Boast for the Ninth Quadrant Fishery

(To be filed in Public Records Office, File Code B-687-16-6-S)

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Town Crier: 
Gather round, one and all, and bear witness! A boast has been declared over primary access to the ninth quadrant of Lake Irienzha for the purpose of fishery. Challenger is identified as Colt Aumignon of Colt’s Fresh Catch; challenged is identified as Wynn Eldivet iii of Eldivet Family Fishery. Challenger may begin.

 

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Challenger: 
Upon mine eye, what do I see?/The tatters of a legacy 
The banner of a fishery/In slow decline since ‘63
Your da was good, your grandda great/their fare would often fill my plate
And bear I neither of them hate/but you, dear Wynn, are easy bait
Go ask a gossip, ask a crier/they’ve never seen a man’s boots drier
Never seen him send for hire/all the way from fucking Spire
It’s water, Wynn. Not fire. Get in./And hire men right here, Espin
And if you won’t, then I contend/it’s time for your retirement.

 

 

Challenged:
Upon mine ear, what do I hear?/The squalling of a babe in fear
She can’t yet walk but claims to steer/I’ll paddle her ‘til it pains her rear
Ye dare invoke my grandda’s name/with nare humility nare shame
In front of all to build your fame/But hauling catch ain’t child’s game
Ye think ye’d do it better than me?/It’s been a few, so let us see
Your do-naught little fishery/has point four tons to my twenty-three
The people need to eat, dear kit/consistent fare, and plenty’a it
If the ninth was yours for even a bit/the Stilts would like go hungry for it.

 

 

Challenger:
That’s quite a tale, coming from you/No Stilt-silt stink would stain your shoe
The people know what they’ve been through/so why am I addressing you?

 

[Challenger turns to face the assembled crowd]

 

For how many years have your stomachs shrank?/With how many tears have you fed the lake?
How many suppers have you lost/Because this man increased his cost?

 

[Challenger turns back to face the challenged]

 

And why do you your kinsfolk swindle?/Because your supply’s begun to dwindle
The other fishers modernize/while your thumbs never cease to twiddle
Competitors of yours make terms/with Spir’ea gillnetters 
Their hauls to yours send costs upwards/And all is worse for customers
You call me squalling babe in fear/but all that I can see out here
Is a fallen man alone on the pier/and the people call, your end is near.
 

 

Town Crier:
Damn it everyone, calm down until the challenged has his rebuttal! Let it be acknowledged that the challenger has used two additional lines. Challenged, you are granted ten lines for your final boast.

 

 

Challenged:
For thirty years my family proud/has fished the Irienzha 
And in that time we’ve watched the loud/and those who raise the tension
Snake oil salesmen one and all/they claim to have the secret
Yet afore long they do abscond/and we suffer the regret
The lake is a creature, same as any/some insults it can bear, not many
Already it has borne the scars/of foreign tools designed afar
So if you’ve no love lost for me/and seek to drown my fishery
Then I’ll step down reluctantly/but listen now and this I plea:
Not to foolish kits like her./Not to Spire’s gillnetters.
For if we bring death to the lake/our lives will the Irienzha take.

 

 

Town Crier:
Now the boasts have been heard, it is the voice of the people that decides. Who amongst you would back the claim of the challenger to usurp primary access to the ninth quadrant of Lake Irienzha? 

 

[Raucous shouting]

 

And who amongst you would strike this claim down and prevent it from reaching the ears of the Senate?

 

[Several half-hearted cries]

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Challenged:
[Quietly]
Be it on your own heads.

 

 

Town Crier:
The voice of the people has been heard. This matter will be set in docket before the Senate, to be addressed no later than end-of-stormseason this year. Thank you for participating in the vote on this boast. 

 

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Challenger:
To the Spawnsong! Drinks on me! 

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[end of record]