Chapter XXVIII - News From Home

It was late in the evening but there was still a sizeable crowd in the tavern.  Bar wenches hurried around the common room with trays of drinks or food for eager patrons.  Although comprised mostly of humans there were also a number of Elves, Dwarves and even a Halfling.  A small group of Larencian traders were sitting around a table listening intently to a slightly intoxicated Elvis tell the tale of the death of Alex Purpleworm Bane, one of the original founders of Taswegia.  The Bard was in his element, in one hand he held a full tankard of ale while in the other he softly shook a maraca to add to the mood of his story telling.  As he came to climax of his tale he lowered his voice to barely a whisper as shadows from the nearby fire flickered across his handsome face.  The traders, as if in a trance, leaned forward as Elvis told how Laren, the King of Larencia, cried tears of anguish at the death of his friend and vowed to build a city in his honor.  At the completion of his story the Bard lowered his head as if in prayer to the fallen hero, while the attentive audience nodded their heads in solemn appreciation at a tale well told.

When he saw Llona saunter down the stair case and motion him to towards the door, Elvis rose unsteadily to his feet, bid his audience good bye, then followed the Elf outside.

Across the other side of the room Slobba stared across the table at Lady Carmen and her companion Yorick as they ate their meals in silence. Lady Carmen consumed her food as one would expect of the Nobility, she cut small pieces from the lamb shank and put them daintily into her mouth, while Yorick attacked it with gusto.

Once she’d finished her meal the Lorsian Noblewoman placed her fork onto the table then picked up her goblet of wine and sipped from it.

“Tell me Slobba, how did you come to find yourself in Van Drewman’s Port?” she asked in a weary voice.

“Now that’s an interesting story” said the big Lorsian as he picked up his own goblet and drained its contents.

“Do tell” replied the Noblewoman as she settled back into her chair.

“I was on a ship out of Lors City that was circumnavigating Taswegia. It was an expedition to verify the accuracy of the maps owned by a minor Merchant’s guild. Although I am a Cleric of Thor, I also have some skill in map making and was employed by the Merchant as a junior member of the expedition”.

“So why did you only get as far as Van Drewman’s Port?” asked Yorick gruffly before tearing another piece of lamb off the bone.

“I um” started Slobba “I was kicked off the ship.”

“Why?” asked Yorick before spitting a large piece of gristle onto his plate.

“I like to sew” replied Slobba in an embarrassed tone.

“A skill that would be very handy on a ship” said Lady Carmen “why would you be asked to leave because of that?”

“It wasn’t the fact that I sew that was the problem; it was kind of what I like to sew”

“And that would be?” she asked patiently.

“Errrr costumes” he said hurriedly.

“Costumes” replied the Noblewoman in a level voice.

“Yes, costumes” said Slobba.

“What type of costumes?”

“Any kind really, but mostly stage costumes and dresses” replied Slobba as his eyes darted around the room looking to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation.

“So you’re a poof then” said Yorick bluntly.

“What?  No!” exclaimed the hulking young Lorsian.

“You sound like one to me” said Yorick.

“Not that there is anything wrong with that” said Lady Carmen quickly.

“Yes” replied Yorick “there is.”

“Now Yorick, we’re not in Southern Lors now” she admonished “people are free to practice whatever they want to behind closed doors here in the West.”

“Doesn’t make it right though, a poof behind closed doors is the same as a poof marching down the street in sequined armor” replied the muscular warrior.

“I AM NOT A POOF!” shouted Slobba as he lurched to his feet reaching for the mace that hung on his belt, sending his chair hurtling across the room as he did so.

The tavern went quite as every head in the tavern turned to stare at the scene that was playing out before them.

“Be seated countryman” said Lady Carmen soothingly “Yorick meant no offense did you Yorick?”

“Yes” retorted the warrior defiantly “I did.”

“Right! I’m going to smash your fucking face in!” snarled Slobba as he swung his mace on a murderous arc towards Yoricks head.

Showing a nimbleness that caught Slobba by surprise, Yorick hurled himself backwards off his chair.  As he rolled to his feet he drew his sword in one smooth motion and set himself into a defensive stance.

“Northern scum” he spat through gritted teeth.

“Southern filth” said Slobba fiercely as he began to circle around the table towards his opponent.

