Post by Matthew on Sept 14, 2014 1:46:36 GMT -5
Enter, 'The Moldy Cellar'
"Perhaps that's enough shipmate." He thought, putting away his 5th tankard of the evening. "You need your wits, and you've precious little to begin with." He grinned. The man was simple, perhaps even stupid, but he knew it...and he had found that if he just tried to behave like a person of intelligence, to mimic their behaviors,he could sometimes rise above his lacking intellect.
Not tonight.
"Another!" he cried out to no one in particular. His mark was nowhere to be found tonight, so he was determined to not let the evening go to waste...well the late afternoon technically; the man was no stranger to day-drinking.
He took some time to survey the room; while he sat alone at an oak table by the fire, the tavern's common room was filled with a motley crew this night:
-A drow, slurring his speech in between gulps of ale, sprawled by the bar.
"I'll have what he's having."
-A frail man in the robes of some magic user or scholar sat huddled by the fire, nervously looking about with eyes that beat about the room like a hummingbird's wings.
"Nervous bastard; Looks as though he could use a draught or 2 of the drow's drink
-A beautiful woman, one of the most attractive he'd seen in some time, brown hair spilling down her robes like liquid chestnut, looked as out of place as a Lilac amongst lepers. his eyes lingered an extra moment here,
"what is She doing in a shithole such as this one?"
-Off in a shadow recess of the common room's periphery, another drow. This one clad all in black, such that one could only see the firelight dance in the whites of her eyes. An almost eerie sight.
"A ghost." he thought, "though those eyes look as wary as a hunted beast's."
Turning back to his seat, he faced the hearth and drained his stein. As the room filled, people began to sing songs. The ale-besotted drow stomped his feet and clapped his hands, and even Valraukar, warmed by the house ale kept time slapping his thigh. He took to his feet to go out back behind the tavern to piss, "this is the problem with ale" he mused. The barbarian, as a rule did not do much thinking, and tonight was no exception; so his philosophizing was brief, lasting no longer than it took to empty his bladder, "you spend nearly as much time getting rid of it as you do swilling the stuff down."
Letting out a contented sigh, for the man enjoyed a good piss out of doors, he reentered the inn. People were clapping for the last singer, a southerner who had sung a bawdy tale of a shepherd who chased a maiden though the spring meads, and about their "tumble" down the hill. The man bowed, and took his seat. The crowd, eager for more turned to the large man as he strode through the porter's door, crying "A song! A song! Come northman, it's time for you to take a turn! Give us a good one!"
Grinning, the tall man threw back another jack of ale, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and took up a perch on top of a table close by the fireplace:
"This is a song sung by the poets from beyond what folk here call the Baldrick mountains..."
A hush fell, as the crowd leaned forward to listen. Closing his eyes, he began in a deep baritone, rough-hewn and rocky as the mountains of his home.
Ballad of the Weird Sisters
"Outside the village walls, where the darkest thickets grow,
Returning home from foreign lands, we dreamt of our near homes.
When at once we heard a hissing - was it a devil or a snake?
Or had we heard the sound of laughter,
that dangerous women make?
Three hags our way stood staring, they beckoned us their way,
We followed them along a hidden path, towards their dwelling place.
Inside a fire was burning, and a table had been laid,
They offered us a strange brew,
with a devil of a taste.
My friend and I we had great thirst, we drank our cups bone dry,
But stranger yet was the drink's effect, "It's witchery!" I cried.
Eye of newt and mandrake root, the devil's foot in brine,
A fever-dream took a-hold of me,
Souls danced before my eyes.
My lechery. My wicked lusts. The many stolen lives.
The souls of those whom I had wronged, shared tales of my past crimes,
Indeed, I was not all alone, to hear their strangled cries,
My fellow and these sisters,
of this my ears surmised.
And lo, I saw what must be done, for the gallows called my name,
I'd cut it's tongue under a demon sun, yea, in good health I'd remain.
In a flash I drew my dagger, and my fellow screamed with pain,
Then I turned upon the sisters;
To them I did the same!
At once the room it filled with blood, and the horror of their cries,
this night a murder banquet,
a feast of ruined lives.
Possessed were they with Fortune's gift, and yet they were surprised,
Three sisters should have better known,
Than to let,
This Devil,
Inside."
