After a hard day of trying to steal back the Stone of Scone (they should of called it the Stone of Bum, the darn thing kept screaming everytime I sat down on it to take a break), I was pondering how Tir na nOg really started. I mean, the very point at which it came to be. So there I was, sitting with my little hamster buddy on this here caterwauling stone, taking our half hour Stone of Scone dragging break, when an intertesting piece of litter blows by. Now thinking it might be worth stealing, I grabbed it and imagine my surprise when before me I discoverd the actual story of how Tir na nOg came to be.
Now being the kindhearted thief that you all know I am, I will now share it with all of you, dear listeners (lurkers, etc., etc., etc....)
Also, Lathario the Legal Beagle says I have to include all that legal falderall, copyright @1999 by the person also know as Rogue (stole that line from some guy known as Prince, he better hope he didn't use to be a frog in a former life, especially around here), and the party of the first part and the party of the second part, etc., etc., etc. Now on with the story.
Oh, it's called The Very Beginning, by the way...*tells the hamster no not the very beginning by the way,...The Very Beginning, by the way...jeees)

Death walked in.
His collar had been turned up against the bitter wind outside, which moaned, not like the banshee, but more like a woman mourning. He shook off the chill, as it was the season of the wolf, and then surveyed the ancient drinking establishment.
It's hewn floors and walls, though rough, showed the care the craftsmen had taken in building it. Its well-drawn roof timbers would provide proof against any storm that any amused god might want to lash humankind with. There was a wide stone hearth whose comfortable fire would provide warmth and solace to anyone in need of such. About, was a scattering of well-fitted tables and chairs, and from their order, they implied recent use. Its centerpiece, however, was a magnificent bar obviously hand finished, polished to a bright luster. Behind the bar was shelves stocked with all manners of bottles, whose contents were the colors of a rainbow gone mad.
Death hung his wrap on a convenient hook by the door, then approached the altar of spirits. Seeing no one about, "Innkeeper!" he intoned with a great vocal presence.
Presently, "I'm coming. I'm coming", croaked a voice, almost as ancient as the inn, and from an open passage, near the end of the bar, tottered a wizened old Gael.
"And what would you be wantin', grand sir?" asked the old Gael. "Or is it, that I know you?"
"All men know me, with the passage of time." said Death, "But tonight I have a great parch which I wish to quell. A glass of your very best spirits, old innkeeper, and be quick about it."
Now, on hearing this last comment, the old innkeeper became a little ruffled. "Just who does the young ruffian think he is?" thought the innkeeper as he turned for the bottles, "He must be member of that band of rascals that I threw out of here earlier." And with that thought in mind, he reached for the bottle of his worst local rotgut and returned to the stranger at the bar. He then retrieved a chipped glass from under the bar, filled it to the brim and placed it in front of the stranger. "Tell me sir, what brings you out on such a foul night? A woman, I'll wager." he said, thinking of the usual causes of turning to drink.
"No, ......business." said Death, as he raise the glass to mouth and took a swallow. Suddenly, his body reacted to the mouthful of day and a half-old homebrew and spewed the horrid stuff around half the bar. "Just what is this wretched swill?" he said grimacing, to the now dripping innkeeper.
The old innkeeper toweled off his face, then said "Sorry sir, I must have grabbed the wrong bottle by mistake. Let me get another. On the house, this time, of course." With that he turned again to the shelves of bottles and frugally picked one of less well-distilled brands, as this glassful would be for free.
"Now, tell me grand sir, what sort of business could possibly be draggin' you about on a night such as this?" asked the wily old innkeeper, as he filled a cracked glass.
"You, of course." replied Death, "I'm the Collector of Souls, you see." He then raised the glass, took a large sample, then promptly sprayed it all over the innkeeper.
"By the Gods, man, have you nothing in here fit to drink?" growled Death as he grabbed the stunned and now soggy innkeeper by the roughly woven shirt.
The frightened old innkeeper thought quickly, then started to stammer, "S..S..Sir, I do keep a rare, fine treasure of a drink in the back room, said to be distilled by the Angels themselves. If you would but release me, I'll fetch it. But I must warn you it is worthy of a great price."
"Be off with ya and fetch it, then." ordered Death and he released the innkeeper. The old man tottered off to the backroom, then came the sounds of much clattering and banging. When the racket finally subsided, the old innkeeper tottered back to the bar carrying finely fashioned, wooden box, which he placed on the bar before his strange patron.
The innkeeper deftly undid the gold hasp on the box and lifted the lid on which was fixed a dusty plaque, revealing a wonderfully faceted decanter and a small gilded glass. He lifted and placed the glassware on the bar and unceremoniously shoved the box out of the way. Then removing the stopper from the decanter carefully poured a honey colored liquid into the small glass, which he held to the light for a closer inspection and then carefully placed it in front of threatening personage before him.
"This had better be all that you say, publican." growled Death again. And as the old innkeeper trembled and tugged at his damp shirt, Death raised the glass and drained it.
Slowly, a change came over the countenance of Death. As the wonderful fluid danced across his palate, his stance softened and a comforting warmth flooded through him.
"What is this fantastic stuff?" asked Death, in an almost kindly manner. "And what would you require, that I might have more?"
The wily old innkeeper squinted at the decanter and read the label. "All it says here is M.O.H.K., grand sir" he croaked and carefully poured some the decanter in to a flask, which he slide towards his strange patron, "As for payment, all I would require..."
"No need to speak it" interrupted Death, with a grin, "I know already." And as he pocketed the flask and turned towards the door, a soft glisten spread throughout the room. The old innkeeper followed Death to the door, helped him on with his cloak, and as he watched Death walk from the inn, he heard the wind abate and watched a new flowering spread across the land as far as the eye could see.
When he could see Death no more, he walked back through the inn which now seemed almost new, though he failed to notice, and shook his head and muttered, "But what of my payment, what of my payment?"
Back behind the bar, the innkeeper returned the decanter and small glass back to the box, fastened the gold hasp and cleaned the dust off the old plaque on the lid. Then he turned and placed the box on a shelf and noticed his reflection in the mirror behind the shelves. He was in the prime of his youth again. "My payment was made!" he exclaimed. Then with a spring in his step, he returned to the back room.
Quiet reigned through the inn once again and the hearth light glinted off the plaque on the box. It read...Milk Of Human Kindness...


And this, dear listener, is how Tir na nOg came to be.

*clapping* Lovely, lovely story dear Rogue!!! *bestows a kiss upon him, and tickles the hamster under his chin*

LS, you sure you didn't kiss the hamster, and tickle Rogue? Very well told tale, Roguester...

and tis how the Tir na nOg lives on, My Dear Rogue ... *smile* ... the milk of human kindness. This is a special tale, Rogue. *hug*

ROGUE WONDEROUS TALE SPINNER YOU *hugs and kisses Rogue and hampster enthusiasticaly.. almost to enthusiasticaly*

That's impressive Rogue :)

You got my original age right (-ish).
And also got my current youthful physical characteristics captured.

And sometimes I can serve up kindness. (But mostly to people who DON'T spew cheap drink all over me - although I can be understanding)

Maith thú !

I believe that was the equivalent of 5 gold stars and thumbs up from the dear Innkeeper himself, Rogue! *S* Hurry and flatter him somemore...the kindness is Sooo becoming to him!

Question for Rogue ... where do us *mere mortals* fit into this story? Do I have to die to belong? ............... and i have no money.

rogue, that is amazing! i never knew you had it in you...but then again, i don't know you all that well, do i? i'll bet there is much about you no one knows...*G* you should write more, it's really captivating...looking forward to the next installment...LOL