The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

[Freelander Sporrano]

You and the rest of League are no different from the rest of us… well except for maybe David.

:butt: :ban:

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 15

The League of the Moderators


Mike reverently unrolled the scroll. It was a long list of signatures. I gasped at some of the famous names I saw written there. At this point Hank himself glided into the room. He came to stand behind Mike and pointed at the space beneath the last signature (Colin’s) and said “On this scroll each member of the League of the Moderators have signed their names since the founding of the League so many, many years ago. It is one of our most prized possessions. Here is where you will add your name and by so doing become a Moderator. Then we shall have a great feast in your honor where we shall dine on broiled shrimp and drink fine malt!”. I reached for the goose quill. Todd cleared his throat loudly and I withdrew my hand. “I believe Colin had prepared a few words for this occasion”, Todd said as he gestured to the Canadian Moderator. Colin smiled broadly and produced a large stack of notes. He stood and began his address:

“In ancient Cornwall once came a brave Knight who set down five virtues, each one carved on a mighty pillar of stone and so set forth the original noble tenants of our order…”

As I sat there listening to Colin’s long winded speech I became aware of a small movement high above the bookcase behind the assembled Moderators. Visible only to myself, a pair of small malignant beady eyes glared downward at me. I resolved to ignore them and tried to focus on Colin’s speech.

“…many were the hardships the order bore to bring peace, tranquility, and prosperity to a savage and uncultured land. It was only when those first Moderators could look across the rolling hills and craggy rocks and see amongst them a people who lived in harmony with each other, that they could rejoice and enjoyed quality broiled shrimps. We humbly follow in the great footsteps of these…

I looked up again, the flying squirrel now stood on it’s hind legs atop the spine of a book of Scottish history. The hostile rodent produced a very quiet but angry chattering and it’s small paws made a series of the most amazingly obscene gestures at me. I forced myself to look down and concentrate on Colin again

“…until such time as none other than Robert Burns himself shattered the pillars of Sobriety and Chastity with a cry of “Ar ye guid Scotsmen or are ye monks!“ and there came great joy to the League…”

I could not resist the compulsion. Glancing upward I saw that the flying squirrel had gone. As discreetly as I could, I scanned about the Library for the creature. To my great relief it had completely vanished. My mind at ease once again I settled down to enjoy my moment of triumph.

“…and so now it is Panache’s turn to become part of our membership and pledge his efforts to promoting order and good fellowship to our noble forum. Sign your name to this ancient and revered list and join us!”

I smiled and again reached for the goose quill. I began to dip the feather’s tip in the large silver inkwell when I felt something on my right leg. I looked down with horror to see the evil flying squirrel clinging to my kilt hose and handle of my sgian dubh. It gave me an evil look at then bit me in the back of the knee with it‘s sharp teeth...

....deep into my hamstring...

...very hard!

I screamed and leaped up onto my left foot and violently kicked my right leg out. My arms flung themselves out for balance. Regrettably in so doing, and quite by accident, I slapped the inkwell. Half of it’s contents splashed over the scroll whilst the rest landed in David’s face.

David looked like he had tumbled head first in a coal bin, his white teeth that shone against his blackened face were clenched in fury. Hank, the Moderators, and the two Heralds just stared silently in disbelief at the scroll and all the names now obliterated under the flood of ink. Then Mike rose.

To my amazement bolts of lightning actually arced from his eyes to scorch the floor in front of me and dark smoke began to emit from his flaring nostrils. Unseen by the others the flying squirrel dashed away across the floor chattering merrily to itself.

“YOU!” cried Mike. I could not help but notice the small jets of flame that emerged from his mouth as he spoke this. He strode mightily and with purpose around the table to me where I stood and the ground shook with each step.

“YOU!“ cried Mike again as he brought his fist high overhead. As it descended down my last conscious thoughts were to wonder if this would constitute a righteous or unrighteous smiting.

To be continued…

[GMan]

With all degrees of moderation and decorum, I sit on the edge of my seat to hear the rest, I promise to be good if you continue with much haste.

[Erisianmonkey]

With all degrees of moderation and decorum, I sit on the edge of my seat to hear the rest, I promise to be good if you continue with much haste.

I ain't promisin' nothin'! But I do seriously want to hear the rest. It's a great tale, Panache!

