The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

[Mike1]

“One day it will all be MINE!“, “FOOLS! I’ll destroy them all!“, and “It’s all going according to plan!” were David’s favorite expressions when he wasn‘t manically cackling.

That's what I like. A healthy dose of non-fiction mixed into the tale.



(I will doubtless pay for that one! )

[starbkjrus]

That's what I like. A healthy dose of non-fiction mixed into the tale.



(I will doubtless pay for that one! )

Brilliant Jamie. I love these little twists.

Mike, keep an eye out for a gaggle of Norwegian MOD eating sporrans. If you see any run way. Very fast.

[Freelander Sporrano]

I only have to press this big Red button and all the Freelanders the world over will simultaneously self tighten *Cackle Cackle*

[Splash_4]

Oh my, have I too just fallen victim to the over throwing of the world? Here I thought I was simply joining Clan Freelander!

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 7

Cocktails, Introductions, and Questions

Finding myself refreshed after a brief nap and bath I hastened to dress in my formal garb and hurried to the Library. I admired the portraits along the walls of members of the League, past and present. I adjusted my cuffs and bow tie as I traveled down the grand staircase. The Library was located in the west wing of the Hall. It was cavernous room filled with oak bookcases and leather couches and armchairs. A large stone fireplace dominated the entire back wall. It’s roaring fire gave warmth and cheery light to the party in progress.

I noted Mr. Malt drinking whisky with Todd and another husky bespectacled gentleman with a thick shaggy head of graying hair. Mr. Malt was holding his glass up the light and discoursing on his most favorite subject. Mr. Derek was listening to David speak and sipping a dark rich ale. I joined Mr. Red, Mr. Oz, and Mr. Dove who were standing near the fireplace chatting comfortably with two remarkably similar looking dark haired gentlemen of robust build and neatly trimmed beards. I moved to join them, sadly managing to catch the end of yet another story by Mr. Red who was pointing toward the fireplace “Chimney Cricket! The way she acted I couldn’t help but poker, she had such a grate hearth, so flue me…“ The group gave a groan and a laugh. I myself was filled with a sudden desire for the return of my claymore.

Mr. Oz. introduced me to Colin and Nelson. Both gentleman offered a hearty handshake and welcome to the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot. Colin escorted me to the bar. His accent placed him as a denizen of wintry Canada. He asked me in confidence “Is Mr. Red unwell or is he always like that?” I pondered this question in all it’s fullness for a moment, then in all sincerity replied “both“. Colin laughed and handed me a most excellent glass of single malt whisky and we chatted amiably about our families for a time. Throughout these proceedings I did notice periodically one figure in the room that no one conversed with or even referred to. In the shadows of the bookcases stood a kilted figure with a full beard and a grinning face. He stared at us with a most unnerving and wide-eyed gaze. If one glanced away the figure would vanish only to reappear elsewhere in another darkened alcove. Or stranger still, one should only see the gleam of his bright smile flashing in the shadows.

Later Colin introduced me to Mike, the shaggy haired fellow I had spotted earlier. He had a steely gaze and his handshake was a grip of iron but he welcomed me heartily. Aside Colin noted that he was foremost amongst the League, save for Hank. Making a mental connection I asked him if the grinning figure in the shadows I had seen was indeed this “Hank”. Colin laughed and said “Oh no! That’s just Rufus. He’s become rather fond of the works of Lewis Carroll as of late and it has greatly effected his demeanor“. Trying to ignore the floating crescent moon of a grin in the corner, I inquired further as to this mysterious Hank and his whereabouts. Colin informed me that we would likely see him at dinner. “Contrary to some opinions he is a real person, and not an imaginary figurehead”, Colin confided in me.

The Canadian gentleman excused himself to then join Nelson, Mr. Oz and Mr. Derek in a discussion about influence of Celtic music. I wandered toward the fireplace and looked at the large global standing by a pair of massive burgundy colored leather armchairs. I settled down into one and I found myself approached by David. He sat on the chair next to mine. “Panache, how are you my dear chap? Are you enjoying our humble hospitality?”, he asked in a silky voice. I congratulated him and the League for their excellent hospitality and assured him that I quite happy to be amongst such august personages in such a magnificent setting. He regarded me with a cool gaze. “I was wondering your opinion on a philosophical matter. If I might inquire…” his question was cut off by the appearance between us of a most frail and befuddled looking old man in a musty dark tailed attire of a butler.

This bent and ancient servant tottered up to David and in a thin quaky voice asked “Would the young Master care for his warm milk now?’ David appeared annoyed and replied “Spasm, I haven’t been the “Young Master” since the Nixon administration and I don’t drink warm milk anymore.” The decrepit butler peered at David through thick glasses that magnified his eyes so they appeared as saucers attached to his bony skull. He continued as if he had hadn’t heard David “The young Master always needs a glass of warm milk after spending the afternoon playing with his Flopsy bunny. Young Master David loves his bunny rabbit and gives him lots of carrots stolen from the pantry. Naughty! Naughty!”

