The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

[Warlock]

Ahhh. Inside fix. Probably got the claymore from the Constable. Taken in a raid no doubt.

[chasem]

I have no clue about the tonic, I never could pick that out very well unless I was looking at the music.

I'd assume the tempo just jumped up a good 80 bpm or so within the last two paragraphs though.

[TimC]

Panache - I was wondering when you were going to again share some of your creative story telling with the rest of us.

-Tim

[Tartan Hiker]

Fun stuff, Panache.

And that's volans with a "v".

Bill, the stickler for technical species names.

[Mike1]

This could prove to be an excellent example of prescient writing, if you ask me.

[Randy]

The TSA is gonna love their new claymore. Sorry about your luggage.

[Dirka Skene]

I couldn't even get through TSA with a hefty hair clip, I couldn't imagine a sword!

[way2fractious]

This could prove to be an excellent example of prescient writing, if you ask me.

So... KCW was interviewing in Monterey? (wink-back-at-cha)

[McMurdo]

Eagerly awaiting the next chapter....

[Panache]

The Curious Tale of Panache and the League of the Moderators

Chapter 2

My Inconspicuous Journey East

My thoughts as well as feet raced with wild abandon as I headed to the train depot. The League of the Moderators! The League was shrouded in mystery and strange legends abounded about it. Some said that the order had been once, but was no longer extant. Whilst others did contend that it was merely the stuff of legend. There were even those that in jest referred to it as merely an ancient club for those with a penchant for eating broiled shrimp. Very few knew the truth of that ancient order.*

It occurred to me that due to the secret nature of the League I should in all aspects of this journey attempt discretion. Arriving at the station I attracted far more attention than I should have preferred for such a covert undertaking. My choice of a kilt in the Royal Stewart tartan and plumed hat was perhaps less than desirable in aiding me in my stealth. The naked steel of the claymore I clutched in hand may also have added to the spectacle of my presence. Subtly traversing the concourse of the station I purchased my ticket from a somewhat startled looking young lady.

I entered my train and was immediately met by the conductor, a fastidious looking man of shorter stature who sported a neatly trimmed mustache. He himself did not possess a menacing appearance but the two larger uniformed gentleman well equipped with an assortment of formidable weaponry who stood attendance on him gave me pause. Politely he inquired as to my name and destination. I thought that at this moment complete disclosure would not be in my best interests. Much as in my writings where forth I had chosen to assign myself a nom de plume, I thought a similar alias might be deployed here to my benefit. Sadly, lacking inspiration I responded with the first thing that crossed my addled brain and introduced myself as “Mr. Plume”. This in turned earned me a stern look from the conductor. I continued and informed him that I was on my way to a Shriner’s Convention and Clam Bake. “In a kilt?” he inquired. I explained to the conductor that all Shriners wear kilts. He countered that perhaps I might be confusing a kilt with a fez. Thinking quickly I added that I was in fact a very new Shriner and may not quite have mastered all the intricacies of the group. The two station guards were regarding me with rapt attention and unfortunately with drawn weapons as well. Casually, the conductor questioned why was I carrying a sword. “It’s a family heirloom”, I replied.

I was most a feared that things should have taken a turn for the worse at this point when I was saved by the intervention of a rugged looking kilted gentlemen. He wore his hair long and his face displayed the sun burnt and cragged features that marked him a resident of those windswept mesas of the desert southwest. His clothing was simple but his blue and white tartan kilt most elaborate. His sole ornamentation (save the glimpse of numerous tattoos) was an elaborate kilt pin of Native American design.

His voice was low and gruff “This man is a Shriner. He is going to a Shriner Convention and Clam Bake. The sword is a family heirloom. These aren’t the droids you are looking for. He can go about his business”. The conductor’s eyes glazed and he dully repeated “This man is a Shriner. He is going to a Shriner Convention and Clam Bake. The sword is a family heirloom. These aren’t the droids we are looking for. He can go about his business”. He turned to the guards and motioned them to leave. “Welcome aboard sir” he said punching my ticket and with a tip of his hat he left. The mysterious kilted stranger nodded and exited the train without another word.

To be continued…


*Legend had it the that the League was founded by none other than the most virtuous of the knights of the Round Table, Sir Galahad himself! Originally based in Cornwall, the five original tenants of the order were Chastity, Sobriety, Honor, Courtesy, and Good Fellowship. The order existed for centuries in Cornwall until the reign of Henry the Eighth. The King (who is most remembered as a ruler who seldom believed in moderation of any sort) disapproved of the League on general principle. His efforts to destroy the League drove the Order to secrecy and they fled to the highlands of Scotland. There they flourished. Many a famous Scot were counted as members including the poet Robert Burns. By odd coincidence it should be noted that during the time of Burns’ membership in the League that the tenants of Chastity and Sobriety were formally rejected. The League of the Moderators spread to the Americas and there prospered. By the by, the bit about the shrimps was completely correct.