“ENOUGH!” said Lady Carmen with a thundering shout that brought both combatants up short.

“Sit down the both of you!” she hissed.

The two men eyed each other through masks of rage before returning to the table.  Slobba picked up his chair then reversed it so that it would not be a hindrance if he had to come to his feet again.  Yorick continued to eye off the young Lorsian while he fingered the hilt of his sword.  Around them the patrons of the tavern began to resume their conversations as if nothing untoward had happened.

“It is precisely conflict like this that has torn the Realm apart” said the Noblewoman.

“What do you mean?” asked Slobba warily.

“The Southern Lords have united under Sigurd, the Duke of Greensword.  They have declared independence and are marching on the Capital” replied Lady Carmen with a grimace.  “They say that the Northerners have grown soft and no longer keep to the ways that King Simon laid down when the realm was founded.  They mean to replace the Queen with the Duke and return to the good old days.”

“What, like stripping down naked, painting themselves blue then running off into the Dark Heart to seek a glorious death?” ask Slobba with a snort.

“There is no more glorious death than to die killing those of the Dark Heart” said Yorick.

“Oh yes” replied Slobba sarcastically “being killed with my dick hanging out is definitely the way I want to go, that doesn't sound gay at all.”

“Stop it” said Lady Carmen with more than a note of exhaustion in her voice.

“Why haven’t you joined your Southern clansmen in this rebellion” said Slobba ignoring the Noblewoman.

“I may be a Southerner but I’m first and foremost a Queensman” replied Yorick fiercely.  “Besides, a realm divided is a realm that is vulnerable.  We have too many enemies to be fighting amongst ourselves.”

Slobba eyed the man across the table to see if he was sincere and quickly came to the conclusion that he was.

‘An idiot he may be but a loyal idiot he is’ he thought to himself.

“How has this news not found its way to the taprooms of ever tavern on the Island” he asked his two countrymen.

“In truth we only found out ourselves this morning after I spoke with one of my Kinsmen via a scrying device” replied Lady Carmen.  “I have no doubt that news of the rebellion will reach every corner of the Island within days.  Most surely the courts of every country will know about it before tomorrow’s sun sets”.

“This is tragic news indeed” said Slobba after pausing to collect his thoughts “I wish there was something that I could do.” 

“Are you a Queensman Slobba?” asked the Noblewoman quietly.

“By my life yes” replied the blonde Lorsian without hesitation.

Lady Carmen placed a small glowing blue gemstone onto the table in front of Slobba “Take this gem and guard it well” she said urgently “there will come a time when the Queen will need all of her loyal subjects and when she does I will use this to call you to arms.”

“Surely she needs me now”

“No” she interrupted “The Northern army is strong and will withstand the Southern Lords.  As you have seen here tonight not all of the Southerners will side with the rebellion.  The best thing you can do is to be the Queens eyes and ears for now.  If you find any information that you deem to be worthy of passing along, speak my name into the gem and I will hear your words.”

“As my Lady commands” replied Slobba with nod of his head as he picked the gemstone up off the table and placed it into a pocket.

“I knew I could count on you Kinsman” said Lady Carmen “Come Yorick, the hour grows late and I am tired, I would retire to my room before we recommence our journey tomorrow.”

“Yes my Lady” replied Yorick as he rose to his feet and helped the Noblewoman from her chair.

“Until we meet again Slobbadon Mikokubich”

“Until we meet again Lady Carmen Meemouf”

“Northerner” said Yorick coldly.

“Southerner” replied Slobba with a hint of hostility.

Four hours later Lady Carmen sat at a dressing table in her room with a cloth in her hand.  She dipped the cloth into a pitcher of water on the table then dabbed it into a small jar of ointment that sat next to it.  Holding a mirror in one hand she then rubbed the damp oily cloth onto the tattoos on the right side of her face.  After a few minutes of rubbing the markings disappeared.  She reapplied the water and ointment then started on the left.  After she was done she leant her head over the bowl in the centre of the table and poured water from the pitcher through her hair.  After it was totally soaked she placed a towel over her head and began to rub vigorously until all the dye that had been in it had started to come out.  It took her three rinses until all of the dye was gone and her natural color had returned.  She’d never liked being a blonde and was glade to see her face once again framed by her dark brown locks.