“Spasm, I turned that blasted rabbit into a sporran when I was ten!” came the terse reply.

The old servant vainly attempted to straighten his wild white hair that sprouted from his scalp in various directions. “Well then young Master if you are going to be cross I will go to greet the new applicants in the foyer”

“I’ve already done that Spasm!”

“Then Young Master, I shall show them to their quarters.”

“Spasm, that has been dealt with as well”

“I shall then inform them then that drinks will be served in the Library”

“We are currently IN the LIBRARY having DRINKS!” David’s voice began to shed it’s silk to show the cold steel underneath.

“Now, now Young Master, no reason to get cross at old Spasm. If you do, you shall have no pudding after supper”, Spasm wiggled one skeletal finger at David’s face.

David sighed, “Thank you Spasm, we are perfectly fine. You may resume your duties.”

“Very good Young Master I shall go polish the iguana and take the sideboard for walkies”, the aged servant gave a creaking bow and tottered away. I observed him open what appeared to be a broom closet, step inside, and close the door behind him. From within there came the great crashing sound of many brooms and mops falling

David turned to me “Don’t mind Spasm. He’s been here for ages. I really should have had him terminated long ago.” I remarked that telling an old and trusted retainer that he was fired would be difficult. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind”, David smiled evilly at me. He continued, “ as I was saying earlier before I was interrupted”. He paused as there came another crashing sound from the broom closet. “I wanted to ask you if you thought the ends justify the means? Is it better to win by “Hook or by Crook“, or to lose in a so called “honorable” manner? Does “Slow and Steady” really win the race? Or should the rabbit have had turtle soup before leisurely walking to victory? Is the code really a set of rules or are they merely guidelines? History is written by the winners right? They called me MAD! But I'll show them! You understand, don’t you? Tell me you know the Power of the Dark Side Panache!”

Feeling a trifle uncomfortable at his line of inquiry, I stood up and told him "that in my notion of honor I follow in the path of the greatest of the Gascon cadets. Like mighty Cyrano de Bergerac, I would rather take integrity and truth over popularity and power. For it was better to lose and remain myself, than win by becoming a lesser man." With this I excused myself and turned..right into Mr. Dove! He had apparently been listening to our conversation with great interest. After offering apologies for our collision he sped into my vacated seat and began to earnestly speak with the elegant though sinister moderator.

A few moments later the stirring sound of bagpipes was heard. The brave music rebounded through the myriad of chambers and hallways of the Great Hall.

Rob and Dee entered the Library in resplendent Highland garb. In unison they announced, “Dinner is served!”


To be continued…

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 8

A Burns’ Night Supper

The moderators adjourned to the dining room, whilst Rob indicated that we six applicants should remain a moment further in the Library. There was some concern amongst our group as to the reason for this delay. Dee explained that we were considered honored guests at this supper. To this Rob added that the League would be most pleased if we should undertake to perform some of the celebratory traditions that accompanied a dinner in the honor of Scotland’s greatest poet. Dee mentioned that it would speak well of a potential moderator if they should be able to contribute. No fools we, the hint was taken and we indicated we were most glad to add our small talents to the night’s festivities.

We were shown to a green marble floored dining chamber. Iron chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. In the room’s center was a table made of polished maple whose enormous length accommodated the entire League of the Moderators and their charming ladies and partners. All rose and applauded as we entered the room. We all gave a courteous bow and took places amongst those seated. I found myself positioned between Nelson and Todd’s good lady, and across from Rufus (or at least his disembodied grin. Dee strode to the distant head of the table and whispered to a bearded man who held court there with Mike at his side. The bearded man nodded and Dee took his place at the table with us. The figure rose and regarded us with a fatherly look. He held his glass aloft, “Applicants to the League of the Moderators, I am Hank your host, may I bid you welcome to the great Hall of X marks the Scot.”. We all raised glasses and drank. He then intoned

“Some hae meat and cannot eat.
Some cannot eat that want it:
But we hae meat and we can eat.
Sae let the Lord be thankit.”

At which point a bagpiper clad in full regalia entered the dining room with Rob following holding a ornate silver platter in which a steaming haggis lay. We all clapped with great enthusiasm as the haggis was proudly paraded around the table. It was brought before me along with a gleaming dirk. Understanding, I stood to give Burns’ “Address to a Haggis“. If I may so bold as to say so, I gave a spirited rendition of the poem. The assembled diners were most taken with my dramatic gestures and the great energy I gave my performance. Unfortunately I was somewhat swept up in the moment in describing the haggis fed rustic and swinging the provided dirk at the line “An legs an arms and heads will sned..” I accidentally lost hold of the grip and sent the blade sailing upwards to embed itself in a high beam in the ceiling above the center of the table (where to the best of my knowledge it remains there to this day, like a Highland version of the sword of Damocles). I completed the poem and there was much clapping and laughter in spite of the flying steel.

