Pot - not that kind...

[Continuing the theme of my Epic Fantasy, ‘The Daighacaer’ (“Day-gar-care”); Extract from Book I, Escape from Mount Vilipend]

[Pronunciations:  Weda’Sel (as it is spelled); Tirǽche (Tir esh); Sháine (Shah een); Urus (Ooh roos); Chanré (Shon ray)]

Do I discuss the different meanings and benefits or detriments of ‘Pot’?  I think not.  Considering my very conservative views, that’s guaranteed to get me into a whole bunch of trouble. J

What I do want to share with you is a step back from the previous post before Tirǽche went missing.   Explore  my story a little further with me in this segment of ‘Escape from Mount Vilipend’ where Tirǽche’s plans with a ‘Pot’ produce totally unexpected consequences.

“Tell Weda’Sel what you did, Mama.  That was so funny” giggled Sháine.

“Oh, Sháine” sighed Tirǽche once more.  “It wasn't funny at all, Dear; it was what I thought would be a quick and at the same time entertaining way of getting everyone on their feet.  Well that was the idea anyway.  I was hoping to get people to start doing what they've left to you for far, far too long, Weda’Sel; motivate themselves.”

“I’m intrigued, Tirǽche” said Weda’Sel.

“Wait until you hear what Mama did, Weda’Sel.  You’ll laugh too” said Sháine, her pride in her mother almost overcoming her.

To give an idea of size...

“I asked Lostrol if he could turn the inside of one of the carts into a large pot; large enough to fit up to three big men in it.  He said ‘No problem’ and within half a day I had my pot; a functioning pot, mind you, complete with lid; a ladder up the side; a wide-necked tap near the bottom which allows one to draw off smaller amounts.  There was also a raging fire around its base.  Do you know that Lostrol and the engineers are absolute wonders?  They took me at my word and then set about ensuring that I would actually be able to cook something in a pot that size; they even made the lip of pot overhang inwards to stop the water  from spilling out as the cart drew the pot along – oh yes, it was half-filled with hot water too.” 

“A man-sized pot!  By The Lighte, Tirǽche, what or who were you intending to cook?” asked Urus with a fake grimace on his face.

“I wasn't intending to cook anyone, Urus!  Thank you very much” said Tirǽche as the whole countryside seemed to erupt in laughter which didn't die down for a long time. 

“It wasn't intended to be a real working pot” said Tirǽche quite uncomfortably.  “My idea was simply to set a challenge.  Anyone who could think of reasons to move ahead with all possible speed was to be provided with a Place of Honour, so to speak, on the ‘Hot Pot’ to sing a song to cheer everyone on; a variation of the after-dinner sing-alongs which I enjoyed as a child; very basic I’m afraid.”

Everyone laughed when Weda’Sel said “Yes, Tirǽche, I can see where ‘basic’ might be a description for your ‘Hot Pot’”.

“It grew beyond me, Weda’Sel.  The next thing I knew, everyone thought I was going to boil alive anyone who wasn't prepared to move.”

At the renewed howls of laughter, Tirǽche drew herself up to her full height and scowled “It’s not that funny.  I think that that warped idea about my cooking people might have come about because, when Vatrusha presented me with a working pot, I suddenly saw a very real value in having a moving cooking pot to cook for us even as we moved and thought we should rather use the Hot Pot for that purpose and called for vegetables.  Vatrusha and his engineers told some people and, as these things happen, word spread, that the pot had to hold up to three grown men.  When I asked for vegetables, it appears that everyone got the wrong idea.  They didn't want anyone they knew to be on the dinner menu.”

“I can identify with that!” hooted Ninusa and then sucked air in through his teeth in pain.  He grimaced but waved off Chanré who was ready to take him away to heal him.  “Later please, Chanré.  I wouldn't miss this for anything.”

The entire group listening to Tirǽche’s story were bent almost double and tears of laughter streamed unheeded.

“I feel awful.  They all probably still think I’m capable of doing such a dreadful thing” sighed Tirǽche.

“They probably do, Love.  Your name shall go down in history as The Hot Pot Horror” chortled Urus.  “It’s not kind to play on peoples’ past fears, My Love.”

“Not you too, Urus?”  Tirǽche looked pained although she couldn't hide the twinkle in her eyes.  “I thought I could at least count on your support, but you’re just as bad as they are.”  She swung her arm in a wide arc encompassing everyone within listening distance.

Among the renewed whoops of laughter, Stend, who was still wiping amused tears from his eyes, hooted “This just gets better and better”.

He did his best to compose himself and almost succeeded.

“That’s the sight that greeted me, Weda’Sel” said Stend “row upon row of people scurrying forwards as fast as they could, carrying anyone who looked as if they might fall behind, jostling those in front to move faster.  It was incredible.”

“It wasn't that bad, Stend” said Tirǽche with a pained expression on her face.

“Oh?  Yes it was, Tirǽche, believe me” replied Stend through his laughter.  Tirǽche frowned and shrugged her shoulders in mock horror.

I thought I'd include a bit of 'That type of Pot' in a poem - sort of...

ADDICT

I think of you
Punch to the midriff
I think of you
My arms go weak
I think of you
My heart starts laughing

My blood gurgles too
As it recognises
My essence
Recognise
The essence of you

My fingers tingle
As do my toes
My face starts to spasm
And wrinkles my nose

My cheeks join in
Reaching up to my eyes
Which twinkle and sparkle
Like stars in night skies

I say to myself
There’s a problem here
How can it be
That I hold him so dear?

Then once again
I think of you
Punch to the midriff
My knees touch the floor
Legs which can walk for miles
Don’t make the door

So I say to myself
There’s a problem here
How can it be
That I need him near?

My Heart starts laughing
Shoots straight to the core
“I’m surprised at you Darling
So I’ll tell you once more”

“There’s nothing that you
Will be able to do
So I hope that at last
You’ll listen and hear”

“The only thing wrong
With you My Dear
Is the song in your heart
Of your love for him”

“Your very own Love Song
Which sings to your soul
The very same Love Song
Which sings to your Heart”

“You’re an addict My Dear
You’re an addict it’s true
You’re an addict I fear
That much holds true”

“The cure is a punch to the midriff
Each time you think of him
A punch to the midriff
When your arms go weak”

I laugh at my heart
As I think of you
I'll take that punch to my midriff
I’m fine with my arms going weak
I even don’t mind if I don’t reach the door
As long as I’m with you
I can ask for no more.

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