Gasie – A Parable

[Waverly]

Gasie lived in a humble yet happy little village within the kingdom of Nod. Well, in truth, the village wasn’t terribly happy, at least not with Gasie and his family. Which leads us to our second inconsistency in as many sentences. Gasie’s family used to live within the village, but the villagers one night had taken their home apart mud-brick by mud-brick and relocated them well outside of town. Wait, strike that, they were not mud-bricks; they were dung-bricks. But now, dear reader, I believe we can commence with our story.

You see Gasie was an apprentice to his father, who in turn had been an apprentice to his father, and the whole family helped in the family business. They were dung sculptors. They kept an active little shop, with plenty of sheep and goats and monkeys out back to supply dung for the family livelihood. Only it wasn’t much of a livelihood. Gasie had never sold a sculpture, nor had Gasie’s father, nor his father before him. Seems the villagers didn’t care much for dung sculptures. Still, they worked away, and no one would accuse them of not being industrious, just smelling badly. And that, dear reader, explains the sudden relocation of Gasie’s home by the villagers all those years ago.

One day while working over some particularly odiferous dung with his father, Gasie found himself overcome with nausea. No, strike that, it wasn’t nausea. Gasie was overcome with pride. At that moment, he made a promise to his father. “Father,” said Gasie, “I’m going to make a sculpture for the King. When we become royal dung sculptors to the King, everyone will love us and our business will thrive.” “Whatever,” came the response, because you see Gasie’s father wasn’t even listening.

That night, Gasie set about gathering the most exotic dungs he could find. When the vermilion stink-weasel didn’t appear ready to leave any droppings, Gasie gently squeezed him until he had enough of the material he sought. He braved the nest of the flightless guano hawk. He scaled the cliffs and crept ever so slowly into the lair of the short haired coprolite bear. At last he robbed the dung beetles with such deftness, they continued rolling though they had been deprived of their loads.

All these, he fashioned into the likeness of the King. Long did he labor, and many a meal went forgotten and uneaten, but at last he reached the point of completion. Gasies’s family bid him fond farewell as the dung sculpture was loaded onto a mule cart and Gasie set out for the King’s palace. Wait, Gasie’s father wasn’t there, I believe they forgot to wake him. Moving on…

Gasie’s joy was short lived, however, as he was set upon by the villagers before he was far from home. “Dung boy!” they shouted and chased him down, throwing sticks, and small animals at the lad as he attempted to evade his tormentors. Alas, they caught up to him, and their wrath was cruel. They destroyed the sculpture, making Gasie consume a good deal of it, and left the boy wallowing in the filth.

When Gasie got up and collected himself, all he could find intact of his beloved sculpture was the dung likeness of the King’s head. Unperturbed, he was determined to finish his journey and make good on his promise to his father (who still had not heard him… nor awoken)

At the palace gate, Gasie bribed the guards to allow him to not only be allowed in, but to be announced. When the trumpets blared and Gasie’s name announced to the King, the lad mustered all the courage his young frame contained and strode forward. In his hand was the King’s dung sculpture head. The King, always known as a kindly sovereign, looked first at the boy, then the dung sculpture, then at the guards, back to the dung sculpture, and finally his eyes settled on the boy again.

With a great exhale, the King sat back on his thrown as the court sat in rapt expectation of his reaction. At last, he spoke: “Execute him!”

And with that, Gasie was lead away to be drawn and quartered as per the good King’s orders. The King, his fury still not assuaged by the single execution, ordered a garrison to storm Gasie’s village and raise it to the ground. Every citizen, young and old, were run through with sword. Well, that’s not true, some of the children were spared, but you get the idea. Oh wait, Gasie’s family were not put to the sword either, they were immolated on pyre of dung. The disembodied dung head sits, still to this day, in a shallow grave bearing Gasie’s hastily buried corpse.

There is a moral to the story, and a lesson to be learned. But you won’t catch me, gentle reader, making it too easy for you.

your ever humble narrator,
W.

[Aegis]

Not bad.

[T'lainya]

LMAO Waverly You're such a cruel person aren't you?

[thantor3]

Actually, it is really all a bunch of s.... I mean, crap.

[Weasel]

Quote:

Originally posted by Waverly There is a moral to the story, and a lesson to be learned. But you won’t catch me, gentle reader, making too easy for you. your ever humble narrator, W.

(Sherman replies)I can see part of the lesson...The best dung in the world, is still just dung. Like a rose, by any other name, it's still the same. Now as for the moral..I think too deep and see too many. But the saying "Right under my nose comes to mind"

[Waverly]

Quote:

Originally posted by T'lainya LMAO Waverly You're such a cruel person aren't you?

Lovely Lainy, I do believe you move to the head of the class.

[Stilgar]

Not bad, realy

[Waverly]

Quote:

Originally posted by Aegis Not bad.

I am glad you think so, young Aegis.

[Waverly]

Quote:

Originally posted by Weasel (Sherman replies)I can see part of the lesson...The best dung in the world, is still just dung. Like a rose, by any other name, it's still the same. Now as for the moral..I think too deep and see too many. But the saying "Right under my nose comes to mind"

You read too much into it. It is not as hard to figure out as you make it.

BTW: you were my inspiration for the vermillion stink weasel

[fugitive]

could someone make a small report on the story? us gnomes are quite illiterate and having to grab a dictionary every few words might take us 1 minute for every sentence that is 5 words long. providing that the whole piece is about 1000 words, that would be 1000/5=200 minutes, better known as 3 hours and 20 minutes, meaning, if i would start reading now, ill finlly be done at 5 past 2 this midnight. now you dont want that to happen to a poor old gnome who need his rest, right?

[Omar]

lmao!!!

[Waverly]

Quote:

Originally posted by Omar lmao!!!

Omar, my sick comrade, how goes the pillaging and slaugher?

[Weasel]

Quote:

Originally posted by Waverly You read too much into it. It is not as hard to figure out as you make it. BTW: you were my inspiration for the vermillion stink weasel

My downfall is looking for traps where there are not any.
As for the inspiration....I figured it was me.

[GandalfgalTTV]

Sick but LMAO

@fugitive: that's the short version of the story. Either that or it's a description of the writer. It's those pills I tell you, they cloud the mind. And those empty bottles have nothing to do with it.

[fugitive]

alright, i was gettin a little worried (are you positive the mushroom pie didnt have any side effects?)