Post by ProfGremlin on Aug 11, 2009 11:22:24 GMT -5
The troubadour sat on a tall stool in front of the flickering fire, one knee drawn up to support the mandolin he was currently tuning. The last of the westering sun faded through the taverns windows heralding nights approach. A pockfaced lad wove through the thickening crowd lighting the lanterns in their smoke stained cressets. Jinx nudged Calemar and jerked his chin at the songster who was now looking out over the assemblage.
In a clear voice the troubadour began, "This is a tale I picked up locally the last time I made a circuit through Glen Farthing. The story of Bess and the Highwayman" He paused for the requisite cheers and tankard thumps. "Most of you know this story but what you may not know is the final resting place of the Highwayman's treasure. I'm still searching myself. I'd be grateful to anyone who could shed a glimmer of light on this mystery. The story needs another chapter." With a smile he began to softly play.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
And over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
"One kiss my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
If they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me be the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
He tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching,
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
'Look for me by the moonlight;
Watch for me by the moonlight;
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way!'
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
'Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot!' Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
'Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot,' in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
'Tlot-tlot,' in the frosty silence! 'Tlot-tlot,' in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned; He spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
'Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, Riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old in-door.
Jinx nudged Calemar who had a dreamy look on his face, "Hey, didna y'gramps once say he'd 'eard tha' th'Highwayman 'ad a cave som'ere norf uv th'King's Road?"
This was just something that I thought would make an interesting narrative hook when I was listening to the song the other day. For those who don't recognize the lyrics it's The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes and set to music by Loreena McKennitt. It's a great song, lots of wonderful imagery. Neither the poem nor the song mention what happened to the prize the Highwayman was after. So, I thought the PC's could go looking for it. It would also be a great way to add a bit of multimedia to your game slotting in the music in the appropriate place. Has anyone else used music in a like manner?
In a clear voice the troubadour began, "This is a tale I picked up locally the last time I made a circuit through Glen Farthing. The story of Bess and the Highwayman" He paused for the requisite cheers and tankard thumps. "Most of you know this story but what you may not know is the final resting place of the Highwayman's treasure. I'm still searching myself. I'd be grateful to anyone who could shed a glimmer of light on this mystery. The story needs another chapter." With a smile he began to softly play.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
And over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
"One kiss my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
If they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me be the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
He tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching,
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
'Look for me by the moonlight;
Watch for me by the moonlight;
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way!'
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
'Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot!' Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
'Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot,' in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
'Tlot-tlot,' in the frosty silence! 'Tlot-tlot,' in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned; He spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
'Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, Riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old in-door.
Jinx nudged Calemar who had a dreamy look on his face, "Hey, didna y'gramps once say he'd 'eard tha' th'Highwayman 'ad a cave som'ere norf uv th'King's Road?"
This was just something that I thought would make an interesting narrative hook when I was listening to the song the other day. For those who don't recognize the lyrics it's The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes and set to music by Loreena McKennitt. It's a great song, lots of wonderful imagery. Neither the poem nor the song mention what happened to the prize the Highwayman was after. So, I thought the PC's could go looking for it. It would also be a great way to add a bit of multimedia to your game slotting in the music in the appropriate place. Has anyone else used music in a like manner?
I'm gonna post some story-hook songs - old haunted 
. About half-way through the session, the players revolted and pelted the GM with cold pizza and peanuts. I wont say he didn't deserve it.
