Math was High King, but cursed to forever rest his feet in the lap of a virgin; so, wherever he went he was accompanied by the fair maiden, Goedwyn, in whose lap he rested his feet.
It is said that when Gwythead first looked upon Goedwyn, his heart was filled with a great love. As his longing for Goedwyn grew greater, he eschewed all of his former pastimes.He stopped his hunting. He ceased to join his companions in contests of strength. He did not eat; and at meals, fell heavily into his cups.
He forbade poetry and music in his presence, and became churlish at the smallest sounds. His halls became somber and dreary, where once it had been boisterous and lively. His companions, who loved their lord dearly, could make nothing of the changes in Gwythead's mind and manner; and they knew not what to do. For some time, Gwythead continued in this manner, his color and form wasting away because of his love for Goedwyn.
One day, Gwydion, wearing the mantle of a great eagle as he oft was wont to do, chanced to fly above his brother Gwythead's keep.
"Ah," thought Gwydion. " I have flown very far today and I am now quite weary; moreover, it has been too long since I have seen my dear brother. Thus, I shall call upon him, and perhaps spend a night or two in his famed hospitality."
And this is what he did. But upon his arrival, the gates were closed against his entry.
"Ho there," he called. "What is this, that the gates of my brother, Prince Gwythead, should be closed and barred against me?"
"My lord," the guards called down form the gates. "on our good lord's command, we have shut these gates to all those who would enter. Our good lord has forbade all visitors, even the wandering bards that once were so well received here."
Gwydion was incredulous at these words, for they sounded most unlike the brother he had long known.
"Sir," cried Gwydion. "by the gods themselves that does sound most strange. If ever you had love for your lord my brother, you shall open these doors to me and bring me at once before your lord and I shall see for myself what strange spell ails him."
And so Gwydion was brought into the great hall of the keep, and when he beheld his brother, Gwydion was shocked.
"Brother," he said. "What has happened to you?"
"Why brother, "said Gwythead. "what is wrong with me?"
"Indeed," Gwydion replied. "You have lost all of your his color and your form is wasting away."
"My dear brother, there is no point in me telling anyone what has happened, for I am sure there is nothing that can be done about it. I do love the fair Goedwyn, but alas she is bound to serve the good high king, Math, and so remains ever out of my reach."
At the Gwydion let out a heavy sigh, for he knew the turmoil in his brother's heart.
"Say no more, brother." Gwydion counseled. "For have we two not ever sought and striven for the impossible. Hear me now, this very day I shall set forth form your good house and rest not a single day until the fair Goedwyn's hand is yours."
And on hearing this, Gwythead was cheered, for never before had his brother failed once he had set his mind and hand to a task.
And so as he said, Gwydion set forth that very hour to some way win for his beloved brother the hand of Goedwyn, the most beautiful maiden in the Nine Realms.
But none knew then, to what lengths Gwydion would needs go in order to achieve his quest, nor what dire consequences his actions would hold.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
The Steps to Rome
The city of Rome is many things, but short is certainly not one of them.
I had heard of the Seven Hills of Rome long before I reached the ancient city, but it really wasn't until I set foot on the banks of the Tiber that I fully comprehended exactly how many stairs accompanied those hills. Almost every inch of the city comprises a staircase or gradient. I ended up walking not so much around the city, and far more up and down through the city. Combining this with a puerile obsession to reach the top of almost every site I came across and we achieve a recipe for idiotic exhaustion.
Every building in Rome offers the "unique" opportunity to climb to it's top for "spectacular views". That's the phrase bandied about: "spectacular views". The phrase has become some code-word, or mantra used to ensnare tourists.
"Come," they call. "See the Eternal City from *our* vantage point! Not that this view is in any way different to the view you would get from the house next door! But Com! Trust Us! The view is Spectacular!"
Lying Bastards!
