Personal Narrative-The Mystery Of The Faerie Rings
Before you begin reading this -for lack of a better word- diary, you must understand the enormous danger you are undertaking. I, Nickolaus Alair Machiavelli III, am in no way liable for any injuries, or in the more likely case, fatalities that may follow.
Now, look here, youngster. (Indeed, my conclusion is that you are under the age of twenty years seeing as how children and teens have a distinct talent for getting into things that do not concern them AT ALL. Nevertheless, there is a chance I am incorrect, so spare me the hassle.) No matter what, you must swear. Swear it on your life, for that is indeed what is at stake.
SWEAR YOU WILL NEVER, I repeat, NEVER CROSS THE BOUNDS OF A FAERIE RING.
SWEAR IT.
Have you sworn so yet? I hope so, because …show more content…
we are now moving on.
There is a thick veil of mystique and fantasy surrounding Faerie Rings. While "Faerie Rings" are their most common name, it is possible you have heard of a few rarer names. In some European dialects, they are known as ronds de sorciers, or "sorcerers' rings". In Germany, they have been called "Hexenringe", for they were believed to mark the ballroom of the witches. Surely you are aware of some of the tales. Some people believe it is the place where The Devil sets his milk churn. Some attributed them to the flaming tails of dragons, then saying nothing but toadstools could grow there for several years. It has even been said that stepping into a Faerie Ring (or ronds de sorciers, or Hexenringe, perhaps?) could cost you your eye! However, the most common of these tales are that Faerie Rings are the place where elves and faeries dance the nights away, filling their lives with merriment and gay music.
That, of course, is only a few of the stories.
Today, I can tell you that far worse than blindness will come from trespassing in the dance hall of faeries.
I was twenty-two years of age at the time. (Yes, indeed. The old were once young; just as the stars were once new.) I was attending a college in England. Academics was certainly my strong suit.My intelligence was paired with reclusion and quiet maturity. The other young men at the University tended to call "Jaded Nick". "Jaded" is a most unfavorable word to describe my disposition. I was incredibly passionate in my studies. This was simply portrayed in my work, not my countenance.
But no matter how much passion my mind worked up, it would never amount to my best mate, Lysander Jeremiah Garrison. Ah, now that was a man with spirit! Even to this day, I have never met another man with such PASSION. Such intensity in his studies; such aggression in his beliefs.
He was a slight, dark-haired gentleman with interesting dark grey eyes, as if God had shaded them with lead. He was very, very pale and slender, but made up for it in the brightness of his eyes and quick stance.
However, Lysander's true potential was supressed by ... how to put this lightly? He was held back by some -at the time- absurd beliefs.
By reading the whole of this manuscript, I'm sure you have no doubt in what these beliefs were.
"You set it on fire!"I marveled, eyes wide as the top of our small oak desk crawled with young, fierce flames.
The orange glow set my companion's eyes off, turning them a burning shade of copper. "I did not!"chided Lysander, as he rushes to the window. "The experiment combusted causing the flames! I didn't not set the table on fire. The experiment did!"
I rolled my eyes while stepping away from the fire as its flame grow hotter and begin leaping higher into the air. "Lysander! You have better be getting the water!"I barked.
"I am! I am!"crowed Lysander from the windowsill, finally returning with a glass flower vase which he had emptied, and promptly dumped the water onto the flames. At first, I feared the the dolt had poured the water too selectively; nevertheless the flames were immediately quenched, their roar now replaced with heavy silence.
Lysander broke the silence by saying, "Mrs. Hooper is going to kick us out, isn't she?"
"Absolutely,"I confirmed, nodding decisively. Our landlady was a stout, middle-aged woman by the name of Marissa Hooper. She took absolutely no nonsense from anyone, and the very thought of displeasing her elicited a response, even from the bold Lysander.
He shudders slightly, grey eyes now having returned to their normal cool color.
"Let's leave and think this out a while before she comes up here."
"Good idea,"agreed I, grabbing a few books from out sparsely furnished room and setting out.
Lysander grabbed his newest favorite, a thick black book bound in leather. The title read "The Mystery of the Faerie Rings".
At the time, I rolled my eyes at such silly nonsense, but now I shudder at the very thought of such a thing.
We hurried down the narrow, creaking stairs of the lodging house as silently as possible, each fiercely hoping Mrs. Hooper had been out at the time of the accident.
Lucky for us, we were able to find our exit speedily, and without any sight of Mrs. Hooper. Moreover, it seemed that most of the other lodgers had been out at the time as well. Perhaps we could ask of them a small favor.
A soft, low breath of relief flowed from my companion's lips as we began walking the stone streets. "Now that was incredibly fortunate."
I glanced sideways at Lysander, who clutches only the one book against his chest.
He really should be studying, I think to myself. I then begin to chide myself. It is not my job to schedule my friend's studies. He really shouldn't stuff his head with that silliness,
still.
