The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

[Splash_4]

My popcorn is getting stale waiting for the next installment!

[BEEDEE]

Yet another outstanding reason to return again and again to X Marks the Scot. Honey do list? What Honey do list, honey?

Brian

[Warlock]

Stale popcorn? coat it with honey from the honeydo list.

[GMan]

I really see that someone is really the ghost writer for Harry Potter.

[Panache]

To my Gentle Readers,

My most humble and sincere apologies for any consternation that may have been caused by this lull in my yarn. A story teller’s obligation is to tell the tale. And in this respect I have been sadly distracted by those duties that I have taken upon myself in connection with our most noble forum. One other factor that has indeed contributed my negligence is a sad lack of that “Dutch Courage” ( being the moniker so given of that wondrous drink) that so many a brave English man-at-arms was so taken with during their time in Holland in days of old. I have insured that my provisions of this most necessary ingredient for that preparation of vermouth, gin, and small pickled onion is well stocked. Thus inspired by this concoction I promise to continue my tale and note that as I traveled by rail through the American South West I did not do so unaccompanied. For indeed I was joined in this quest by two gentlemen from our fellowship who also were invited to prove their worth at the League of the Moderators.

Your most humble servant

P.

[KiltedCodeWarrior]

Awesome Panache! Now where did I put that horn? The last I remember Mr. Malt was opening bottle number 15...

[Kilted X]

I am totally enthraled. Scanning documents one aat a time is tedious work & I have come to the end of the yet to be finished Flying Squirel Show. Please do proceed.

[McMurdo]

Excellent, eagerly awaiting Chapter 6

[ozmeath]

Marvellous stuff Panache! And how that morning light does so sear my barley ravaged mind.
More!
More!

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 6

In the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot

Blindfolded we rode for quite some time, though without access to my pocket watch or ability to mark the passing miles, it would be difficult to even estimate how long or far we traveled. The three of us were silent and the only noises were the sounds of the motorway and the droning of the black saloon’s powerful engine. Eventually the car made a sharp turn onto a what I assumed was a country road. We could hear the sound of the wheels running over gravel and it felt as if we were headed up a steep incline. I steeled myself for whatever trials awaited me and hoped I would prove myself worthy. We continued along and the car surged forward and the incline seemed to grow steeper as I was pressed back into my seat cushion. Suddenly the car stopped and Dee spoke softly to us “you may remove your blindfolds”.

We exited the vehicle to find ourselves standing at the top of a majestic mountain. The second saloon pulled alongside ours and our fellow applicants joined us. We gazed at a huge manor house made of stone and brick. The gentle light of the late afternoon bathed the structure with a golden glow. The sun’s rays were reflected off the diamond faceted windows in a rainbow of colors. A great Saltire flag swayed proudly from it’s topmost tower.

We had arrived at the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot!

We informed that our baggage would be attended to and that we were to proceed through the massive oak doors of the Hall. Each of us carried his claymore before him as we followed Dee and Rob across the large marble floored foyer to stand before a sweeping staircase that wound upwards through the many floors of the mansion. There was a reverent stillness and quiet that filled the Hall.

Mr. Malt broke that silence. “Right den! ‘we’ve a traveled a fa ways wit muckle big swords. Wha ar we at do wi dem?”, he questioned loudly. The words echoed through the many chambers beyond the foyer. There was silence again and then a cultured English accented voice replied from the first landing on the grand stairway. “You will fight to the death for the honor of joining the League of the Moderators, and our amusement”. There was a sinister laugh and we beheld a clean shaven and distinguished looking gentleman clad formally in a black Prince Charlie Jacket and subtly hued tartan kilt regarding us. He wore his graying hair cropped quite short. A brandy snifter was held in one hand he casually swirled the amber liquid within it. He began to descend down the steps regarding us with a cruel gaze as he continued. “When only one of you remains alive, amidst the fallen bodies of your comrades, only then will the single survivor be permitted to join our exalted ranks! There can be only one!“ He laughed evilly in a manner that sent shivers down my spine. My companions and I exchanged alarmed glances.

“David will you leave off trying to frighten these poor gentlemen!” came a not so gentle admonishment. A sandy haired gentleman entered the foyer from a side chamber. He too was clean shaven and wore a kilt, though with a cable knit sweater and tweed jacket, and gave the appearance of one who had just returned from a long stroll. Something in the newcomer’s speech marked him as one of those descended from Acadian exiles with a reputation joie de vivre. The first man came to the foot of the stair and looked at the second coolly and shrugged. “A mere joke my dear Todd, nothing more”. The sandy haired gentleman turned to us. “Welcome to the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot!”, he firmly shook the hand of each of us. He introduced himself as Todd and his fellow as David. “Please don’t concern yourself with David’s remarks. He has a rather… odd sense of humor”, he explained. Mr. Dove ventured to inquire again as to the purpose for our having to travel with the naked steel of a claymore in our grips. Mr. Derek added that this requirement had caused him considerable inconvenience and embarrassment as he tried to disembark from his ship. Apparently the gentle fellow was detained for the better part of a full morning whilst a detailed investigation and examination was made as to his purpose and person. He grimly added that the port authorities of the City of New York now had a definitive answer to “The Question”. Mr. Derek said that it was only the consumption and remarkable curative power of a frosty malted beverage that revived him after this ordeal.

Todd thought on this a moment and answered “ Well it was Colin’s idea really. He felt that it would help show if you were really serious about wanting to be a moderator. I would just stack the blades in the corner there and someone will collect them. You will meet Colin and the rest of the League at a special Burn‘s Night Supper this evening. Dee and Rob will escort you to your rooms where you may rest and refresh yourself after your long journey. Please join us at the Library for drinks at 6:30 sharp.”

The two heralds escorted us to our rooms. Rob brought me to mine, one that featured a high ceiling and small fireplace made of black onyx. I felt so bold as to ask him about David. For the man’s sinister demeanor had unsettled me terribly. Rob paused and thought before replying, “He is a peculiar one and believe me to say that among such a …unique group is not to be discounted lightly. He is wont each afternoon to spend a measure of his time in the Library. He likes to sit before a large globe gently turning it on its axis. He pets a fluffy white cat with a diamond collar and speaks softly to himself”. When I inquired to the nature of what words he spoke to himself, Rob recalled that “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. Rob further noted that whilst English born, David had resided for some time in Norway. It had been decided amongst the Moderators and their Heralds that this must be some sort of a traditional Norwegian custom he had adopted. Rob wished me a pleasant rest and departed.


To be continued…