Tale of the Week 277: Teachings - VOTE THREAD
Teachings
Picture of the fresco "La scuola di Atena" (The School of Athens) by Raffaello Sanzia da Urbino. It depicts many of the ancient philosophs, scientists and, especially, teachers
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Submission 1
What is the will of God to the men who worship it?
What is the peruse of it?
What was the insight of God's wisdom when heathen pagans stepped on the shores of Britannia. Cups spilled. Beer splashed into the faces of bandits and marauders. Men that called themselves the real men. Men who tortured. Men who killed innocents. Men that had set foot on the soil of Wessex would be eliminated. No. Not eliminated. Wiped. Converted to God's will if need be. These pagans had destroyed the people's cathedrals, their sacred places of worship. Holy places that should never have been stepped on. The Vikings would no longer rule this land. No longer.
Alfred's beard was white with the wisp of snow as he stood on the cliff overlooking downwards on the Viking camp. The Great Heathen army they called themselves. He chuckled lightly. The Great Descendents of Ragnar Lothbrok and Ivar the Boneless. Pathetic. Weak. The warriors of those feared leaders were now dead. Failure and studious effort with the Vikings had taught him many things. The most important tale being, delivering their beloved Ragnarok to them. Those warriors that wished to go to their pagan heaven would be granted their wish. Alfred was tired. Tired of being the master of those that wished to subdue him. He would show each and every Viking the true manners of the sons of Wessex. Their wrath would descend upon those pagans like God's Holy Fire. They would weep when fires burned in their town, they would cry with rage when their brothers were killed, and they would cry out loud to their pagan Gods for vengeance.
Patience was the teacher for Alfred. Unsheathing his sword, he yelled loud and clear with studious effort. A horde of fire arrows descended upon the Viking camp. The men of Wessex charged like waves flooding towns and cities, penetrating deep into the camp. It was Alfred that had united the English under one banner under his divine rule. It was he, that understood the concerns of his people. Now, England would be reborn anew, under his new rule. When the fire of the camp burned in his eyes, he would rebuild. When the cries of Vikings filled his ears, he would make sure their so-called temples and buildings would be scattered to ashes. When the last of their men left these very shores, England would be safe. Renewed. The Master of England.
Wessex would rule every single Kingdom in the English Isles.
Wessex would thrive.
And Alfred the Great, would make sure that his legacy would last forever than those pagan Vikings that once were feared across the world.
Their legacy would be eroded from the face of the earth.
And only then, would Alfred's descendants rule the Kingdom of England.
Submission 2 She sat at her desk, the parchment lit only by a flickering candle. The words were dancing on the page. How long had she been here? The minutes had long past blended into hours, the hours perhaps into days. She’d perused the many moldy tomes a hundred times already, but the one passage she was looking for could not be found. She sighed, and closed her eyes. Without the insight of that one book, forgotten by all mankind but her, her quest would be futile. And perhaps, it all was, she wondered as she slammed the heavy book shut.
She steeled her resolve, and once again her hands selected a new volume in a studious manner. Of course she recognized the book she was now rifling through. Once, she would have considered it a comedic children’s book, but now there was more at stake. She’d seen the truth, and she’d reveal it to the world. In due time, she’d be rewarded.
Another candle was lit, another book thrown aside, replaced by a new one. The compendium of this, the teachings of that, all bound in heavy leather. And then, her attention was drawn to the next one on her table. As if some arcane power possessed her, she opened the book, turning page after page with a distinct purpose. She stopped. Was this it? She read the page before her, and a smile started to form on her lips. The hard work had finally paid off.
She stood up, pushing the chair aside. There was no way back. She looked at the knife. It was sharp and clean. One incision on her arm. It was time to chant. “O, master of Darkness,” she murmured. “Your faithful servant implores you, take her, take her! Bring despair onto this world!”
The air started to stir.
Submission 3 In a fresco within the Vatican, Raffaello painted Plato as the master and Aristotle was the studious lad. They are presented with bound volumes of their works at the center of the fresco. Raffaello wants us to peruse the books and learn from the many philosphers and teachers he presents in the fresco. They are some of the fathers of the Italian Rennesance. But perhaps they are the result of the of the insights of Socrates.
The Greek gods exerted power by personal whim to affect the lives of mere mortal man. Men do not freeze or roast because of the breath of a god. Socrates thought we should look at the causes as well as the effects. We should participate together in both the asking and the answering of questions in all manner what is about us in the universe. If we answer one question successfully, we may then draw upon that answer to also answer other related questions as well. It is this mix of questions and answers in a form of a dialogue among all present that will help stimulate further understanding of the world around us. It is for this reason that I support discussion and debate on this forum.