"Perhaps that's enough shipmate." He thought, putting away his 5th tankard of the evening. "You need your wits, and you've precious little to begin with." He grinned. The man was simple, perhaps even stupid, but he knew it...and he had found that if he just tried to behave like a person of intelligence, to mimic their behaviors,he could sometimes rise above his lacking intellect.
Not tonight.
"Another!" he cried out to no one in particular. His mark was nowhere to be found tonight, so he was determined to not let the evening go to waste...well the late afternoon technically; the man was no stranger to day-drinking.
He took some time to survey the room; while he sat alone at an oak table by the fire, the tavern's common room was filled with a motley crew this night:
-A drow, slurring his speech in between gulps of ale, sprawled by the bar.
"I'll have what he's having."
-A frail man in the robes of some magic user or scholar sat huddled by the fire, nervously looking about with eyes that beat about the room like a hummingbird's wings.
"Nervous bastard; Looks as though he could use a draught or 2 of the drow's drink
-A beautiful woman, one of the most attractive he'd seen in some time, brown hair spilling down her robes like liquid chestnut, looked as out of place as a Lilac amongst lepers. his eyes lingered an extra moment here,
"what is She doing in a shithole such as this one?"
-Off in a shadow recess of the common room's periphery, another drow. This one clad all in black, such that one could only see the firelight dance in the whites of her eyes. An almost eerie sight.
"A ghost." he thought, "though those eyes look as wary as a hunted beast's."
Turning back to his seat, he faced the hearth and drained his stein. As the room filled, people began to sing songs. The ale-besotted drow stomped his feet and clapped his hands, and even Valraukar, warmed by the house ale kept time slapping his thigh. He took to his feet to go out back behind the tavern to piss, "this is the problem with ale" he mused. The barbarian, as a rule did not do much thinking, and tonight was no exception; so his philosophizing was brief, lasting no longer than it took to empty his bladder, "you spend nearly as much time getting rid of it as you do swilling the stuff down."
Letting out a contented sigh, for the man enjoyed a good piss out of doors, he reentered the inn. People were clapping for the last singer, a southerner who had sung a bawdy tale of a shepherd who chased a maiden though the spring meads, and about their "tumble" down the hill. The man bowed, and took his seat. The crowd, eager for more turned to the large man as he strode through the porter's door, crying "A song! A song! Come northman, it's time for you to take a turn! Give us a good one!"
Grinning, the tall man threw back another jack of ale, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and took up a perch on top of a table close by the fireplace:
"This is a song sung by the poets from beyond what folk here call the Baldrick mountains..."
A hush fell, as the crowd leaned forward to listen. Closing his eyes, he began in a deep baritone, rough-hewn and rocky as the mountains of his home.
Ballad of the Weird Sisters
"Outside the village walls, where the darkest thickets grow,
Returning home from foreign lands, we dreamt of our near homes.
When at once we heard a hissing - was it a devil or a snake?
Or had we heard the sound of laughter,
that dangerous women make?
Three hags our way stood staring, they beckoned us their way,
We followed them along a hidden path, towards their dwelling place.
Inside a fire was burning, and a table had been laid,
They offered us a strange brew,
with a devil of a taste.
My friend and I we had great thirst, we drank our cups bone dry,
But stranger yet was the drink's effect, "It's witchery!" I cried.
Eye of newt and mandrake root, the devil's foot in brine,
A fever-dream took a-hold of me,
Souls danced before my eyes.
My lechery. My wicked lusts. The many stolen lives.
The souls of those whom I had wronged, shared tales of my past crimes,
Indeed, I was not all alone, to hear their strangled cries,
My fellow and these sisters,
of this my ears surmised.
And lo, I saw what must be done, for the gallows called my name,
I'd cut it's tongue under a demon sun, yea, in good health I'd remain.
In a flash I drew my dagger, and my fellow screamed with pain,
Then I turned upon the sisters;
To them I did the same!
At once the room it filled with blood, and the horror of their cries,
this night a murder banquet,
a feast of ruined lives.
Possessed were they with Fortune's gift, and yet they were surprised,
Three sisters should have better known,
Than to let,
This Devil,
Inside."