The Splintered Chamberpot - Bard's Festival All invited

Pull out your pack and head on down to the Prancing Pony for some great Role Playing (try to stay in character)!

Postby Scribbles » Fri Apr 08, 2005 4:17 pm

Frelga wrote:OOC: . . . But I was writing the evening of the festival and I thought Cerri was too. (Or was she out cold all night?) :?


((OOC: the "evening" was the impression I got too, and why I asked . . . though I too couldn't figure out how either man could have regained consciousness before morning with that much alcohol in their veins, healing dragons notwithstanding. Thanks for the clarification then!!

Frelga wrote: Either way, I think there are still a few heartstrings Master Façade could tug for us. :P


:( . . . bangs head quietly on desk . . . no, please, the guilt is already killing me!! Though the muse is . . . amused with me. Contrary little baggage . . . ))
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Postby The_Fool » Fri Apr 08, 2005 5:29 pm

((OOC: Well I've been writing morning as Elengil has so it's good to see everyone on the same page now :P

Scribbles...*winces* Ouch. I'm sorry for making you feel guilty. It's not intentional...it's just what my foolish lad is feeling. ((hugs)) ))


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A deep shaky breath was all he could answer with for some time. False. That was exactly what his hope had proved to be. What she in turn had proved to be herself. Those moments just before her ultimate treachery hung hazy in his mind. It was beyond him why she would have wounded him thus. To give him exactly what he'd asked for then a little more only to turn her back on him. Slam the door in his face. Goodbye. Farewell. Forever.

"I - " he began then stopped as another surge of suppressed emotion beat against his walls of constraint. He wouldn't mourn her. He wouldn't. For a moment he closed his eyes, long fingers knotted in the bed sheets as he fought to regain at least a semblance of control. The concentration needed had his head protesting in pounding anguish and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Everything she gave to me," he said finally, "she took away. Everything I wanted from her she kept at arms reach as she made promises she never intended to keep. I only wanted the chance to silently love her even if she couldn't love me. And she…" He paused, the pain as hot and scouring in his soul as a branding iron. All those wounds she had inflicted with her cold words and colder eyes. "…she took that from me too."

It was too much to bear. Until now he had been a silent monument to raging grief and now those temple walls came crashing down as he gave voice to everything he had lost. Why did Frelga have to stay? He didn't want her to see this. He didn't want anyone to know how much he was hurting. Like a wounded animal he wanted somewhere quiet and dark to simply crawl into and weep in private.

But such was not possible. And those bottled emotions were refusing to be any longer denied. Like a dam breaking. He gave a strangled sob, bringing his hands up to bury his fingers in his hair near his temples. His sorrow radiated out along the tentative line Cerri's link had created, snapping back to hit both her and Herger hard. Sitting up, knees drawn to his chest, he gave vent to his grief though it hurt him physically to do so. The substantial pain only made it all the more bitter. Which was, he resentfully supposed, aesthetically appropriate for a heartbroken bard.
Last edited by The_Fool on Fri Apr 08, 2005 10:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Scribbles » Fri Apr 08, 2005 6:57 pm

((OOC: grabs two fistfuls of hair . . . "aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . I can't stand it!!!!!!" :(:( glares at the muse . . . "and it's all YOUR fault!!"

Edit: "er, and my apologies for the BAP . . ." glares at the muse yet again . . . ))



IC:

She could not say which amused her more, the look of profound shock on the fat monk's face or the long suffering look her tall grey warhorse turned on her.

"I . . . I . . . I can't!" Cornelius wailed.

"You can and you will, old smuggler, or I'll skin you alive and nail your hide to the nearest tree," she answered shortly.

"But why, oh most silvery moon of magnificence, why??!!"

"Because you will make far better speed on my horse than on that poor little mule of yours," Scribbles answered calmly. "See that you deliver the letter to no one else but Master Façade, then bring my horse back here. I shall be waiting."

