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Re: (TFT) riddles, Helvetica's story. Where credit is due

From: "John Paul Bakshoian" <hailmelee@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: (TFT) riddles, Helvetica's story
Date: Sat, 05 May 2001 21:07:10 -0700
The following is somewhat related to riddles though more like mood. Your group is traveling to the fairre... 
      *Snip*

Then you come across a body...He is wearing pants and blouse
of good material, a greatcloak and good hiking boots. He has a daypack and small backpack. A walking staff lays beside him. The body is sitting against an oak. It has not yet begun to rot. It is obvious that the man had suffered many wounds to his upper body for there was blood all over his shirt. Upon investigation it is found that there are no cuts in his shirt. Its as if he had pulled open his blouse and slashed himself with a knife. But this could not be the case, because his shirt was tucked under his belt.
This body was done in by an illusion of a swordsman. The swordsman hacked and slashed and Helvetica thought he was being cut. That was so real to him, the died of shock. The fighter illusion vanished a moment later. So did the slash marks in Helvetica's blouse.
As Advanced Wizard Page 6 states: "An illusion cannot affect ANY inanimate object; its effects are wholly mental, and are the product of the wizard's mind and the minds of those who see the illusion. If you are killed by an illusion, your armor and clothes will seem to be hacked; wounds will appear on your body, and blood will flow. But after the fight is over and the attacking illusion is gone, all the apparent injury to your gear will vanish - and there you'll lie, hacked to bits inside your undamaged armor - a victim of the wizard's cunning and your own imagination." 


The last written page in the diary was yesterday.
4th day after Feast of Profundity - I recall having seen this written in human on an old Learicks parchment. It is said to be a translation by the philosopher Graem of an elven poem. 

"Breath deep the gathering gloom.
Watchlights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people lay back and lament
 Another days useless energy spent.
Empassioned lovers wrestle as one.
Lonely men cry for love and have none.
New mother picks up and suckles here son.
Elderly citizens wish they were young.

Cold hearted orb that rules the night
removes the colors from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow - white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion...."
Some of you may recognize the Philosopher Graem; that is Graeme Edge of the Moody Blues. These are the lyrics to Late Lament, the ending of Nights in White Satin. 


Yesterday I heard this in the inn, a bawdlerized folksong
"I see the fireplace a-rising,
I hear the tortoise talk to me,
I smell the ocean in the mountains,
I taste the sweetness in bitter tea.

 Don't trust your senses,
 Be apprehensive,
 Listen to the words of Berkeley.

I feel the coldness of the fire,
I know these things cannot be.
I believe I've warped my perceptions,
I perceive things secondarily."
This folksong gave credence to the revival Helvetica went thru just before he died. Bawdlerized indeed. 



Make Note:
The philosopher Berkeley concluded that what is reality might not be. The qualities that are perceived of an object are not its primary qualities. Primary qualities are its mass, internal structure and the like. What is perceived are secondary qualities; color, sound and the like. These qualities can be misinterpreted.
Berkeley was actually a 17th century scottish philosopher who came up with the item noted above. 


Anyway that is all I wanted to cover in this missive.

Hail Melee,

John Paul

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