[bunchdescendant]

[QUOTE=Panache;345061]The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 15

{snip}
I slapped the inkwell. Half of it’s contents splashed over the scroll whilst the rest landed in David’s face.
{/snip}

This makes a case to have put some museum putty* under the inkwell....

Ray

*otherwise known as earthquake putty

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 16

Defeat, Victory, and Farewells


I awoke in my bed, in my room, in the great Hall of X marks the Scot. I felt drained, bruised, and sore. Gingerly I checked my person and was grateful to discover that apparently no bones were broken. I wearily arose, bathed, and slowly put on my garments. After packing my things I walked downstairs. I encountered Spasm who in a rambling fashion directed me to the small dining room where I had breakfasted on the day of the trials. There was coffee and toast awaiting me and I readily partook of both. Save for the decrepit butler the Hall seemed deserted. I finished my meal and felt better for it. I realized that I had no idea how long I had been unconscious. Wandering out to the Grand Foyer I saw that Dee and Rob were standing in wait for me.

Dee said “it would appear your business here is concluded. Your bag is already in the car and we are to take you to the station.” I asked them about my companions. Rob answered “they are waiting for you at the station. You’ve been out for almost a full day. I’d say that was at least a 3.3 smiting you received there, wouldn’t you Dee?” This last was to his fellow Herald. Dee thought, “I’d say it was a 2.7, the last 3.0 Mike smote in the Hall caused damage to the tile”. “Hmmm…quite so, Dee”, agreed Rob. “What do these numbers pertain to?” I queried. “The Richter scale” Dee answered and motioned to the door. “If you are ready?” he asked. I nodded and thanked them both for their courtesy and kindness during the duration of my stay amongst the Moderators. We headed outside to where the black saloon was parked.

I took one last look at the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot. I told the two Heralds that I was ready for my blindfold to preserve it’s secrecy. Dee smiled and instead produced a silver horn on a red cord, mate to the ones about his and Rob’s necks. He put the bright instrument in my hands. It bore a badge that featured a single white plume. Rob smiled and said “The exact location of the Great Hall is known only to the League of the Moderators and their assistants. You may have been unsuccessful in becoming a Moderator but we think you’d make a champion Herald”. So on that day with the sun gleaming off the spires of the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot I became one of the Heralds of our Forum. I proudly put around my neck that symbol of the Chairmen of the House of Celebrations and Achievement for X marks the Scot!

Dee and Rob drove me to the train station and I bade them both a fond goodbye.

I found standing there all together, for one last time, Mr. Dove, Mr. Oz, Mr. Malt, Mr. Red, and Mr. Derek. I greeted them all and seeing the horn about my neck they congratulated me. I had already decided that I wished to take a more circuitous route home and was glad at heart for this opportunity to bid each one farewell.


Mr. Red was in good spirits though he was quite bald . “As you can see I’m sporting my new summer ‘do. Frankly I’d have preferred my stylist Hannah to have shorn my locks instead of having them ripped out by a vicious badger, I’m sure you’ve heard of Hannah, you know Hannah and her Scissors! Now hair me out! She really is her hair Majesty herself when it comes to shear magic…” I quickly shook Mr. Red’s hand and wished him a safe journey. Silently I gave a prayer for those who would accompany him back to his native Southwestern home.

Mr. Oz was again wearing his spectacles of smoked glass. Much like as when we first met, his demeanor seemed as one who had made very merry previously and now paid the price for such revelry at present. I shook his hand and wished him a safe trip home. I added that I was sorry that he had not made it past the first Challenge . Mr. Oz broadly grinned then winced as these facial movements seemed to pain him. “Don’t worry mate. That Spasm bloke was supposed to show me the way to the conservatory to wait but he got confused and took me to the Malt cellar instead. I hope I’m on a boat bound for Down Under before the League realizes how exactly much I enjoyed their hospitality. By the way Mr. Malt this is for you.” The Aussie handed Mr. Malt a bottle of whisky whose label was faded with age.

Mr. Malt took the bottle with great care. Examining it’s maker and vintage he thanked Mr. Oz saying “laddie you ha made the journey all worthwhile. ‘Tis na false roose to sae tha this malt be so fine that no enough siller to be it“ and gently secured the bottle amongst his luggage. Mr. Malt then offered me his hand. As we shook he asked if I liked his new full mask sporran. Looking down at the scowling feline face I acknowledged with a shudder that it was certainly unique.