They were standing under the edge of the deep rock overhang where the Scribe had made their camp the night before. The scattered and minor splatters of rain had blown over just after midnight and dawn was silvering the eastern horizon below a dome of deep, cloudless blue. It would be a fine, warm fall day, she thought aimlessly. Her mount and the monk's mule were lazily cropping grass a few yards away where the trees began.

Scribbles reached into her vest pocket and withdrew a well folded note, sealed with wax and marked with the imprint of her Master Bard's pin. Cornelius raised his eyebrows at it. "I had no idea a Bard's pin was meant for that particular purpose . . . how interesting, not to mention versatile," he mused as he ran a fat fingertip over the flattened wax.

"I, I seem to have misplaced my seal . . . " the Scribe mumbled, looking uncomfortable. "The pin was the best I could find, and served the purpose well enough." She moved to saddle her horse, the monk following after.

Cornelius eyed her sharply. "I am still left in the deepest, softest dark, oh star of morning," he remarked as he slipped the sealed note into the flat pouch that hung from the heavy rope belt around his middle. "Something is amiss and this humble bag of melodious and poetic air suspects that he is being sent into the lion's den to serve as the sacrificial lamb."

"Whatever are you on about, old man?" Scribbles growled as she yanked the cinch tight and buckled it.

The fat monk narrowed his eyes. His voice dropped to a softer tone and all pretense of the clownish, humble man of the cloth dropped away. "Unlike last night, let us be frank with one another, oh most Ancient of Grouches. While I would never claim an intimacy we both know to be false, we know each other well enough, and while you can play a merry enough tune for most men, I am not so easily fooled. I will ask you again, what am I riding into?"

"The Splintered Chamberpot, as you well know," the Scribe snapped. "Just deliver the note and return with my horse, that is all you need to know." She bent forward slightly and laced long fingers together to form a cradle of her hands.

As he put one sandalled foot into her cupped hands Cornelius sighed, a deep dramatic gusting of air that drew only another frown from the peredhel. "Ai, ai, so I'm to be the lamb after all, sent to the slaughter," he moaned. "Save your breath for the ride . . . you . . . old . . . unnnhhh . . . " the peredhel grunted as she finally got a shoulder under the fat monks behind and shoved him up into the saddle. "Great hairy wargs man, you weigh more than a damned Oliphaunt!" she finished.

"Aye but it's a good thing for you that I'm smarter than one," Cornelius shot back as he gathered the reins and turned the tall warhorse's head toward the game trail that led to the narrow road.

"That," Scribbles replied, her hands on the horse's bridle, "is a matter of opinion."

Cornelius scowled. "Do you wish this letter delivered or shall I simply pass the 'Pot by and continue on, only to lose myself in the fleshpots of the East?"

"Do that and I will hunt you down like the dog you are," the Scribe snapped.

"Ai me, first a lamb, then an Oliphaunt and now a dog. This humble servant is most fortunate that you love animals. Have you a last word of wisdom to speed me on my way?"

"Yes," Scribbles growled. "Just hand the letter over, hold your gods-cursed tongue and get your fat arse back here with all speed."

Cornelius rolled his eyes. "Such a poetic sendoff. Do I have leave to at least tip a flagon to ease my parched throat before I must needs ride the breakneck road of return?"

Scribbles frowned. "You are far too free with your tongue when in your cups, old dog. You have this day, no more. See that you are back here before midnight."

"Only a day!!" the monk wailed. "Impossible!! Have mercy on an old man!!"

"It is barely a half day's steady ride to the Splintered Chamberpot from here. You can have yourself a quick bite and a flagon of fruit juice, deliver the reply, then get back on that horse and make the return journey. One day is more than enough time."

"For you perhaps," he replied, sulking. "And what if the Master of Fools is not to be found at this famous Bardic haunt, eh, eh?" He squinted down at her.

"Then you will inquire after him and FIND him!" she snapped, her patience wearing thinner as her mood began to darken anew. "But you will waste no time!"

"Ai, ai, this one is doomed! I see you have no pity for my delicate health at all!"