“Another successful venture don’t you think” she asked Yorick who was sitting in a chair by the door.

Yorick didn’t answer the question.  Yorick wouldn’t answer questions ever again; it’s hard to talk when your throat has been cut from ear to ear.

Authors Note: Apologies that it has taken so long to get back into writing.  I had a bit of a crisis of confidence a while ago and it has taken quite a few months to get my mojo back.  I have kept copious amounts of notes from the games we've had since I stopped writing so I have plenty of material to use.  In saying that though, the story above did not actually occur in our game. 

Regards

Prux

Chapter XXVII - Trouble Brewing

Lors City 18 Months Ago

Entering the Consort’s private dining room, Byrin startled old Theodore as he tasted a range of foods from a platter on a small table by the door.

“By the Earth Mother you gave me a fright!” said the skinny grey haired old man as he tried to regain his composure.  “Don’t you know how to knock?”

Theodore

“Please accept my most humble apologies my good man.  I did not mean to startle you and beg your forgiveness”, said Byrin as he flashed the old servant a winning smile before bowing at the waist. 

“Hurrumph”, said Theodore with a cross look upon his face.  “You don’t have it.  All of your sneaking around is going to be the death of me, you mark my words.  One day I’ll be in the kitchen preparing his Highness’s lunch and you’ll creep up on me and give me a heart attack.  And don’t think that I won’t come back from the dead to haunt you if you do kill me because I will.”

“That you will my friend, that you will” laughed Byrin as he reached out to take a roasted chicken leg from the platter.

“That’s not for you”, said Theodore as he slapped Byrin’s hand away.  “This food is for his Highness.  He hasn’t eaten all day and he needs his strength.  If you want something you’ll have to make your way to the kitchen and get it yourself”.

“Fair go old man” said Byrin with a hurt look on his face “I haven’t eaten all day either”.

“And you wont be eating here tonight”, said Theodore as he moved between Byrin and the platter.  “Now go about your business and leave me alone”.

“You win old goat,” said Byrin with a grin.  “I take it that the Consort is in his sitting room?”

“That he is.  He’s been there all afternoon sitting in his chair.  This is a hard time for him, as it would be for any man in his situation”, said Theodore, his voice taking on a hard tone.

“Aye, I’m sure that it is”, replied Byrin as he turned to face the door of the Consort’s study then suddenly turned to his right. “Did you see that?” he exclaimed as he pointed to one of the lounge chairs that were sitting in a corner.

“See what?” questioned Theodore as he looked in the direction that Byrin was pointing.

“I just saw a rat run under that chair” said Byrin as he drew one of his shortswords from over his shoulder and dropped to his knees in an effort to peer under the lounge from a distance.

“Where?” said Theodore as he also dropped to his knees to get a better look. “I can’t see it.”

“The cheeky bugger moved behind that chair”, whispered Byrin.  “You go and flush him out towards me and I’ll kill him with my sword.”

“Alright”, said Theodore as he got to his feet and began moving slowly toward the chair, his little body tense with excitement.  “Rats.  I hate rats”, he muttered.  “The only good rat is a dead one.”

“Psst.  Theodore!”  Byrin whispered urgently when the old man was halfway to his destination. 

“What?”  Said Theodore coming to a halt but not taking his eyes off the chair.

“Give my compliments to the chef”, said Byrin as he took another bite from the roasted chicken leg before nonchalantly walking through the door leading to the Consort’s sitting room.

Still chuckling to himself, Byrin silently entered Seraths sitting room and found him staring into the fire, lost in thought.  Leaning casually against the doorframe, he took another bite from the chicken leg and studied the man before him, as he had done so many times in the past.  At twenty-six years of age, Serath was a handsome man in his prime.  Standing five foot nine inches tall with a broad frame, he had a narrow face, a slightly crooked nose and brown eyes.  His dark brown hair had been cut to shoulder length and was held in place by the silver circlet that marked him as the Queen’s Consort.  He was wearing casual green hose with a white colored shirt and black boots.  A heavy black cloak was draped over his shoulders and Byrin could just make out the ivory pommel of the dagger that rarely left Seraths side.  A gaudy yet serviceable weapon thought Byrin, remembering when Serath had used it to kill an assassin that had made it into his bedchamber one night.  Yes, a very serviceable weapon indeed.  Unwilling to break Serath from his reverie, yet knowing the time of his appointment was fast approaching; Byrin cleared his throat and spoke.