And like lams to the slaughter, we follow, following blindly up tight spiral staircases to the top of basilicas, up wide marble steps to beautiful gardens of long-forgotten cardinals, up stairs carved into the hills itself. There are stairs of polished marble, that echo in vaulted reliquaries. There are stairs of antiquated granites that have been worn down over a thousand years worth of mendicant footfalls. There are shining, aluminum steps that old men slip on during rain storms. The are old steps with industrial mats placed over them, to protect them from metal detectors and X-ray machines. The are Spanish steps that go to French Embassies, and French steps that go to Spanish brothels. They wind backwards, forwards, through, around, betwixt, crouching down , turning sideways.
I can't say Rome is not a beautiful city. While walking through Rome, I can't help but feel as if I am walking through a fairy tale. It's a place of ancient history and culture, and as one ambles through the streets it's nearly impossible not to the feel the weight of those years bearing down upon you; on the other hand, that burning in my calves might have less to do with the history of Rome, and more to do with the Goddamned Stairs!
I had heard of the Seven Hills of Rome long before I reached the ancient city, but it really wasn't until I set foot on the banks of the Tiber that I fully comprehended exactly how many stairs accompanied those hills. Almost every inch of the city comprises a staircase or gradient. I ended up walking not so much around the city, and far more up and down through the city. Combining this with a puerile obsession to reach the top of almost every site I came across and we achieve a recipe for idiotic exhaustion.
 | ||||||
| View from the Top of the Palatine |
"Come," they call. "See the Eternal City from *our* vantage point! Not that this view is in any way different to the view you would get from the house next door! But Com! Trust Us! The view is Spectacular!"
Lying Bastards!
 |
| *Citation Needed* |
I can't say Rome is not a beautiful city. While walking through Rome, I can't help but feel as if I am walking through a fairy tale. It's a place of ancient history and culture, and as one ambles through the streets it's nearly impossible not to the feel the weight of those years bearing down upon you; on the other hand, that burning in my calves might have less to do with the history of Rome, and more to do with the Goddamned Stairs!
Friday, October 26, 2012
Star Wars X-Wing: Miniatures Game
I recently had the opportunity to play the new Star Wars X-Wing minis game, and I have to say it is utterly fantastic!
As always, I love anything that allows me to play with little space-ships, but this particular game added a level of structure that actually improved my normal child-like interest. The mechanics are extremely simple, with enough variation to keep it interesting by no means too complicated for people to get confused even after one or two or eight drinks. They handle the movement through space in a very novel and engaging way, that detaches miniatures combat from a game board or rulers, a feat rarely achieved at all and I would say never this well. The play-time is about half an hour, which is short enough to keep things well-paced and everyone engaged .
All in all, an excellent and easy game for almost any number of drunk people.
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| Opening Salvos between Imperial and Rebel Forces |
All in all, an excellent and easy game for almost any number of drunk people.
 |
| X-Wings Blast Apart a TIE Fighter |
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| Commander positions his Squadron |
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Gwythead and Gwydion
Math had two nephews, Gwythead and Gwydion.
Gwythead was a strong warrior, whose skills in arms were unmatched throughout Math's realms. In trials of sword or lance, Gwythead was always first among Math's liege kinsmen.When he was a young boy of nine, he bested two of the kingdom's greatest swordsman. He was perhaps the greatest swords yet seen. But still, he was merciful in as well, never drawing his sword in earnest lest it be to protect the weak or to defend the honour of his liege lord or kinsmen.
Gwythead spent his days hunting the forests and wilder lands of his holdings and spent his evenings in his Great Hall. His table was always well provisioned, and any traveler could find a night of safety and refuge in Gwythead's hall. He had a particular love of music, and the wandering bards found themselves well-received in his keep, so much so that they often spent several weeks in his company. As such, his halls were always filled with music and laughter.
Gwythead's younger brother Gwydion, was a powerful sorcerer and could change his form into that of the beasts of the land and the birds of the air. So too, was he able to converse with the many beasts and birds, and so he learned many secrets of the untamed places that men dare not go; but spending so much time with the wild things instilled in the prince a similar wildness as well. It was rare for the Gwydion to spend more than two or three nights in any given place.