"Oh, I have pity," the Scribe shot back as she let go the bridle and stepped back to give the warhorse a smart slap on the hindquarters. The animal snorted and leaped for the track that led to the narrow road.

"I pity my horse!" she shouted after the disappearing pair.

*****

When the monk had disappeared, she returned to the fireside and pulled a slim, leather bound journal out of her pack. Seated with her back against the rock of the overhang, her arms draped over her drawn up knees, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the journal dangling from one hand.

She went over the fatal events leading up to and occurring at the wedding one more time, but still came up with no clearer answer than before. Every path but the one she had been forced to take led to the same end. Façade's end. "Why?!" she groaned to herself. "I gave him an out, why, why didn't he take it? I spoke clearly enough, didn't I? 'And if you do not come, I will understand.' Why did he have to come to the Inn, why did he have to . . . if he hadn't . . . I should never have . . . " She broke off, down that path lay only madness and despair. She had already been far too unwise. Sighing in frustration, she used her free hand to massage her eyes with thumb and forefinger. What was done was done, she could not go back and change it now. The past that mattered lay much, much farther behind her.

She drew a deep steadying breath, then opened her eyes and began to slowly and carefully page through the slim journal. 'The answer lies in in the past somewhere,' she mused to herself. 'Else why would Luinil have gone to so much trouble to tell me so in his journal . . .' She turned to one page in particular and read the Istari's graceful elvish script once more . . .

All answers to our future lie in our past and all our pasts are related. Though our past roots and grounds us, it can also bind us. Find what has bound you, cut the bonds, and you will be free."

She chewed her lip. Two things bound her, her father's curse and the sorcerous working of the dark elf mage, Delkarnoth. The first curse had changed her life by destroying the lives of those around her, the second curse had changed her life forever by destroying her choice for her own future. But Luinil had always hinted that something tied the two together, even though they had occurred centuries apart. And whatever tied them together was the key to her freedom.

Only now, she was fairly certain it no longer mattered.

.
Last edited by Scribbles on Sat Apr 09, 2005 11:00 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby Frelga » Sat Apr 09, 2005 1:15 am

Frelga didn't expect Façade to make sense, and he didn't. She knew he would blame the woman, whoever she was, for his sorry state, and he did. How like a man, to think that a woman owed him her love just because he gave her his. But his pain was real, no matter how foolish its cause, and it struck hard at her.

Frelga stayed quiet and didn't look at Façade. She's learned enough of grief to know when words were in vain. And then she heard his sobs.

Lufu dropped his spoon back into the honey pot where it sunk under the shimmering surface. "Mom? Mom, what's wrong?" he whispered, throwing himself into Frelga's arms.

"Shush, dear," she whispered back. "Come with me, let Façade cry a while. He'll feel better afterwards. Come, Lufu." She pulled her son towards the door, meaning to slip out quietly. Façade would never forgive her for seeing him like that. But the boy hung back and dug in his heels.

"Mom, he's hurt. We can't go now. Please, Mom, do something," he implored.

"Oh, Lufu, not now. We'll come back in a while, I promise." She cast a quick glance at the man who was weeping his heart out into his folded arms. "Let's go, Lufu, it doesn't do to intrude on a man at such time."

But her son was well trained in the duty that was owed a friend. With a firm "No!" he tore himself away and ran to Façade's side. Little hands locked on the wet sleeve and tugged.

"Façade? Please don't cry. Can I give you a hug?" Lufu tried to climb up on the crumpled bed, but Frelga pulled him back. She considered carrying her son out over her shoulder, but the screams that would ensue were probably more than Façade could survive.

"Just be quiet, Lufu," she told him instead.

Lufu shook his head, like a colt chasing away a fly that settled on his nose, and returned to his friend. "Please don't cry, Façade," the boy repeated. He patted Façade on the shoulder and stood on tippy-toes to stroke his damp hair. "You will get all better soon, you will see." Next to him, his mother pressed her hand over her eyes and wished that all the wide fields of Rohan lay between her and this ridiculous inn.
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Postby Cerridwen » Tue Apr 12, 2005 2:03 pm

OOC: And a fitting revenge that is, Oh Master of Fools. My goodness...
Unfortunately I won't be able to act the part at the moment, as I have inadvertently locked myself out of my house and my landlady won't be in again until Friday.
Such a typically blonde thing to do during finals week... :roll:
And this lab here is so near to closing that it's going to trip.