Serath

Serath startled from his memories of the meeting with his brother six months before when he heard someone begin talking. Turning away from the fire, he saw Byrin standing in the open doorway, with a half eaten chicken leg in his hand.  Always one for court finery, he was clad in a loose fitting white shirt covered with a blue vest with red and gold trim, and a pair of dark green trousers.  He also wore a pair of knee length black hard-heeled boots.  The pommels of the two shortswords sheathed diagonally across his back were visible just above his shoulders.  Flouting Legion dress codes he had let his blonde hair grow down to his shoulders and had grown a beard. His blue eyes regarded Serath casually over his long pointy nose as he leant against the doorframe.  

Byrin

Over Byrins shoulder Serath saw old Theodore cast a look of anger toward Byrins back, as he shuffled past the doorway. Theodore’s thin arms strained with the heavy tray of food that he was carrying toward the dining table in the centre of the room.   Serath heard his stomach grumble and realised that he hadn’t eaten anything since breaking his fast that morning.  Undoubtedly he was in for a scolding from his old servant he winced inwardly.  Letting the thought pass he brought his attention back to Byrin.

“What did you say?” asked Serath, his face impassive.
“I said that it’s time to meet the Bastard” his bodyguard replied.

Authors Note: None of the above happened in the game, I wrote this to help me flesh out the strategic story.

Chapter XXVI - You And Me Llona Aint Nothin' But Mammals

Reginald Arthur Wesley-Smyth the 3rd sat perched on top of a cupboard in the corner of the Elves room in the Inn; secure in the knowledge that since he was invisible there was no way that Llona could know he was there.  He knew that Shyne could detect him through their bond, but he was certain that the Wizard had been too distracted to do so. 

Reggie liked to think that he was an Imp of the multi-verse, but nothing he had seen in his 347 years of life had prepared him for what he had just witnessed. 

It had all started just over two hours before when he was sleeping peacefully on the top of the cupboard.  He’d been in the middle of a wonderful dream about the time he’d set fire to a hospital in Candlelight City, when the door had burst open and the Elves had tumbled inside. 

At first he was sure that they were locked into a battle to the death; their arms were wrapped tightly about each other as they rolled across the floor.  They also appeared to be trying to bite each other’s lips off.  Then Llona had managed to break the hold of his master and stand up, before walking over to the door and slamming it shut.  She’d then turned to face him and had started to take off her clothes (although why humanoids wore clothing at all was still beyond him.  Probably just for decorative purposes only he’d thought to himself at the time).

If Reggie was one thing he was a boob Imp (his wife had 4 of them), so when Llona had finally removed her undershirt it was all he could do to stop himself gasping out loud.  Sure they were the boobs of a stinking Elf but, by the Arch-Devil Asmodeus’ pointy tail, they were truly magnificent.  Now he finally understood what his master saw in Llona (aside from himself of course). 

He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on at that point, but it soon became very obvious when his master also began to disrobe. 

Over the next two hours the Imp had been forced to watch the two mate with each other or, in Shynes case, with himself for a brief time while Llona was undressing. 

He had desperately wanted to flee the room but was afraid that his master would detect his presence if he tried to.  At least that was what he had told himself as he had munched on a dried orcs heart and settled in to watch the show. 

Now that their coupling had finally ended Llona rose from the bed and, much to Reggie’s disappointment, began to dress herself.  After she was fully clothed she leaned over Shyne and once again attempted to bite his lips, before whispering something to him that Reggie couldn’t hear.  As she stood up and started to buckle on her sword belt Shyne attempted to pull her back onto the bed, but she nimbly danced away from his clutching hands.  She then casually walked over to the door before turning towards the naked wizard, blew him a kiss then silently slipped out the door.

Shyne collapsed back onto the bed, one arm draped across his face to shield his eyes from the bright moon light that was filtering through the shutters. 

Suddenly, without preamble he said “You can come down now.”

Reggie sat bolt upright on top of the cupboard.

“Master?” he said softly.

“I said you can come down now” replied the Elf warily.