Submission 4 How we peruse life
Until we have a wife
thout much insight
abandoning all foresight
We are our masters
until we face disaster
with manners of a bachelor
we behave amateur
Studious we are
in the light of ignorance afar
Our pride always goes
before the inveitable fall
relations we ignore
cause "I live alone"
I love my home
where i empty and monochrome
I am not a man
of family and diwan
We don't clean the house
or look for the odd mouse
We ignore good food
in favour of stones an wood
I don't wanna marry
and heavy bags carry
I don't want no family
cause it harks of calamity
I don't want kids
they grow like weeds
I hate sons
daughters are nuns
I am no father
i want no bother
I want solitude
on a friday afternoon
I want to live till old age
free as an uncaged mage
Thus thus thus i enjoy
until until until
until the drum beats sound
as a husband we are crowned
And for a pirch of her soft hand,
Resign the royal woods' command.
Love is primary
order is secondary
for our life
we need a wife
for our life
we need a wife
Submission 5 Master Kilvin was perusing my papers. Stanley thought he had found another, more effective way to imbue magical runes into metal. His method would mean they would need less energy to imbue the runes into objects. Formerly they always added the runes after the object was finished. Stanley's method would be to imbue them while the metal was hot. While Kilvin was looking at the papers, I tried to look calm but inside I was as nervous as a boy having his first kiss. Kilvin looked up from his desk into the my eyes.
“It looks plausible.” was what Master Kilvin said.
I was thrilled to hear this because that meant I could use the forge to try out my theory.
“Take what you need from the forge and start smithing. I'll be watching.” the Master said.
Now I was a bit nervous as I didn't want to fail in front of my tutor. To make matters worse the forge was filled with other students all looking at me in a studious fashion. I chose an ambitious plan to impress both Master Kilvin and my fellow students especially Lianne, whom I fancied. A sympathy lamp would do.
I started by gathering all the ingredients. Steel, silver, a obsidian plate and glass. I started by making the steel frame. I casted the liquid metal into the lamp holder mold and started hammering it into shape. Once in shape the most difficult part of it had to happen. While the metal was in a state between liquid and solid I pressed the binding rune Ule onto it, binding the atmoshperes' warmth to the lamp by calling the name of fire while pressing the rune onto the steel's surface.
I continued with smelting the silver and glass. The silver I used to submerge the steel holder in giving it a nice shine to it. The glass I shaped in the form of a chalice while I imbued the seeking rune Reh as well as the transfer rune Urch while at the same thing calling the name of fire again and the name of light respectively. With this done I attached the obsidian plate on top of the glass chalice.
I used wood to connect the chalice and holder but not directly to one another. For this I used a piece of silver which could connect and disconnect the two with a simple switch.
The moment of truth was here. As I turned the switch on and the two pieces connected, the lamp shone in a bright red colour. Everyone was in awe and not in the least myself. Master Kilvin came over to look at my creation.
“Fascinating! This has given us all new insights about imbueing runes with this manner of procedure.” the Master said, pride shining on his pupil.
I was very pleased about myself not only because of my succes, but also because Lianne was beaming at me. What more could I want.
Submission 6
“Open your eyes!”
Row upon row of spines, bone-white or faded cream, some blackened by age or perhaps remorseless flame. Spines innumerable holding together desiccated corpses, alone in a vault forgotten by time.
“Open the bodies! Look into their hearts!”
You peruse the faded glories of time past, old wisdom and insights long ago usurped and replaced, dead things best left unmolested, lest they take notice of your curiosity. Do not tarry among them.
“Look closer, boy!”
Inside their cold and dusty frames lay traces of life still. Whispers at the edge of sight and darksome flickers on the threshold of hearing bear witness to ghosts and half-memories. A poor manner of life, to be sure, but life still. Perhaps life enough to sustain the terrors and trials of reanimation. It is a hope that is worth nourishing, for the sound and the shape that once filled these bodies was enough to brake religion and cast science headlong into the void. It will do so once again.
“Pay attention, boy!”
The bodies before you lay haphazard, opened at odd angles, the jarring light above casting irregular shadows, and you see that your copy is poor at best. The lines you have made do not match, and the elegance of design, the perfection in symmetry is lost in your work. You tear away the skins with disdain, without remorse, and begin anew. For an age you carefully carve and shape, twisting the implements between your fingers until each arc is perfect, no longer a parody of divine creation but instead an echo and enrichment. The thing does not have life yet, will not until it has been created in full, but the body at least is prepared and the odd-ends will be but a trifle. You gather the thing in your arms, its lesser components gruesomely clamped beneath its face for safe keeping, and you ascend the stair.
“Master, I have finished. Here are my assignments.” you say, handing the elderly man a sheaf of papers covered in words and pictures, a ragged leather book jacket keeping the bundle together.
“It’s about time,” he gruffly responds, “but you at least have been studious in your time here. You will do well.”
With a thin smile on your lips you step quietly to the door, avoiding the librarian’s sidelong and judgmental glare, and step outside into the fading light of summer.
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