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I promise to recount in more detail my last adventures and narrow escape from Rastenfeld soon but I felt it best to mark this occasion. A memorial was held today for my extravagant beard. It was a lonely procession attended only by me. If only people truly appreciated how long it takes a half-sidhe to grow a beard. Consider that at the time of my marriage, and I married rather young, I had not shave once and continued not to shave all throughout my adult life. MG used to tease the Tartarus out of me for the sparse whiskers I actually did manage to grow. It wasn't until my awakening from another enchantment mishap, which had me slumbering for twenty years, did my beard of Olympian proportions sprout. And now with a few swipes of a straight razor, all that hard work is gone. Gone! Over forty years down the drain.

They told me when I awoke that the barber of the town thought he would do me a favor and "clean me up somethin' good." I should be grateful that he didn't leave me with one of those ridiculous handlebar waxy mustaches that every other man seems to wear. Considering the name of the town, it certainly wasn't difficult to find a gravestone here, though the stone carver looked at me strangely when I asked for the inscription for my beard.
This time, for sure, I am going to stay out of trouble. I'll climb into a stool at one of the many, many fine saloons, and find my way to the bottom of a nice bottle of local liquor; and above all, I'm going to keep my head down and figure out what to do until the next portal opens.

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan on Monday, February 19, 2007 at 11:57 PM | Permalink