Reggie dismissed his invisibility spell then dropped off the cupboard and glided across the room before landing on the foot of the bed.

Shyne propped himself up onto an elbow and looked at his devilish familiar.

“I should whip you for being a pervert but I don’t have the energy” he said with a yawn.

“I didn’t see anything Master” replied the Imp in a surprisingly humbled voice.

“Yes” said Shyne “you did.  I could sense your presence through the bond.”

“Well perhaps I did witness some of it Master” said Reggie.

“Gimp…” said the Wizard in a threatening tone.

“Well perhaps I saw most….err all of it” came the little devils response.

“The next time this happens, and I pray to all the Gods in all the heavens in all the universe that it does” said Shyne fervently “make yourself scarce.”

“I will Master” replied the Imp.

“Good.  Now go away and let me sleep, I’m exhausted” said the Wizard as he stretched out onto the bed.

“Before I go Master, I have a few questions if I may?” asked the Imp as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, tearing small holes in the sheets with his claws in the process.

“Go ahead” sighed Shyne irritably.

“I could not fail to hear you and your…….companion, talking at the start of your mating” he said before pausing to wait for permission to continue.

“And….” prompted the Wizard.

“I distinctly heard Llona demand ‘Four play’.  Why is it called ‘Four play’ when there were only two of you?”

“You know I have no idea” said Shyne thoughtfully “to be honest I’d never really thought of it before.”

“Another question if I may Master?” asked the Imp.

“If you must” replied with Wizard through another yawn.

“What were the little blue pills that she was force feeding you every few minutes?”

“Elfagra” replied Shyne “they are for….never mind” he finished quickly.  “Anything else?”

“Just two more questions if I may?”

Shyne nodded his ascent.

“Thank you.  I didn’t understand the yodeling and the chest beating. Was that also part of ‘Foreplay’?”

“I don’t know why she did that” replied Shyne “I thought it was a little odd myself actually.”

“And the crying at the end?”

“What can I say?"  said the Wizard with a shrug of his shoulders "I’m an emotional Elf.  Now it’s time for bed.  I expect Llona to be back in a few hours, when she returns go somewhere else.”

“Gladly Master” replied the Imp. 

And he meant it.

Chapter XXV – The Seeds of Downfall

Larencia City, 2 Years Ago

The room was luxurious in every sense.  A deep plush crimson carpet imported from the mainland lined its floor.  A large tapestry hung upon one wall, depicting the Legion’s stand at the castle of Dirk the Daring during the Undead War.  The artist had obviously been one of considerable skill, as the savagery of the battle had been captured in intricate detail. Sunlight filtering through a partially opened large heavy green curtain across the surface of the tapestry, creating the illusion that the figures were moving, forever playing out the final battle.  A floor to ceiling bookshelf adorned half the opposite wall, denoting the owner of the room to be a scholarly type.  Works on many different subjects sat upon its shelves, although most were historical texts originating from countries around the world.  The opening in the curtain also revealed a door leading to a balcony from where the room’s occupant could look out over the city below and on a clear day could even see ships on their approach to the city.  Nestled in the corner of the walls containing the tapestry and the curtain was a large fireplace, the warmth of which was sufficient enough to heat the room during even the most severe of Larencian winters. 

The centre of the room was occupied by a large desk, upon which was scattered a number of maps and documents, a decanter of wine, two glass goblets and a platter containing an assortment of meats, pastries and cheeses.  One man sat at the desk, his chin resting upon steepled fingers, a look of concentration upon his face, while another man paced back and forth behind him.

“The war went hard for us Serath” said Jeran, First Prince of Larencia, glancing over his left shoulder at the seated man on the other side of the desk “We were nearly destroyed.  If the Theocracy hadn’t changed sides at the last and attacked the Caldarians all would have been lost.”  Jeran stopped his pacing, picked up the decanter from the table and poured himself a goblet of wine.  He turned and offered Serath a re-fill but was politely declined by his youngest brother.  Replacing the decanter on the table, Jeran returned to his seat and took a long draught from the goblet before setting it alongside the decanter.  After pausing to gather his thoughts he continued.  “It has been a year since the end of the war and we have still not recovered.  The provincial armies have been re-enforced back to full strength but the Kings Legions are still under manned.”