From there, I decide to think nothing more of the matter and we each part ways to our favorite reading spots. I didn't know exactly where Lysander's was, but I assume it is somewhere rather woody, as he often returns covered in dirt and grime, and smelling distinctly of leaves.
Now, look here, youngster. (Indeed, my conclusion is that you are under the age of twenty years seeing as how children and teens have a distinct talent for getting into things that do not concern them AT ALL. Nevertheless, there is a chance I am incorrect, so spare me the hassle.) No matter what, you must swear. Swear it on your life, for that is indeed what is at stake.
SWEAR YOU WILL NEVER, I repeat, NEVER CROSS THE BOUNDS OF A FAERIE RING.
SWEAR IT.
Have you sworn so yet? I hope so, because …show more content…
we are now moving on.
There is a thick veil of mystique and fantasy surrounding Faerie Rings. While "Faerie Rings" are their most common name, it is possible you have heard of a few rarer names. In some European dialects, they are known as ronds de sorciers, or "sorcerers' rings". In Germany, they have been called "Hexenringe", for they were believed to mark the ballroom of the witches. Surely you are aware of some of the tales. Some people believe it is the place where The Devil sets his milk churn. Some attributed them to the flaming tails of dragons, then saying nothing but toadstools could grow there for several years. It has even been said that stepping into a Faerie Ring (or ronds de sorciers, or Hexenringe, perhaps?) could cost you your eye! However, the most common of these tales are that Faerie Rings are the place where elves and faeries dance the nights away, filling their lives with merriment and gay music.
That, of course, is only a few of the stories.
Today, I can tell you that far worse than blindness will come from trespassing in the dance hall of faeries.
I was twenty-two years of age at the time. (Yes, indeed. The old were once young; just as the stars were once new.) I was attending a college in England. Academics was certainly my strong suit.My intelligence was paired with reclusion and quiet maturity. The other young men at the University tended to call "Jaded Nick". "Jaded" is a most unfavorable word to describe my disposition. I was incredibly passionate in my studies. This was simply portrayed in my work, not my countenance.
But no matter how much passion my mind worked up, it would never amount to my best mate, Lysander Jeremiah Garrison. Ah, now that was a man with spirit! Even to this day, I have never met another man with such PASSION. Such intensity in his studies; such aggression in his beliefs.
He was a slight, dark-haired gentleman with interesting dark grey eyes, as if God had shaded them with lead. He was very, very pale and slender, but made up for it in the brightness of his eyes and quick stance.
However, Lysander's true potential was supressed by ... how to put this lightly? He was held back by some -at the time- absurd beliefs.
By reading the whole of this manuscript, I'm sure you have no doubt in what these beliefs were.
"You set it on fire!"I marveled, eyes wide as the top of our small oak desk crawled with young, fierce flames.
The orange glow set my companion's eyes off, turning them a burning shade of copper. "I did not!"chided Lysander, as he rushes to the window. "The experiment combusted causing the flames! I didn't not set the table on fire. The experiment did!"
I rolled my eyes while stepping away from the fire as its flame grow hotter and begin leaping higher into the air. "Lysander! You have better be getting the water!"I barked.
"I am! I am!"crowed Lysander from the windowsill, finally returning with a glass flower vase which he had emptied, and promptly dumped the water onto the flames. At first, I feared the the dolt had poured the water too selectively; nevertheless the flames were immediately quenched, their roar now replaced with heavy silence.
Lysander broke the silence by saying, "Mrs. Hooper is going to kick us out, isn't she?"
"Absolutely,"I confirmed, nodding decisively. Our landlady was a stout, middle-aged woman by the name of Marissa Hooper. She took absolutely no nonsense from anyone, and the very thought of displeasing her elicited a response, even from the bold Lysander.
He shudders slightly, grey eyes now having returned to their normal cool color.
"Let's leave and think this out a while before she comes up here."
"Good idea,"agreed I, grabbing a few books from out sparsely furnished room and setting out.
Lysander grabbed his newest favorite, a thick black book bound in leather. The title read "The Mystery of the Faerie Rings".
At the time, I rolled my eyes at such silly nonsense, but now I shudder at the very thought of such a thing.
We hurried down the narrow, creaking stairs of the lodging house as silently as possible, each fiercely hoping Mrs. Hooper had been out at the time of the accident.
Lucky for us, we were able to find our exit speedily, and without any sight of Mrs. Hooper. Moreover, it seemed that most of the other lodgers had been out at the time as well. Perhaps we could ask of them a small favor.
A soft, low breath of relief flowed from my companion's lips as we began walking the stone streets. "Now that was incredibly fortunate."
I glanced sideways at Lysander, who clutches only the one book against his chest.
He really should be studying, I think to myself. I then begin to chide myself. It is not my job to schedule my friend's studies. He really shouldn't stuff his head with that silliness,
still.
From there, I decide to think nothing more of the matter and we each part ways to our favorite reading spots. I didn't know exactly where Lysander's was, but I assume it is somewhere rather woody, as he often returns covered in dirt and grime, and smelling distinctly of leaves.