcited at being in such close company with a music star. I don't know what she was doing with the muffin, but it was certainly illegal and highly unpleasant. Well, unpleasant for the crowd at any rate. Maybe the muffin enjoyed it. Even Beor felt a little ill, and his standards are impressively low. Singa made it out of the Dancing Goat one step ahead of the law. Two steps behind Ash, who has her own reasons for avoiding legal entanglements.
Maybe someone drew a picture. That would be worth a look.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
A vile rumour
There is, it appears, a particularly vicious rumour making the rounds. It is said that, far from being comfortably ensconced in the Dancing Goat, I have been paying a debt to society in the Breetown Jail. It is further said - and this is the bit that is most deeply disturbing - that this visit to the Breetown Jail was on account of a short, consensual, and mutually satisfactory relationship I had with the Mayor's daughter.
These allegations are false. Entirely false. There is not a shred of truth in any of this. The entire story is nothing but a tissue of lies and slander. There is just no way that she is the Mayor's daughter, and if she is then she shouldn't be, and, anyway, she didn't tell me.
In any case, should I be blamed for the fact that some ladies (Mayor's daughters or not) find me irresistibly attractive? Of course not, I hear you say. Should I be forced to hire bodyguards to keep off the adoring crowds? Of course not, I hear you say again.
These demands would be unreasonable.
So why should the Mayor take such umbrage if his daughter (a lady of mature aspect and one who definitely knows her own mind) chooses to admire me from a closer distance than is perhaps compatible with strict decorum?
It is just not right that I should have to suffer such vile slurs for something that is clearly not my fault.
It is, of course, expected that Beorbrand, Ashmara, Inzilzagar and others would organise bail. That's what band members do for each other. It's just the normal thing. My Fool knows this, and so do I. And now Beorbrand et al have learned. I hope they're not expecting repayment.
I just wish I could have seen Ashmara's face when she handed over the money.
These allegations are false. Entirely false. There is not a shred of truth in any of this. The entire story is nothing but a tissue of lies and slander. There is just no way that she is the Mayor's daughter, and if she is then she shouldn't be, and, anyway, she didn't tell me.
In any case, should I be blamed for the fact that some ladies (Mayor's daughters or not) find me irresistibly attractive? Of course not, I hear you say. Should I be forced to hire bodyguards to keep off the adoring crowds? Of course not, I hear you say again.
These demands would be unreasonable.
So why should the Mayor take such umbrage if his daughter (a lady of mature aspect and one who definitely knows her own mind) chooses to admire me from a closer distance than is perhaps compatible with strict decorum?
It is just not right that I should have to suffer such vile slurs for something that is clearly not my fault.
It is, of course, expected that Beorbrand, Ashmara, Inzilzagar and others would organise bail. That's what band members do for each other. It's just the normal thing. My Fool knows this, and so do I. And now Beorbrand et al have learned. I hope they're not expecting repayment.
I just wish I could have seen Ashmara's face when she handed over the money.
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