“Losses were that bad?” interrupted Serath as he leaned forward and selected a slice of Halflington cheese from the platter in front of him.  Clearing his throat Jeran nodded then continued.

“The Legion Cavalry suffered heavy casualties as did the Mammoth Hudah.  Losses among the infantry were approximately four in ten.  It’s not the numbers that concern us, but the quality of the soldiers.  A lot of experienced men were killed and they will be hard to replace. Rex is of the opinion that it will take another one to two years for the Legion to attain its pre-war fighting strength.” 

Serath sat back into his richly upholstered chair and digested the news that his brother had given him.  With three neighboring countries considered enemies, the Larencian military had its hands full keeping the borders secured at the best of times, let alone when they were under strength.  Undoubtedly the settlers on the frontier were doing it hard. 

“The last thing we need right now is to have a break down in relations between Larencia and Lors.  The treaties must be maintained at all costs,” emphasised the First Prince as he pounded his fist into the palm of his hand.  “If our enemies suspect for a minute that our alliance with Lors is suspect, they will take advantage of our perceived weakness and strike.”  Jeran picked up his goblet, drained the wine that it contained then set it back onto the table.  Serath looked into the face of the second most powerful man in Larencia and grew concerned at what he saw.  The strain of the past six months had clearly taken its toll.  At only thirty-one years of age, Jeran looked a man in his early forties.  His light brown hair had turned gray at the temples and deep lines furrowed his brow.  Never a powerfully built man, he had lost weight since the wars end and the green and white robes of office that marked him as the First Prince hung limply upon his gaunt frame.  Jeran had always been a vain man and it spoke volumes about the pressure that he was under that his appearance had slipped so.  With the King having moved his court to Candlelight, the task of rebuilding the shattered Larencian countryside had fallen to the First Prince; a task with which he was obviously finding difficult to cope.

“You know that the child Bess carries is not mine,” said Serath as he shifted nervously in his chair.

Jeran bowed his head, his words barely audible above the crackling fire.  “I know”.   An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between the two brothers before Jeran spoke again.  “Have you determined who the father is?”

“No”, replied Serath evenly.  “I’ve had spies working hard to find out but they have so far learned nothing.  The Queen is a subtle and cunning woman and was able to keep this affair a secret.  If the Earth Mother wills it I will eventually discover who it was and deal with him accordingly.  In the meantime what would father have me do?”

The First Prince leaned forward in his chair and looked earnestly into his youngest brother’s eyes before speaking.

“Our Father and The Queen Mother of Lors arranged this marriage to bind our two countries closer together.   Instead, I fear they are drifting further apart.  Family honor has been tainted, but what is our honor worth if our people lie dead in their fields?  You must acknowledge the child as your own”.  Jeran rubbed his eyes with his ink stained hands.  Once again Serath was struck by how exhausted he looked.  “The alliance must be maintained at all costs.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Serath replied, the anger evident in his voice as he picked up the decanter and poured himself a drink.  “Lors itself cannot afford a war at this time either.  Why this woman would allow such a thing to happen I do not know!”  In a rare lack of self-control, Serath hurled the decanter across the room, where it smashed into a hundred pieces against the bookcase, soaking a number of volumes with wine.  Jeran’s head came up sharply and he bit back a rebuke.  The door to the Princes inner chamber flew open as the two Legion Guardsmen stationed outside rushed into the room with swords drawn, their eyes assessing the room for danger.  Jeran waved them away then turned back to his brother, noticing that the look of outrage that had been there an instant before had been replaced by the blank unemotional mask that was Seraths trademark.

The First Prince climbed to his feet and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket before moving toward the bookcase.  He commenced to mop up the wine that was already staining the pages of the books that it covered.

“I see that she has upset you brother,” he said sympathetically without turning from the task at hand.

Serath once again sat back into his chair before speaking, his voice tinged with embarrassment “I apologise for my outburst Jeran, it was…unnecessary”.

Having done his best to clean up the mess, Jeran removed the five books that had been damaged and carried them to the door, balancing the books in his right arm; he turned the doorknob with his left and opened the door.  Outside, both guards came rigidly to attention, their eyes remaining locked upon the wall in front of them.

“Roland”, said Jeran as he addressed the soldier on the left-hand side of the door. 

“My Prince”, replied Roland, his right arm coming up smartly in salute, the fist thumping into his chest just above his heart.

“Take these books down to Brother Anthony the Librarian and ask him to repair them as best he can”, said the First Prince as he handed Roland the books.

“Yes my Prince” answered Roland transferring the books to his left arm then saluting again.  Without waiting to see Roland carry out his command, Jeran turned and re-entered the room, closing the door behind him.

The First Prince walked across the room and sat back down in his chair, all the while rubbing his wine soaked hands upon his purple cloak. “Serry” started Jeran, using the name that the family called Serath as a child.  “I do not envy you your life as it is right now. The insult is grave indeed, but for the good of the realm you must accept the child as your own”.

Abruptly Serath rose from his chair, turned his back on his eldest brother and made his way over to the curtain that partially obscured the door leading to the balcony.  Pulling the heavy curtain to one side he opened the door and looked out onto the city below, immediately feeling the chill of the cold sea breeze as it invaded the warm sanctuary that was Jeran's study.  He heard his brother gasp at the sudden influx of cold air and could feel Jeran's eyes upon his broad back.  Outside, the city was going about its business as it had done for the last three hundred years.  Merchants were selling their wares, their cries attempting to entice customers to purchase their goods.  Covered wagons rolled down the paved roads and on to their destinations, while people scurried alongside them intent on their own business. 

Seraths eyes scanned the city below passing over familiar landmarks; the Legion barracks by the main gate, the market place near the residential sector and the Fountain of Good Fortune, just to name a few.

Eventually his questing eyes found what they were searching for as they came upon Gaia’s Grove, the Shrine of the Earth Mother.  Uncharacteristically, a smile appeared on his face as the memory came back to him of the time he had pushed his twin brother Alexander into the Glade of Contemplation.  Angry the Druid had been brutal in his punishment for the lack of respect he had shown the Earth Mother, and he had spanked Serath without mercy.  The young Prince had been proud even as a child, and had not cried out during the beating.  He had considered the cold dunking and the look of outrage on his brother’s face well worth the punishment he had received for his crime.  How he longed to once again walk bare foot on grass as he had as a child, the cares of the realm unimportant to a ten-year-old.  The smile faded from his face.  ‘Time to set the cat amongst the pigeons’ he thought to himself as he turned to his brother and spoke.

“I intended to accept the child as my own whether Father approved or not.”

Mixed emotions appeared on Jeran's face.  Relief that Serath intended to do the King’s bidding and concern that Serath had intended to go against their father’s wishes if the King had chosen a different course of action.  The years he had spent with Angry the Druid and as Consort to the Queen had obviously changed him.  Indeed, he was his own man with his own agendas.

“I’m glad my brother” said Jeran, a smile breaking out on his exhausted face “Now, tell me of your daughter, how is little Bess?”

Authors Note: Just to explain something here, Bess is the hereditary name of the Queen of Lors.  Serath is the consort to Bess the XV and father to Bess the XVI.  Just to confuse things more I was thinking of naming his horse Bess but decided against it at the last minute.

Chapter XXIV - What's In A Name?

Two hours later the group was seated around a table at the Dancing Halfling, a tavern just inside the Eastern gate of the city.  It was early evening and the tap room was full of clientele that had just finished a hard day’s work.  It was clearly a working man’s tavern as most of the patrons were labourers or craftsmen, each of them content to sit with their friends and discuss the day’s activities. 

Alyse’s stomach growled as she smelled the roasting meat that was being prepared in the kitchen out the back.  They had ordered their meals and she inwardly cursed the staff for how long it was taking for it to be prepared and delivered.  The past few days had been hard on them all, and they could do with a decent meal after having to make do with the trail rations that they’d had with them.

Unconsciously she lowered her right hand to ruffle Nancy’s fur, only to stop it half way when she realised that the wolf would not be there.  The Ranger quickly blinked back the tears that formed in her eyes as she picked up the mug of ale that lay on the table before her.  Once she’d rested for a day or two she decided that she would venture out into the forest and bond another companion, most probably another wolf.  It would be good to get out of the city; where some saw vibrant colours and a cosmopolitan culture, she saw the bleakness of stone and the over powering smell of too many people living to close to each other. 

Across the other side of the room an Elven Bard took to the stage and began to pluck at his Lyre.  After ensuring that his instrument was properly tuned he started to sing a tune that Alyse did not recognise.  The words were in his native tongue so she did not know what he was singing, but the melody was soothing and suited her present state of mind so she settled back into her chair to enjoy it. When the last notes of the song made their way into the night air the people in the room began to applaud the Bards performance, although Alyse could have sworn that she heard someone mutter ‘Fucking amateur’ under their breath, but she couldn’t be certain.

As the Elf began another song two bar wrench’s arrived with their orders and began to place them on the table.  Her plate had barely been set in front of her before Alyse tucked into it with gusto, and she was pleasantly surprised at how good it was.  The lamb was slightly over cooked but the vegetables that rounded out the stew were fresh and tasty.  After she’d eaten the larger parts of the meal she used her dagger to hack a slice of bread off the loaf that was in the centre of the table, and then sopped up the gravy with it until her plate was clean.  To her left she saw Grumpy licking his plate clean before he bellowed for a bar wench to bring him another serving.  The Ranger then took a long draught from her mug of ale and once again sat back to enjoy the music. 

After they had finished their meal Llona and Shyne bid their friends good night, although they pointedly ignored Elvis, then retired upstairs.  It had come as no shock that they had chosen to share a room at the Inn and, by the hungry look on Shynes face, they wanted to make the most of it.

Despite himself, Elvis was drumming his fingers on the table in time to the music that the Bard was playing as he watched the two Elves disappear up the stair case.  He shook his head in disgust at the thought of what they were about to do, causing the hat atop his head to cover the haircut that they had given him to wobble and nearly fall off.  Ever conscious of his image he’d also used some of their actor’s makeup to draw on some eyebrows although, if the truth be known, all it did was make him look like one of the ladyboys that could be found in some of Candlelight Cities more expensive brothels.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the door to the Inn open and two humans, a male and a female, walk inside.  Elvis knew immediately that they were from Lors.  

The man was dressed in a long blue sleeveless pull over tunic with a brown belt containing a longsword in a scabbard around his waist.  Underneath his tunic he wore a chain mail shirt that ended mid way down his upper arms.  He was clad in baggy green and white striped trousers that were tucked into dark brown boots that ended half way up his lower leg.  Long golden hair hung wildly down his back while a neatly trimmed beard framed his tanned face and piercing blue eyes. 

The woman wore tight fitting black leather travelling pants and a hardened black leather vest.  She also wore knee length black riding boots and protective greaves on her arms, as well as a black hooded cloak.  A thin circlet of metal sat atop her brow surrounded by flowing long blonde hair.  

The tattoos on her arms and face clearly identified the woman as a member of the Lorsian nobility.  Many of that countries Northern aristocracy had recently began to wear ancient tribal tattoos.  Some said that they did it to keep alive the old ways, while others said that it was to curry favour with the Southern Lords that had long preached that their Northern kin had grown too civilised and soft. 

Elvis heard Slobba push his chair back as he stood up and began to walk towards his two countrymen.  The Bard quickly stood up and, with drink in hand, hurried to catch up to his friend.

As the big Lorsian Cleric strode towards them, the man caught glimpse of him and, with this hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, took a step forward to stand beside the woman.

Slobba halted in front of them then offered his right hand in greeting and introduced himself.

“Slobbadon Mikokubich.”

“Lady Carmen Agnetha Elizabeth Memouff” replied the woman with a smile as she took his outstretched hand.  Standing behind the Cleric, Elvis started to choke on the mouthful of ale that he’d just drank from his mug.

Ignoring his friends discomfort Slobba turned to the man and offered his hand once again.

“And you are?” he asked politely.

“Yorick Augustus Hunt” game the gruff reply as the blonde man shook his hand in a vice like grip.

Slobba ignored the sound of Elvis spitting another mouthful of ale onto the floor behind him.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Carmen with a raised eyebrow.

“Where do you want me to start?” said Slobba with a grin.

Authors Note:  For those that are interested this post takes my total word count to just over 30,000.  I honestly never thought that I'd get this far.  To celebrate I decided to go back and re-write Chapter I - In The Deep End.  It is much better than the original post.  Check it out if you get the chance.

As long as you keep reading I'll keep writing.


Prux