So until then, I guess.
sigh
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Postby Vilya_ring_of_air » Tue Apr 12, 2005 4:16 pm

A silver-haired elf wandered up the hill, a golden ring with a blue sapphire in it glittering in the moonlight.

"Good Day" he called out to Cerridwen.

He stepped up to the stranger and gave a slight bow of introduction.

"I am the keeper of Vilya, Elven ring of Air."

"And I am Cerridwen" came the reply.

"I am pleased to meet you... I was wondering..."

"yes?" the newly met person inquired

"Could you direct me to a good forum for nooBs? I have looked over the welcome board, and there is no one there to talk to."
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Postby Cerridwen » Wed Apr 13, 2005 9:25 am

OOC: Dusts herself off and takes a much-needed break from overly dramatic play-acting... :P

Hail and welcome, Keeper. Let's see, a good welcome forum... hm
I'd recommend Rune and DD's adoption thread, but you don't seem like the type. The Scriptorium is very welcoming. So is the Bard's Guild.
If you posted over in Welcome, someone from somewhere will reply to you soon enough. Might be all day, or a few days. Not all time zones are equal around here. Luck with your search, and welcome to the boards!

And speaking of time zones, I guess it is officially morning. I think I was last asleep in the hall and being tripped over... something about slapping someone... anyhoo. Elengil, I'm going to apologize for that, and take Cerri somewhere dark and quiet. :P
-----------------------
IC...