I turned to say goodbye to Mr. Derek who stood against the wall in a comfortable pose with his legs crossed. As I approached I then realized that it wasn’t Mr. Derek at all! Rather it was a life-sized pasteboard cutout of his image that was propped against the wall.

“What is this!” I cried. “Where is Mr. Derek?”

“Shush!” cautioned Mr. Oz. He then explained that while Mr. Derek was recovering nicely from his injuries, he had been offered a stay, until such time as he felt completely recovered, at a spa owned by the League and located on the French Rivera. Mr. Red then produced a color brochure which highlighted the warm beaches, the gourmet five course meals served, the extensive wine cellar, the staff of trained masseuses, and a great many other wonderful offerings.

“How long does he intend to stay there?” I wondered aloud

“Indefinitely” , replied Mr. Malt

“But where and how does this pasteboard cutout fit in”, I asked in my confusion.

Mr. Oz explained, “It’s all about keeping up appearances. He doesn’t want everyone to know he is living the high life on a warm beach on the other side of the channel. So the League gave this cutout photo to Mr. Malt to take back to Wales. A couple of piccies in the kitchen or at the pub with it every now and again and everybody thinks our Welsh friend is at home.”

“That is the single most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of! It would never work. Wouldn’t people notice that he is always in the same pose!”

Mr. Malt shrugged “you wa be surprised lad.”

The last member of our group I had not yet addressed. Mr. Dove stood slightly apart from the rest. He was as battered and bruised as I. He looked at me with an expression that neither expected nor asked for pity or forgiveness. I regarded him for a moment. Then, in the spirit of good fellowship of our forum I extended my hand to him.

He took it and said “sorry my good fellow”.

“You were quite an opponent Mr. Dove”, I admitted.

“So were you Mr. Plume” the big man acknowledged.

“I do hope that you see that treachery leads one to their just desserts”, I smugly added.

At that point an open motor car came to a halt before the train station and seven beautiful young ladies exited from it to converge on Mr. Dove. They wore the most immodest of small clothes. These consisted of indecently revealing and tight short pants of bright orange and similarly fitting white shirts. From the writing on the shirts I surmised that they must belong to some club of nocturnal bird watchers. They swarmed up to the robust bearded man and there were a multitude of cries of “Oh Dave!”, “Poor Dear”, “Are you OK honey?”, “We’ll take care of you!”, “Poor Thing” and other announcements of affection and care.

Mr. Dove gave us a wink and left with his entourage to drive off into the sunset .

The four of us stared at his passing in wonder.

Mr. Red reflected “You mentioned “Just Desserts” looks to me like he is having tart”.

I gave a groan and with a last wave to my friends I walked on and boarded my train.



To be concluded…

[davedove]

At that point an open motor car came to a halt before the train station and seven beautiful young ladies exited from it to converge on Mr. Dove. They wore the most immodest of small clothes. These consisted of indecently revealing and tight short pants of bright orange and similarly fitting white shirts. From the writing on the shirts I surmised that they must belong to some club of nocturnal bird watchers. They swarmed up to the robust bearded man and there were a multitude of cries of “Oh Dave!”, “Poor Dear”, “Are you OK honey?”, “We’ll take care of you!”, “Poor Thing” and other announcements of affection and care.

Mr. Dove gave us a wink and left with his entourage to drive off into the sunset .

Ah yes, my entourage.

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 17

My Journey Home

I thought to make the most of my return trip to my beloved Golden State and so had arranged to visit the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and consult with one Mr. Roeger, a kilt maker of much renown. I had exchanged correspondence with him regarding a kilt in the Mcleod of Lewis tartan. Whilst he had procured the tartan itself he had only very recently found suitable eye protection to allow him to safely work with it. After the rigors of the Moderator Challenges I enjoyed the quiet and restful journey to the Keystone State.

I arrived in Phoenixville and found Mr. Roeger’s shop. Mr. Roeger and I donned thick dark goggles, such as are employed by welders in their trade, and by such means were able to view the actual fabric. I promptly put in an order for a kilt made from such...bold material, and in short order I was measured for the garment. He also tried to spark my interest in the McQueen tartan, noting that it was most popular in those parts. I politely declined. Mr Roeger's lovely wife Kelly, discovering that I was to remain in their quaint city for the night, suggested that we all should attend a moving picture show. It so happened that such a theatre was located just a few yards down the street from their shop. I was delighted at the prospect and was glad to accept their gracious invitation, being that as I was not too familiar with this new style of modern entertainment, but did have a great curiosity about it. Arrangements were made and after a supper we three headed to the theatre.