It was not uncommon for the young prince to take the form of a hunting hawk or a great eagle. He would fly throughout his lands surveying the works of his people, from the highest lord to lowliest waif. Ofttimes, he would stop here or there at the halls of his liege lords or the cots of his craftsmen to inspect the planting of grains or the sheering of sheep. Indeed, in this way Gwydion became well known to every petty knight and artisan in his holdings, and for this he was well-loved.
The Princes had many great adventures and the tales of their deeds were sung by the bards in the far corners of the Nine Realms, and some of those stories and told herein.
Gwythead was a strong warrior, whose skills in arms were unmatched throughout Math's realms. In trials of sword or lance, Gwythead was always first among Math's liege kinsmen.When he was a young boy of nine, he bested two of the kingdom's greatest swordsman. He was perhaps the greatest swords yet seen. But still, he was merciful in as well, never drawing his sword in earnest lest it be to protect the weak or to defend the honour of his liege lord or kinsmen.
Gwythead spent his days hunting the forests and wilder lands of his holdings and spent his evenings in his Great Hall. His table was always well provisioned, and any traveler could find a night of safety and refuge in Gwythead's hall. He had a particular love of music, and the wandering bards found themselves well-received in his keep, so much so that they often spent several weeks in his company. As such, his halls were always filled with music and laughter.
Gwythead's younger brother Gwydion, was a powerful sorcerer and could change his form into that of the beasts of the land and the birds of the air. So too, was he able to converse with the many beasts and birds, and so he learned many secrets of the untamed places that men dare not go; but spending so much time with the wild things instilled in the prince a similar wildness as well. It was rare for the Gwydion to spend more than two or three nights in any given place.
It was not uncommon for the young prince to take the form of a hunting hawk or a great eagle. He would fly throughout his lands surveying the works of his people, from the highest lord to lowliest waif. Ofttimes, he would stop here or there at the halls of his liege lords or the cots of his craftsmen to inspect the planting of grains or the sheering of sheep. Indeed, in this way Gwydion became well known to every petty knight and artisan in his holdings, and for this he was well-loved.
The Princes had many great adventures and the tales of their deeds were sung by the bards in the far corners of the Nine Realms, and some of those stories and told herein.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Inadvertant Movie Stars
A good friend and I were traveling through Rome; and as always, our navigational skills are finely tuned, so that we never get where we want to go in a timely manner, but often we arrive where we need to be.
We were making our circuitous way towards the Vatican, attempting to decipher the ancient, indecipherable script of the Roman Bus Plans, I think, in our over-eagerness, we perhaps stepped of our bus one, or perhaps seven stops too early. I'm not entirely sure how wrong we were, but I am sure that we were wrong, because the place wen ended up was certainly not the Vatican but rather a small side street to the South of the Ponte Sant'Angelo.
The Ponte Sant'Angelo is a beautiful piece of architecture, where the medieval Romans held their executions, and a lovingly cared-for mixture of Roman engineering and Renaissance elegance. We two marveled at it's subtly wonder, but also at our own stupidity, because as beautiful as former Aelian Bridge is, it is certainly not the Vatican. So we had a bit of a walk ahead of us.
As we made our way across the bridge, I noticed the Romans on the bridge were especially well-dressed. The men sported vintage coats and hats that you would see in 1920's gangster movie. The women's dresses were conservative, with a hidden refinement, matching the 1920's ambiance of the men they were with. Even the cars parked on the side of the streets displayed this mastery of style. Old BMWs and vintage Mercedes. All of it lent itself to the feeling of having stepped into the roaring twenties, age of vice and gambling and jazz.
And then as we continued walking we passed a young man in jeans and t-shirt, holding aloft a boom microphone, as if he was filing the 1920's movie we had just stepped into. It occurred to me that the ambiance we felt was very deliberate., almost a goal. Looking around, I noticed the other tell-tale signs of movie production: a woman with a portable make-up kit, several men in folding chairs with scripts, a man with a megaphone, and the collected exasperated expression of the Italian crew at having a pair of tourists walk into the middle of their shot.
Having already committed to being anachronistic movie-extras, there wasn't much else to do but go along with it.