Cerri started at the unaccustomed touch and blinked up through the headache, the pain and the dizzy haze of the night's doings and found herself looking at someone she recognized, albeit vaguely.
"I'm... oh... very tired." She sniffled, held a hand to her head, and sniffled again. "I have no idea. I just need some quiet. I didn't really sleep all night..."
She allowed the lady to help her to her feet, and she stood there for a few moments, trying to find her balance. Once more or less on her feet and under her own power, she allowed the lady healer to escort her to her own rooms.
"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, stopping and turning as fully around as she could while entangled in a pair of supporting arms. "Please sir, I'm quite sorry," she called sincerely to the blond fellow, who was trying to gather his scattered sickbed implements... whereupon she lost her balance again, and nearly fell.
"Less of that," the lady admonished gently. "This one is yours, yes? Good," she said, pausing to lift the latch and let herself and her strange charge into the room.
Cerri allowed herself to be led slowly over to the little bed, whereupon she sank into the down pillow and coverlet with a relief so deep it was nearly painful.
"Do you require anything further?" the healer asked softly.
Cerri sighed, content for the moment to allow her mind to drift into the soft white glow of the morning. The roses in her window had opened to greet the sun, and they still smelled delicious.
"I'll want a bath, but I don't know when," she replied honestly. "Breakfast, too... but right now I could just sleep for the rest of the day."
"That is well, then," the lady said. Had Cerri thought to look, she might have seen a strangely curious expression flit across the half-elf's serene features, but she had already buried her face in the pillows and gotten all tanlged in the quilts.
"You're sure you don't want to get out of that dress?" the healer asked.
Cerri raised her head slowly, her amber locks straggling rather artlessly across her eyes, obscuring her vision.
"I... ah..." She sighed. "Blast."
Yes, she probably ought to don something a bit more comfortable for taking a day-long nap in, nevermind that her head had been spinning for some hours now.
She allowed her head to drop again, into the seductively accommodating pillows, and the tangle of her hair.
"Trousers're in third drawer. Tunic's in second. Thanks," she mumbled, as the lady Heather busied herself with finding the requested articles of clothing.
"Sure you don't want a chemise?" she asked, after she had folded them and draped them across the chair by the hearth.
"I'm not wandering around this ridiculous Inn in my underwear, thanks," came the irritable, albeit muffled reply.
Lady Heather suppressed a chuckle, suspecting it would put her charge in a somewhat less accommodating frame of temper. She dusted her dress off and gazed at the tangled form amidst the quilts for another few moments.
"I'll be around. Have them fetch me if you need me," the half-elf said.
Cerri raised her head again just in time to catch the gentle swish of skirts and the sound of the latch as it clicked.
She lay there a few more moments, knowing that she was in a small window between going to sleep and getting up for a bath. If she lay here and thought about it, she'd go to sleep, and she didn't care for awakening as she was now.
Bath first, then.
She heaved a sigh that was really more of a world-weary groan, and rolled herself and her tangle out of bed. It was a matter of trudging over to the little cistern after that, and pulling on the little tasselled rope to start the water. It was an ingenious little system, and did not actually require that one heat the water by the fire. One might heat the stones if one cared to, and place them in the grate under the cistern, but the water was already pleasantly warm. It felt good with the autumn chill in the air, and she didn't want to fall asleep while bathing. That wouldn't be good for anybody...
As she stumbled here and there arranging the space, a little song came into her head, which was ridiculous in the extreme and which did not suit her mood at all. It was lighthearted and funny, and she was just tired enough she couldn't get it to stop. So, she started humming it, and then she was singing it, and it made her want to either cry or scream at the lunacy of the past... however long it had been since she'd had her world upended and shaken like a rat.
"I wish I was an apple,
a-hangin' on a tree
and every time my sweetheart passed,
He'd take a bite of me...
I wish I had a nickle
I wish I had a dime
I wish I had a pretty lad,
To love me all the time...
I wish I had a thimble,
As fine as I could sew
I'd sew him to my coattail,
And down the road I'd go..."
She teared up, surely enough, and searched in vain for something with which to blow her nose. Finding no handy kerchief, she sat rather hard on the edge of the cistern and sniffled miserably. Glancing down at the water level she slapped irritably at it, got to her feet again, and looked for somewhere to hang her dress up while she bathed. She discovered an accommodating hook, hung the whole affair up by the laces, and felt her way back over to where her bath was, since she couldn't any longer see. And after that, it didn't matter how hard she cried, since all that water is wet anyway.
***
It took a little less time than she had been afraid of, but once she cried herself out and transitioned into the numb and tired part of it, soaking in the gentle warmth of the tub wasn't so terribly bad. It did not necessarily matter to her that she needed to wash her hair, but she did so anyway. Insignificant, familiar little rituals had a strangely comforting effect, so she performed as many of them as she could think of. After she had washed and dried herself, she slipped into the clothes the healer had left out for her and sat before the fire, combing her hair out to dry it.
Chime was, as nearly as Cerri could tell, still very not awake. She wondered what the little snake was doing, being so quiet... she cooled somewhat, considering what she could possibly do to the dragon to make her decide to give up living...
She sighed. She was calmer now than she had been, and her late tears had left her too numb and weary for revenge. She was just considering getting up and ringing for breakfast when it hit her.
Facade, apparently, was not too tired for heartbreak. It began very dully, in the pit of her stomach, then reached up into the base of her throat, took hold, and pulled.
"Ai!" she cried sharply, the suddenness of it undulating until it became a cold, dark, powerful wave.
"Ai ye gods, ye gods!"
Another wave took her to the floor, the strands of her dual link resonating all the way back to their source.
Chime! she screamed in her head, curse you dragon, make it stop! Please make it stop...
Somehow it failed to register as irony that she had been hit like this so many times in less than a full day.
She felt the dragon come awake... well, she felt the dragon respond somewhat, whether she had been awake or not to begin with. And to her surprise, she felt something from the creature that she had never felt before.
The pain subsided significantly, until it was a dull sort of ache in her heart, rather than her feeling as though someone was trying to pull one of her lungs down into her feet.
I wish I had tears, the dragon said then, in a tone Cerri had never heard her use. She had felt anger from the creature, irritation, petulance... but never this. Never anything so human as sorrow, empathy, pain...
I never knew it could hurt so, she said again. I never knew...
"Your games hurt a lot of people," Cerri replied tiredly.
I'm so sorry... the dragon replied, sounding very like a small, heartbroken child. I never knew...