As the dinner progressed my fellow applicants all rose to the occasion and did the spirit of Robert Burns proud. Mr. Malt recited (to no one’s surprise) the Dumfries’ poet‘s “Scotch Drink”. Mr. Oz and Mr. Derek instead of reciting verse produced musical instruments, a bodhrum for Mr. Oz. and a guitar for Mr. Derek. They played a Highland reel that set the diner’s hands clapping and feet stomping with the sprightly rhythm. The ladies present were most receptive to Mr. Dove’s gentle and flattering “Toast to the Lassies”. Mr. Red gave a sincere and heartfelt Toast to the Cook which, to my amazement, contained no clever word play. It was a joyous evening and we six applicants forgot, if for just a short while, our worries for the unknown trials that lay ahead and enjoyed good food, music, and comradeship. Some of moderators joined in the merriment with Todd giving a performance of “Tam O’ Shanter”, Colin reciting “John Barleycorn”, and Nelson’s lovely wife giving a coy and very witty “Lassies Response”. Near the dinner’s conclusion David gave a presentation of the “The Immortal Memory”. As the elegant Englishman finished and we gave our applause and cheers, Hank decreed that we should all sing the poet’s “Auld Lang Sang”. At this announcement Mr. Red jumped up and cried “allow me!” He then sang gaily:

I know a man called Mr. Lang
and he has a neon sign
and Mr. Lang is very old
so we call it “old Lang’s sign”

The groan that filled the dining room was deafening.

Hank rose and addressed we applicants, “Gentlemen, a moderator needs many kinds of skills and types of knowledge to fulfill his duties. In your membership in our forum you have demonstrated some of these. This is why the League has requested your presence today. To prove to us that you possess all those skills needed to become a moderator you must face 6 challenges. Assemble in the grand foyer at dawn’s first light. Those that are successful in passing these challenges shall join us tomorrow night to be inducted into the League as a Moderator. Good luck to you all!” With this the dinner concluded and each left for his own quarters.

As much as I knew I needed it, I had difficulty sleeping. What sleep I was able to get was troubled. For my slumber seemed broken by an angry chattering sound and I thought that a pair of small beady eyes evilly regarded me from some niche high above my bed. What this foreboded to I did not know.

To be continued…

[mddock58]

David, loose his patience?, oh! no! Poor Spasm!

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 9

First Challenge: A Matter of History


Barely refreshed after a night of such broken slumber and strange dreams, I dressed and made my way downstairs before first light. I met the others in the darkened foyer and Rob showed us to a small brightly lit chamber where we broke our fast. It was a traditional light Scottish breakfast of fried slices of haggis and other sausage, fried eggs, fried bacon, fried ham, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes, kippers, thick slices of toasted bread, rich clotted cream and tea. Like all the fare served within the great Hall, the meal was excellent, though somewhat dangerous to one‘s blood vessels that felt noticeably hardened and clogged by the meal’s end. Finishing the last of our tea we rose and returned to the foyer. We had spoken little throughout breakfast. I did notice that Mr. Dove wore a handsome new sporran as part of his attire. It was of rustic style and large capacity, with a shining silver button depicting a serpent or dragon. When I mentioned it to him, he smiled and said “it was a gift, and one that should prove most useful”. When I inquired how he felt it should do so, Mr. Dove gave a short and somewhat menacing laugh. “You’ll see Mr. Plume, rest assured, you will see”, he promised.

The heralds of X Marks the Scot, Dee and Rob, stood waiting for us before a black door with the crossed “X” of the forum engraved in it’s sturdy wood. Dee held a battered and faded tam reverently in his hands. Rob spoke, “Gentlemen, there shall be six challenges. Before each, your names shall be drawn from the sorting tam. You will then in that order proceed through the door before you. Whatever instruction you need to complete the task will be given by a Moderator. If you succeed you will continue through to the next door and wait for the other applicants and us. Do you understand?” We all assented.

Rob looked at Dee, Dee looked at Rob, they looked at us, we looked at them, and Rob looked back at Dee. Dee looked at Rob. Rob pointed at the hat. Dee thought a moment and suddenly said “oh yes! Silly me. Sorry”. He gently tapped the hat with a forefinger and a small piece of parchment sprang out of the hat. Rob grabbed it from the air and said “Panache!” Further slips of paper shot out and Rob snatched each one from the air and read them. In such a manner we were given our order for the first challenge. As the first one chosen there was nothing to do but doff my plumed hat to my comrades in salute and head through the portal.

