Once upon a time there was a city-castle, in which the knights of the realm and the citizens dwelt behind massive stone walls, surrounded by a mighty moat. A single, huge drawbridge crossed this moat, and it was the only way in or out.
One day, a merciless band of barbarians, armed with swords, shields, and even chariots arrived, surrounding the castle. The king sent forth his knights to attack the barbarians, but they were driven back time and again, across the drawbridge. The drawbridge would subsequently be raised and those inside would be safer. But, of course, the barbarian threat outside cut off their supplies and soon those within were growing desperate.
The king turned to his adviser, an aging wizard who had some power, and asked for a solution. The wizard combed his books for a day and a night before coming to the king with a desperate gamble. A spell. It would be cast and then they would lower the drawbridge. The spell would be dangerous, and once cast the wizard could do nothing more, certainly not undo it. Due to being so tired, however, he was somewhat... lax... in explaining exactly what this did, and the king, being desperate, didn't ask.
Another night, and the wizard spent all he had casting the most massive spell of his career upon the moat surrounding the castle. By morning, staggering away, he left orders to lower the drawbridge. The wizard collapsed in exhaustion then, and would be unable to even speak coherently for several days.
With the drawbridge lowered, the hordes of barbarians outside cheered, thinking it was a surrender, and sent dozens of their warriors to secure castle. However as the barbarians reached the middle of the drawbridge, long, yellow fingers rose up out of the water, grabbed the armed and armored men, and dragged them down under the rippling surface, never to be seen again.
Enraged at this, the barbarians sent wave after wave of their best warriors to fight this new threat, and yet every time they reached the middle of the drawbridge, the long, yellow fingers would reach up out of the water, grab the warriors, and drag them to their doom. The fingers were invulnerable, implacable, unstoppable! Soon, in fear and superstition, the barbarians took what remaining warriors they had and left.
Those within cheered, and a knight-escorted caravan was immediately put together to go get supplies. But... as they reached the middle of the drawbridge, the long, yellow fingers rose out of the water, grabbed caravan, knights, and all, and dragged them down beneath the surface. Much like the barbarians, those within tried to fight, sent their bravest knights, all to no avail. Inevitably, the long, yellow fingers would reach up out of the water and drag whoever was out there to their doom.
Eventually those inside gave up, though the king asked for more volunteers to try. When not a single knight would risk it, it was a lowly page that offered to try. The page boy barely understood the use of a sword, and had no armor to wear in this battle. And yet he went. He got out to the middle of the drawbridge, and then the long, yellow fingers reached up out of the water... and waved! The page crossed the bridge and soon was able to get supplies and save the city.
Moral: Always let your pages do the walking through the yellow-fingers.
For those who, due to location or age, do not understand this, a telephone directory (you know, those big phone books on actual paper) in various places called "The Yellow Pages" exists/existed and it's slogan for many years as a way to describe making phone-calls instead of travelling all around looking for things was "Let your fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages".
One day, a merciless band of barbarians, armed with swords, shields, and even chariots arrived, surrounding the castle. The king sent forth his knights to attack the barbarians, but they were driven back time and again, across the drawbridge. The drawbridge would subsequently be raised and those inside would be safer. But, of course, the barbarian threat outside cut off their supplies and soon those within were growing desperate.
The king turned to his adviser, an aging wizard who had some power, and asked for a solution. The wizard combed his books for a day and a night before coming to the king with a desperate gamble. A spell. It would be cast and then they would lower the drawbridge. The spell would be dangerous, and once cast the wizard could do nothing more, certainly not undo it. Due to being so tired, however, he was somewhat... lax... in explaining exactly what this did, and the king, being desperate, didn't ask.
Another night, and the wizard spent all he had casting the most massive spell of his career upon the moat surrounding the castle. By morning, staggering away, he left orders to lower the drawbridge. The wizard collapsed in exhaustion then, and would be unable to even speak coherently for several days.
With the drawbridge lowered, the hordes of barbarians outside cheered, thinking it was a surrender, and sent dozens of their warriors to secure castle. However as the barbarians reached the middle of the drawbridge, long, yellow fingers rose up out of the water, grabbed the armed and armored men, and dragged them down under the rippling surface, never to be seen again.
Enraged at this, the barbarians sent wave after wave of their best warriors to fight this new threat, and yet every time they reached the middle of the drawbridge, the long, yellow fingers would reach up out of the water, grab the warriors, and drag them to their doom. The fingers were invulnerable, implacable, unstoppable! Soon, in fear and superstition, the barbarians took what remaining warriors they had and left.
Those within cheered, and a knight-escorted caravan was immediately put together to go get supplies. But... as they reached the middle of the drawbridge, the long, yellow fingers rose out of the water, grabbed caravan, knights, and all, and dragged them down beneath the surface. Much like the barbarians, those within tried to fight, sent their bravest knights, all to no avail. Inevitably, the long, yellow fingers would reach up out of the water and drag whoever was out there to their doom.
Eventually those inside gave up, though the king asked for more volunteers to try. When not a single knight would risk it, it was a lowly page that offered to try. The page boy barely understood the use of a sword, and had no armor to wear in this battle. And yet he went. He got out to the middle of the drawbridge, and then the long, yellow fingers reached up out of the water... and waved! The page crossed the bridge and soon was able to get supplies and save the city.
Moral: Always let your pages do the walking through the yellow-fingers.
For those who, due to location or age, do not understand this, a telephone directory (you know, those big phone books on actual paper) in various places called "The Yellow Pages" exists/existed and it's slogan for many years as a way to describe making phone-calls instead of travelling all around looking for things was "Let your fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages".