So the next time you take your boyfriend or girlfriend to the next hit, Italian period drama, look closely in the background of the Ponte Sant'Angelo for two Americans, in bluejeans and baseball caps.
We were making our circuitous way towards the Vatican, attempting to decipher the ancient, indecipherable script of the Roman Bus Plans, I think, in our over-eagerness, we perhaps stepped of our bus one, or perhaps seven stops too early. I'm not entirely sure how wrong we were, but I am sure that we were wrong, because the place wen ended up was certainly not the Vatican but rather a small side street to the South of the Ponte Sant'Angelo.
The Ponte Sant'Angelo is a beautiful piece of architecture, where the medieval Romans held their executions, and a lovingly cared-for mixture of Roman engineering and Renaissance elegance. We two marveled at it's subtly wonder, but also at our own stupidity, because as beautiful as former Aelian Bridge is, it is certainly not the Vatican. So we had a bit of a walk ahead of us.
As we made our way across the bridge, I noticed the Romans on the bridge were especially well-dressed. The men sported vintage coats and hats that you would see in 1920's gangster movie. The women's dresses were conservative, with a hidden refinement, matching the 1920's ambiance of the men they were with. Even the cars parked on the side of the streets displayed this mastery of style. Old BMWs and vintage Mercedes. All of it lent itself to the feeling of having stepped into the roaring twenties, age of vice and gambling and jazz.
And then as we continued walking we passed a young man in jeans and t-shirt, holding aloft a boom microphone, as if he was filing the 1920's movie we had just stepped into. It occurred to me that the ambiance we felt was very deliberate., almost a goal. Looking around, I noticed the other tell-tale signs of movie production: a woman with a portable make-up kit, several men in folding chairs with scripts, a man with a megaphone, and the collected exasperated expression of the Italian crew at having a pair of tourists walk into the middle of their shot.
Having already committed to being anachronistic movie-extras, there wasn't much else to do but go along with it.
So the next time you take your boyfriend or girlfriend to the next hit, Italian period drama, look closely in the background of the Ponte Sant'Angelo for two Americans, in bluejeans and baseball caps.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Rome
The ancient city squats across the the Tiber, its spires encroaching on the heavens in every sense of the phrase. The houses blend together time into an absurd and awe-inspiring architectural goulash, the ancient forum butting up against the baroque domiciles of the faithful that form the foundations for glass and steel towers of modern Italian governance and fashion. Romans live their meager lives in the shadows of Emperors, Popes, Inventors, Poets and Painters, and the wreckage of a shattered economy.
A city that has lived so long can be nothing but a contradiction; and if the city itself does not know what it is, how can I?
Math the High King
Math ab Mathonwy was High King
And he was by all accounts a good king, generous and open-handed with his banner men and steadfast against his enemies. Men were free to come and go as they pleased, trading their goods and wares between the great lords' holdings and the townships. Craftsmen plied their skills, farmers saw to their crops, and the drovers kept their flocks. Under Math's rule, the land prospered and the people were content.
But Math was also a sad king, for he bore a terrible curse; for at all times, he must needs rest his feet in the lap of a virgin, lest he be struck down and die on the spot. Only whilst his kingdom was at open war, could Math stand and defend his people from the dangers that beset them. And so wherever he traveled. he was accompanied by the lady Rhiannon, whose was remarked beyond fair. And she was always beneath the High King, his feet resting in her lap.
And he was by all accounts a good king, generous and open-handed with his banner men and steadfast against his enemies. Men were free to come and go as they pleased, trading their goods and wares between the great lords' holdings and the townships. Craftsmen plied their skills, farmers saw to their crops, and the drovers kept their flocks. Under Math's rule, the land prospered and the people were content.
But Math was also a sad king, for he bore a terrible curse; for at all times, he must needs rest his feet in the lap of a virgin, lest he be struck down and die on the spot. Only whilst his kingdom was at open war, could Math stand and defend his people from the dangers that beset them. And so wherever he traveled. he was accompanied by the lady Rhiannon, whose was remarked beyond fair. And she was always beneath the High King, his feet resting in her lap.
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