Night of the Tall Tales

Discussion in 'The Library' started by Mugly Wumple, Jul 8, 2014.

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  1. Mugly Wumple

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    Filbert Eggcup presented this story in UO during a Tall Tales contest.

    Dere many would call demself sailor when de waters be calm n de skies be bright. A few call
    demself sailor in stormy sea n dead o night. But it de rare man call 'imself sailor when facin'
    shipwreck n death. I'm here te tell ye I'm a sailor of de third kind.

    : settles into chair

    My friend Dark and I had a shippin' business. I'd never sailed much but Dark was purty good.
    Well, after a few voyages I figgured I'd try me hand at it. I packed up de ship wit cargo,
    hopped aboard de LoobyLou n commanded Roddy de Rudderman te cast loose.
    De winds were fair, de skies were blue n I was lookin' te be back by de next day's dusk.

    I'd seen Dark manage de sails so I thought I'd try me hand at it. I yanked on de gullet sail
    n I raised de lower upsail. I was about te adjust de jab when Roddy gets on dat I'm messin
    up his navigation. Well, I just told 'im te mind his pole n let me git back te me sailorin'.

    Tell truth, I weren't so good as I thought. We were lost. An' since I'd raised all de sails
    we were gettin' loster faster. I told Roddy te go in circles so I could get my bearin's and
    afore I knew it we was creatin' a whirlpool dat gurgled and bubbled and.....roared?

    Roar it did, fer it weren't no whirlpool t'all but some great sea monster.
    Roddy starts arunnin' about wavin' his hands in de air, shriekin' "Shoot It! Shoot It!"

    All a sudden a gust o wind come up. It tore at de sails, n one o dem sails lets to rippin'.
    A tangle o rope gits Roddy round de leg n hoists 'im inte de air.

    Roddy's up dere flappin', I'm scramblin' fer de rudder pole, n de monster is
    flailin' his tentacles like a jester's hat on a bouncin' betty.

    Now, ladies. Dis next part be a bit grusome. If ye squimish ye may want te cover yer ears.

    Den, horror o horrors, a tentacle rises up from de roil, grabs Roddy round de neck.
    It starts te yankin' n after a coupla tugs Roddy's head pops right off!
    : finger in cheek - popping sound
    De monster falls one way n Roddy's body come swingin' de other, knockin' me inte de water.

    Chokin' n gaspin' fer air, I figgured I was a goner. But te my suprise n salvation,
    dat serpent had swallowed Roddy's head whole n was chokin' n gaspin' worse den me.
    Roddy (or what was left of 'im) was lodged in dat serpent's craw.

    Roddy weren't gonna hold off dat monster long. I needed te get outte dere fast.
    I chittered out a laugh like a dolphin - "hehehehheehee"
    n sure enuf, a dolphin come swimmin by fer me te catch hold.

    Seein dat I was a land creature, n tinkin that any ol' land will do,
    dat dolphin dropped me off at de nearest island.

    Folks, a sorrier island ye never seen. Ten paces by ten with a coupla scrawny palms.
    Dere I was, snatched from de jaws of doom and plopped down inte de fryin pan of exposure.

    I paced dat measly shore feelin like I couldn't feel no worse when I stepped on sompin sharp.
    In a rage I reached down te grab whatever it were, but it wouldn't budge.
    It were some sorta bone buried in de sand.

    I commenced te diggin' n afore long had found de skeleton of a dragon, wings n all.

    Wings! I took te crackin' n lashin' dem bones tegether till dey was Filbert sized.
    Wit some more twine I covered 'em in palm leaves n tried em on.
    I ran up n down de beach flappin' like a goony bird but couldn't git airborne.
    So I climbed one o dem palms, waited fer a good breeze, made me prayers te Paladeine, n jumped.

    I caught de wind, flapped me arms, an afore ye can say "Home fer dinner" I was
    soarin thru de sky. Soon I spy a fisherman n try te yell out a hail but I swallow a bug n start te coughin.
    He looks up, takes me for a big harpy, n starts firin' arrows at me, tearin' inte my wings.

    Wit de little manueverin' I had left, I aimed at his biggest sail, all de time a yellin '
    "Don't Shoot!......... Don't Shoot!.........Don't Shoot!"

    Ye know, I landed in dat sail like a baby set down on a featherbed.
    Dat fisherman was a right nice feller too, once he saw I weren't no harpy.
    In no time he'd delivered me back te de north shores o Winterfell.

    Tank ye, one n all.

    Oh! One more ting.

    Some o ye may be wonderin where I came up wit dat twine te make me wings.

    : Bends down. Points to bald spot.

    Ye don't tink dats naturally bald, do ye?
     
    grnarrow, Time Lord and Lord-Galiwyn like this.
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