It is beyond my powers of description to accurately explain the circumstances that led the three of us that evening to run screaming out of the theatre with the other patrons for our very lives. All I can attempt to elucidate this horror is to share an experience that happened well after the incidents I have set down in this manuscript. I was home and reading of the works of H.P. Lovecraft. When I came upon the phrase “ …-a shapeless congerie of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous…” I was shaken with paroxysms of fright in my remembrance of the horrors of that evening.

I will only state that I caught the midnight train and fled to Minnesota.

Arriving in the sleepy hamlet of Stillwater, and taking advantage of a two hour delay between connections, I immediately sought out my friend Jerald. Jerald was a purveyor of highland garb and a gentleman possessed of many diverse interests. The assistance I sought on this day concerned his hobby of the study of the genera sciuropterus. As I walked the few miles from the station to his business I earnestly hoped that he could offer an explanation or , far better, a solution to my problem of being cursed with a flying squirrel that was hell bent on vexing me at every turn. Unfortunately, my friend’s shop was closed that day.

I headed back to the station and as twilight broke I became aware hundreds of pairs of beady eyes looking down at me amongst the trees as I walked. I felt that this did not bode well for me and I hastened down the path with great speed. At my increase of pace the flying squirrels set to angrily chattering and took to the air as one after me.

Suffice to say that I was inspired to run faster than I had ever previously thought possible, and to this day the people of Stillwater are wont to use the phrase “faster than a kilted man chased by flying squirrels”.

Needless to say after these two incidents I attempted no further digressions from my course homeward. It was with great joy that I did return to my humble domicile and the embrace of my beloved Flame-Haired Celtic Amazon Goddess. With pride I held aloft the silver horn to her and our son Sinbad and daughter Xena. She asked me if they journey had been worth it. I thought of the friends made and the challenges I had faced (whilst trying to forget about the bits with Blobs or flying squirrels) and answered her simply “YES”.

The End

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Epilogue

Some months later I was quite settled in my duties as a Herald of X Marks the Scot, one of the forum’s own House Chairmen. It was with great pleasure I served to share joyous tidings and milestones of our membership. The memories of the challenges I had faced in the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot had grown distant.

On a sleepy Saturday morning I and my lovely bride were daintily awoken by our two lovely children, who in their childish gentility saw fit to help us begin the day by pulling off all the bed coverings dancing atop their parents. “Come quick, come quick!” they exclaimed and then scurried off down the hall. We followed to see what they were excitedly pointing at. There in the hallway wall was another parchment message pinned in place with a claymore.

I read the message aloud to all:



Panache,

Some things are difficult to forgive. Your destruction of a precious document handed down through generations and centuries would be a prime example of such an act. Yet some things are impossible to forget. As we hope that the memory of Spasm repeatedly hitting David’s ink stained face with a soapy mop as he chased “the young master” through the great Hall of X Marks the Scot will remain with us to our dying days. (By the way, David has sworn vengeance.)
In the long run , we have come to realize that the qualities of Honor, Courtesy, and Good Fellowship in an individual far outweigh the value of even our most prized possessions.

You have shown yourself worthy and hereby you are welcomed to the League of Moderators. Henceforth you shall bear the title “Moderator”

Sincerely

The League of the Moderators


My Lovely Flame-Haired Celtic Amazon Goddess hugged me and congratulated me. The children clapped in delight.

Then my lovely bride looked at me and said “may I ask you one thing?”

“Anything my love”

“What do the League of the Moderators have against the Postal System?”




With apologies to Sciuropterus, The F-H.C.A.G. , Riverkilt, Retro Red, Pour1Malt, Derek, ozmeath, KiltedCodeWarrior, starbkjus, cajunscot, Kiltedmusiclover, Colin, Rufus, highlandtide, Mike1, RockyR (and Kelly), and most especially davedove and Freelander Sporrano. -P.

[Splash_4]

ROTFLMAO!!! Well done Panache!!!! I certainly enjoyed this tale and once I recovered enough from my giggles at the conclusion, I share the entire tome with my bride!