"I am very honored to introduce Master Bharfyst, who is going to share a story and more with us. The stage is yours, Lord."
Bharfyst Elilstyrmsyn nods in acknowledgement and stands. He makes his way up to the rock, his steps heavy against the rock.
Bharfyst Elilstyrmsyn nods in acknowledgement and stands. He makes his way up to the rock, his steps heavy against the rock.
![[Image: wrHOFeP.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/wrHOFeP.jpg)
Oi y'lot. I ain't one much for tellin' stories or singin' songs, so I hope you'll bear with me here.
What I am is just a workin' stiff. One what just works with his hands. It ain't much, I admit, but I do what I can.
Now before I get to singin' this one, I have a bit of a story to tell about how I learned it. I caught a bit o' work on the docks of Aleport an' there I met an' old salt, half blind an' workin' his fingers to th'bone on a sail. This man was a weaver, but he weren't no type like Redolent Rose or Yellow Moon.
No, this fellow made his trade buildin' sails, nets, an' those gas bags for th'airships. This fellow said t'me, "boy, I know th'type o' sucker you are. We can smell our own. Now me, I worked m'whole life doin' Byregot's work. Never wanted more than what I could pay for with th'sweat o' m'brow. I raised a family on that ethic."
He said, "A wife, three kids, all fed on my own blood sweat an' tears. Now, I'm proud of all that, to be sure. Don't change the fact I'm an idiot. Who'd live like me if they had the choice? S'why my kids went off t'fight the wars, I suppose.
Saw m'life, thought they could do better. Ended up buryin' two of 'em. I ain't ever been much myself, son, but I know this. Whatever m'failin's have been... I'll live on in every sail that guides a ship home. That's what Byregot promises.
No grand paradise. Just humble, everlastin' perfection."
An' then he worked his sail an' sang this song.
[youtube]nrdl4ijru8o[/youtube]
♪ Come all of you workers who toil night and day! By hand and by brain to earn your pay! Who for centuries long past for no more than your bread! Have bled for your countries and counted your dead! ♪
♪ In the factories and mills, in the shipyards and mines we've often been told to keep up with the times! For our skills are not needed, they've streamlined the job and with sliderule and stopwatch our pride they have robbed! ♪
♪ But when the sky darkens and the prospect is war who's given a gun and then pushed to the fore? And expected to die for the land of our birth when we've never owned one handful of earth? ♪
♪ We're the first ones to starve the first ones to die! The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky! And always the last when the cream is shared out for the worker is working when the fat cat's about! ♪
♪ All of these things the worker has done, from tilling the fields to carrying the gun! We've been yoked to the plough since time first began and always expected to carry the can! ♪
Thank ya.
What I am is just a workin' stiff. One what just works with his hands. It ain't much, I admit, but I do what I can.
Now before I get to singin' this one, I have a bit of a story to tell about how I learned it. I caught a bit o' work on the docks of Aleport an' there I met an' old salt, half blind an' workin' his fingers to th'bone on a sail. This man was a weaver, but he weren't no type like Redolent Rose or Yellow Moon.
No, this fellow made his trade buildin' sails, nets, an' those gas bags for th'airships. This fellow said t'me, "boy, I know th'type o' sucker you are. We can smell our own. Now me, I worked m'whole life doin' Byregot's work. Never wanted more than what I could pay for with th'sweat o' m'brow. I raised a family on that ethic."
He said, "A wife, three kids, all fed on my own blood sweat an' tears. Now, I'm proud of all that, to be sure. Don't change the fact I'm an idiot. Who'd live like me if they had the choice? S'why my kids went off t'fight the wars, I suppose.
Saw m'life, thought they could do better. Ended up buryin' two of 'em. I ain't ever been much myself, son, but I know this. Whatever m'failin's have been... I'll live on in every sail that guides a ship home. That's what Byregot promises.
No grand paradise. Just humble, everlastin' perfection."
An' then he worked his sail an' sang this song.
[youtube]nrdl4ijru8o[/youtube]
♪ Come all of you workers who toil night and day! By hand and by brain to earn your pay! Who for centuries long past for no more than your bread! Have bled for your countries and counted your dead! ♪
♪ In the factories and mills, in the shipyards and mines we've often been told to keep up with the times! For our skills are not needed, they've streamlined the job and with sliderule and stopwatch our pride they have robbed! ♪
♪ But when the sky darkens and the prospect is war who's given a gun and then pushed to the fore? And expected to die for the land of our birth when we've never owned one handful of earth? ♪
♪ We're the first ones to starve the first ones to die! The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky! And always the last when the cream is shared out for the worker is working when the fat cat's about! ♪
♪ All of these things the worker has done, from tilling the fields to carrying the gun! We've been yoked to the plough since time first began and always expected to carry the can! ♪
Thank ya.
![[Image: hpThOka.png]](http://i.imgur.com/hpThOka.png)
