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Part of the recording of this session was corrupted by, of all things, a melted Cadbury bar. The transcript begins somewhere midway in the evening.
“… no great imagination to believe that there was once real magic in the world. What is certain is that it no longer exists, save perhaps in little glimmers of wonder. It was lost, shattered into fragments. And with that shattering the world changed. Heroes and their feats were fated to shrink to misunderstood words garbled into turns of phrase and dusty poems. Things of great moment became mere lists. Heraldic honor rolls became names without import, save to stir troublesome feelings of something sadly lost. We are left with vague recollections of more vibrant times when each day mattered. What say you to that, Tollers?”
“Quite so, Charles, but even if such was the fate of their feats and their names, their tales deserve better! My goal, at least, is to resurrect some of that moment before the Loss of Magic. Who knows, just as characters in a story sometimes know they are part of a tale, so all of us might someday be in a story. Even you, Jack!”
Laughter.
“Now the ale is full to your taps, that’s for sure.”
“And we would be idiots to believe our ramblings benefit anything other that the cleaning rag that will follow our empty glasses.”
“If any of our musings were remembered by the listening walls and this stout-hearted carving post of a table …”
“Better yet, recorded so your outlandish remarks could be tallied against you in the future, Ian!”
More laughter and indecipherable banters.
“Perhaps, but regarding one’s life as a story, whether ultimately preserved or in time utterly forgotten, is still not the worst of philosophies.”
“So, how are your actual writings coming, Tollers?”
“Not so well. I have aspired to write a ‘philosophical thriller.’ Something a bit deeper about the nature of reality, perhaps. Put all this myth and legend into a modern time, let the struggles happen in a contemporary world somehow connected to the old. Yes …”
“And, Tollers, just last week you said that in the fantasy world you visit in your tales …”
“I said, to be precise, ‘In that world you are not dreaming, you are in a dream of another’s weaving.’ The questioning of this story-cauldron is about perilous realms and their shadowy marches. To put a point on it, whether elves are true and exist independently of our tales.”
There is a moment of silence.
“Are you in jest, Tollers? You would have us believe that?”
“Your beliefs are your own, Ian, but I’ll wager a show of hands around the table will fall to the elves’ favor. Very well. Let’s see who agrees.”
Shuffling, mugs being put down, a rustle of clothes, mumbles of agreement.
“The bet also was for our bill, and so we’ll add another round to Ian’s burden before Miss Sarah sends us home!”
“Ha! Hear, hear!”
Laughter.