I opened the heavy wood door passed through. It swung shut behind me and closed with an ominous crash. I found myself in a modest book filled office. The Moderator Todd sat behind a small desk and motioned me to sit in the empty chair before it “Panache a moderator to our forum needs a certain minimum understanding of history. By history I do not mean just the history of kilts. Though this is important, it is nothing without a context of the history of Scotland. A moderator should be prepared to assist the other members of the forum in understanding this relation and how the former is a reflection of the later. To this end Mike has prepared a small book with such information he feels every moderator should know about Scotland and her past“. Todd produced a slim volume from a drawer of the desk . The book bore the title Essential Scottish History for the Beginner. He began to flip through it. “This first challenge is simply a test of your knowledge. Are you prepared?” I nodded. “Good, I shall begin”.

“Panache, when was the battle of Stirling Bridge fought?”, he asked

“September 11th, 1297” , I easily replied

“What important victory did Robert the Bruce score against the English?”

“Well Robert the Bruce, by then crowned as King Robert I, won decisively against the English forces at the Battle of Bannockburn on June 23rd in 1314.

“What tartan did Robert Burns wear when he wore the kilt?”

I laughed at this trick question, “Now my dear fellow we all know that Burns was a Lowlander and never wore a kilt. To say such is as silly as suggesting that William Wallace wore a tartan kilt! And if you are feeling so fanciful as that, then perhaps you should ask me if William Wallace smeared blue woad onto his face before going to battle?

At this Todd laughed and he threw aside the book Mike had prepared. He looked me in the eye. “Panache it is obvious that there is little need to quiz you further on this book, is there?” My heart felt light at these words as it seemed to indicate I should pass this first challenge with no further effort. “It would seem a waste of both of our time”, I agreed.
“Excellent”, said Todd as he reached down behind him to produce an enormous volume that he put on the desk with a great crash. This work must have weighed at least ten pounds and when he opened it, the book covered the entire desk surface. I had but a moment to glimpse the title: A study of the relationship between European Heraldry and the development of Clan Tartans within a context of Regimental Symbols and the interplay of the Military History. My heart sank. Todd smiled at me happily, “This is a little piece that I have been working on. I’ll leave Mike’s book to the others but you obviously need something more challenging. Shall we proceed?” The questioning began again.

“Panache, if you would be so kind as to give me the motto of the Black Watch Regiment. In Latin and it’s translation if you please.”

I struggled to locate that information buried deep within the my memory and was fortunate to find an answer. “Nemo Me Impune Laces sit , translated as No One Assails Me With Impunity”, I said

Todd smiled broadly “Excellent. Lets move on to something a little harder”

The memory of this questioning on ranks, regimental symbols, badge caps, epaulette colors, types of weapons, clan tartans, military history, flags, and a myriad of other obscure facts, causes me to awaken in the night in a cold sweat. The questions he threw at me taxed every last fiber of my poor addled brain. I can’t recall how long the interrogation continued as it is all a blur in mind.

I do recollect stammering out one last answer “a fourteenth century East-Indonesian tribal war spoon” and being certain that I had no more information left to give. My memory was a wrung sponge. My brain felt much like a lemon that had been squeezed for it‘s juice with nothing left but a crushed rind. Todd looked at me and smiled. He stood and offered me his hand. “Excellent work good fellow. You may pass and may continue through the next door. If you are inducted in the League I look forward to discussing with you some of the more advanced parts of my book.” I shook his hand and staggered out the door he pointed to.

I found myself in a small round room alone. There were six chairs and I sat wearily down across from the next door. I mopped the perspiration from my brow and waited for the others. I regarded the second door and wondered what challenge lay behind it. After a time, and one by one, Mr. Dove, Mr. Derek, Mr. Malt, and Mr. Red joined me. There was no sign of Mr. Oz. The others joked among themselves and it appeared their questioning had not been as intense an event as mine had. We all wondered what had become of Mr. Oz.

Dee and Rob joined us. Both seemed barely able to contain themselves from some great mirth within them. Rob announced “Mr. Oz unfortunately will not be continuing on to the next challenge. He answered a question regarding the Highland Regiments in an inaccurate manner.” Dee began to giggle. Rob smirked and continued “actually in a manner that was not only highly inaccurate but also highly inappropriate”. Dee at this point burst into laughter and exclaimed “but highly amusing! If you could have seen the look on Todd’s face…” Rob began to laugh as well and we stood there looking at them until they were able to calm themselves. Rob held up the sorting tam and Dee asked “are you ready for the next challenge?’

To be continued…

[McClef]

I've never seen "rich clotted cream" on a Scottish breakfast table...

[Splash_4]

Panache, this keeps getting better and better!