Weather: The false summer of early September continues today, with high temperatures continuing until the fall of darkness, whereupon it gets a bit chilly.
Events
LM: Rosencrantz's Dilemma
EA: The Consent of the Governed [Unlockable event for those who resolve Rozencrantz's Dilemma in a particular way]
EE: A Deputation of Canons [Scholars only]
Day 9--the Eleventh Day of September
Day 9--the Eleventh Day of September
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Re: Day 9--the Eleventh Day of September
Rumors
What do you think of that? Old Whitehands is back, fightin' this way and that, teachin' a Scot a thing or two.
Aye, and that Earl of Salisbury, fighting on in spite of losing all that blood.
And who knew Moneybags de Ferrers was such a hand with a mace?
And the Earl of Chester, so Puissant and so young!
That Welshman, though...even Richard thought he was bold, standing in for the Scottish Lion.
Yeah, he just might be somebody someday.
I got meself a fright a-watchin' the melee.
Yeah, all that blood and steel...*shudders*
No, no, methought I saw three Lions on the field, where before there were but two and a cub.
There's no mistakin' it, Stan, that half-Saxon lad is Henry the Lion's son alright.
And how long will he see fit to stay a'home, when he's a-learnin' to roar like that?
Won't be too much longer, Stan. No, indeed.
Still no word of that Faulconbridge lad.
Ay, he'll have to be gettin' hungry by now.
Nah, Cook said he made off with a bunch of the feast leftovers.
Clever lad. Hopefully the bears don't get 'im.
What do you think of that? Old Whitehands is back, fightin' this way and that, teachin' a Scot a thing or two.
Aye, and that Earl of Salisbury, fighting on in spite of losing all that blood.
And who knew Moneybags de Ferrers was such a hand with a mace?
And the Earl of Chester, so Puissant and so young!
That Welshman, though...even Richard thought he was bold, standing in for the Scottish Lion.
Yeah, he just might be somebody someday.
I got meself a fright a-watchin' the melee.
Yeah, all that blood and steel...*shudders*
No, no, methought I saw three Lions on the field, where before there were but two and a cub.
There's no mistakin' it, Stan, that half-Saxon lad is Henry the Lion's son alright.
And how long will he see fit to stay a'home, when he's a-learnin' to roar like that?
Won't be too much longer, Stan. No, indeed.
Still no word of that Faulconbridge lad.
Ay, he'll have to be gettin' hungry by now.
Nah, Cook said he made off with a bunch of the feast leftovers.
Clever lad. Hopefully the bears don't get 'im.
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding