05 July 2013

Merlin 3:18 “Wont to Do”

Merlin 3:18 “Wont to Do”
by, mjbanks

A tavern boisterous with fare and friends and supper fire nestled in a building abutted to several others where vices of salacious secrecy endure, interred to partake in such commons are the party lead by Braden and his fellows. Jonak, a warlock who can turn whispers into near poison, for reasons unknown to strangers sits in the corner closest to the heating hearth, drinking to himself three bottles throughput of rotgut he is by no means apt to avid expresses. Braden and Katyenka, once both of the cloth and thru a string of fate and perils left it together, prayer beads high on their arms under sleeve, while nestled twixt other patrons, some whom speak pieces and parcel of their language with most the local tongue of the sand lords whom reign from the circular desert predominantly in the south. Laughing and singing the songs worded slightly different and ever the same unending inebriation and celebration, marked by Agnar, a stocky Jotunn too cumbersome for roundelay, taking interest in the oncoming peril of a girl at their table, in the round, sitting with her lover, who is aversive to letting her from his sight.

Agnar’s concern is that neither she nor he speaks his western language skillfully and offer him little credulity for ales they have seen him to drink thus far, giving him cause to use a wench to translate their words and his camaraderie. With humor and frustration across a barrier of chivalry, this current goal, forsworn hast he to pay for pleasure not, lest by enemies of equanimity, thus this play to pay for translation of the bridegroom and wife a trouble hence and forthwith.

Merk: “Where are the Ettin is become a now?”
Agnar: “What’d ‘a ton’ mean?”
Wench: “Ettin is Jotnar.”
Agnar: “Ah, Jotunn, there was only fire and water when the first god was born, and when time was already old, two Jotunn crawled out its shoulders and into the forming worlds, realms apart, each wife having six children at a time, and their bellies vast.”
Idyth: “Apart to be have love together?”
Agnar: “They were many worlds apart.”
Idyth: “Big to tell councils, both become one.”
Agnar: “Both become one, ah, so wonderful, even better with another stein, be a good wench and fetch us a new pail.”
Wench: “Pay me first, handsome.”

A gold piece and a smack to her callipygian affect, watching intently the young husband still shows a fret.

Agnar: “What of this council, little husband.”
Merk: “The council makes the laws of my people, Idyth is from another kingdom and our kings do not like her people, there has been a sad distrust and occasional violence toward them, now emissaries from all the towns have gone to the capital to decide if they are trespassing. My father sent his vote of ‘no’ and we fear other votes will be the same.”
Idyth: “Soon hiding will not be an option.”
Agnar: “Why do not you elope?”
Merk: “What am I is not a lope?”
Agnar: “Wench, get over here! I’m saving a marriage!”
Wench: “What you got, palooka?”
Agnar: “How do I say, ‘elope’?”
Wench: “Ensconce.”
Agnar: “If your father is king, why not take his money and ensconce with Idyth?”
Idyth: “He would hurt us assuredly.”
Merk: “There is not much to take, and we would not wend far.”
Agnar: “I will buy you food, with my word in the sunrise I will pay you to leave, or my friends and I will tear you from the king’s hands and he will thank us for it.”
Idyth: “How will you do that?”
Merk: (leaning secretively) “Do you know magic?”

Agnar catches Braden staring him deadly in the eyes, a very subtle shake of his head and the giant begins to laugh and tell them ‘no’ while demanding food. An act in and of itself that scares the anxious cook who contemplates feeding him the entire young roast pig he has cooked, questioning the wench about the daunting task of feeding giants, until learning he doesn’t want to eat, but only drink and feed the secret newlyweds.

Now of Digr, born of humans and Midgard, a man who refuses vices of luxury if unpaid to have, and is often enjoying penuries when time to procure new proclivity. Nonetheless, in his case the recent pull of silver now divvied for weapons and monies among them he spends a certain amount of time in the brothel next to the tavern and restaurant. Using his earth magic to lift the bed and dance the sheets like curtains around he and his strumpet temporary, until now returning from his second of such visits, in sooth the latter experience with the most fetching by this infamy. Save the mattress falling, attractive humorous discretion, and returning to the public revelry, he cheers to Braden and the others and they cheer to him in unison with somewhat less than enthusiastic rejoinders.

Agnar leaves to relieve himself and after returning takes the half empty bottle and mug from Jonak who is fast to thoughtless sleep, he sits again with the others a giant taking the seat of almost two normal-sized men. The mug in his hands looks like a child’s cup in a bear’s paw, he drinks hoping to be drunken in spite of his size, which will tolerate more vast and stronger spirits, as others drink he takes interest in Ana’s jovially feminine demeanor.

Varin is elsewhere sneaking thru the town, his senses are powerful and his agility is as well, from such his tradecraft is burglar and like a cat he wanders the town, training his mind for these actions that he enjoys, thru a window, he slips just to exit a swordsman’s front door. Pale is his skin slightly and hair somewhat dark and long, slightly tall in stature and atop his head a band of silk wrapping around his brow and ears. Onto a hay cart, to a rachitic awning, to a stable roof to see the vista, where he tumbles rolling on his back before diving head first over a roof, only to catch the edge with his hand. Hanging from a wall his fall is a graceful slide to the bottom behind the stagecoach of a minister, father of the troubled husband Merk, merely to rummage thru belongings, but not before sitting and imagining in a moment his life as the owner of the ornate carriage. With an inkwell in his grasp, he leaves at the sound of the elder who owns it, to a rooftop where he spills dye to paint the Jera rune. From the edge of town he sees the evening, the stars are awakening as the sun begins to set. Deep in distance three horse drawn coaches camp stead in the forest with no parcel, with no drivers, with no windows.