*Edited since I wasn't really done and class got in the way. If any of you prefer it in a separate post, please feel free to say so.*
Last edited by Cerridwen on Wed Apr 13, 2005 6:24 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Frelga » Wed Apr 13, 2005 10:52 am

OOC: oh, poor Cerri! :hug:

OK, so it's morning. Makes much better sense. I've edited out Frelga's dress, and will probably go back to edit my first post, for consistency sake.

Vilya, I would suggest reading around the different forums to see what strikes your fancy. You may want to look at the Adoptions forum, where wonderful folks welcome newcomers and help them get their bearings. It does sometime take a day or two to get a reply around here.

Normally, you would apply for a role play thread by posting in the OOC thread to see if your character would fit in. There's no OOC for this one, though, because it's mainly (though by no means exclusively) used by the members of Bard's Guild, which you are welcome to check out.
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Postby Scribbles » Thu Apr 14, 2005 7:08 am

((OOC: Yes, welcome to TORC, and the Pony, Vilya. Frelga's suggestion of the Adoptions Forum is very good, and I'll second it without hesitation. There are also some really good informational threads in the Welcome Forum, so if you have a bit of time and a helping of patience, give them a read. You can also come and look into some of the welcoming and general social threads in the Talk Forum, whatever suits your fancy.

As Frelga also mentioned, the Splintered Chamberpot (which is where this particular Role Play rolls along) is the general Ale and Songhouse of the Bards Guild, but anyone really is welcome to join. All we'll ask is that you read at least the last 2 or 3 pages to get a feel for the action and where it is taking place. ;) The most recent action is actually a continuation of Orion and Elena's wedding thread, if you're interested . . . :D



Ah, morning of the day after the night before. Hehehe . . . I'll wait a bit until the day wanes into early afternoon before my next post. After all, Cornelius is no horseman, whether he rides the Scribe's warhorse or no . . . and I'm sure none of you are interested in the highly entertaining but somewhat un-family-friendly thoughts he is currently having . . . :D:D))


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Postby The_Fool » Fri Apr 15, 2005 6:20 pm

((OOC- Sorry this took so long Frelga :oops: Life has been a little too busy recently, and the muse has been somewhat distracted by Bowmen...))

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"You will get all better soon, you will see."

Façade took a deep breath, turning to look at Lufu as the boy reached out again to stroke his hair. It was such an innocently naïve statement and he shook slightly as another brief sob overtook him. Wiping eyes wet with tears on the sleeve of his elven shirt he shuffled to one side, a silent acceptance of Lufu's previous attempt to climb onto the bed. Lufu scrambled up onto the crumpled bed and gave him such a gentle hug, as if he were afraid the Fool might break, that it took all of Façade's strength not to breakdown completely in front of them both.

How had this happened? How had his perfect mask, the one that had never failed to aide him, to mask his feelings have crumpled so swiftly and so well that even a child could see his naked grief? He sobbed again, bringing one hand up to his face to cover his eyes, the other arm wrapped about Lufu as the boy hugged him a little tighter, his small arms about his neck. There was strength in the child, a strength he sorely needed, and it eased his pain somewhat to know that the boy cared about his welfare. He knew he was shaking badly but he could not stop the tremor as he continued to cry.

"Please don't cry," Lufu whispered uncertainly. "Please Façade." He patted the Fool's shoulder with his small hand, which only made him cry harder. He could not look at Frelga. Couldn't bear the look she may have been giving him.

Finally his sobs quietened until he lifted his hand to wipe silently at his eyes with the back of his hand, taking deep, shaky gulps of air as he tried to calm his breathing. It was hotter in the little room, the morning sun having risen towards noon and he felt stifled, raw and wounded from weeping. Giving a brief sniff he let Lufu go, leaning back a little before turning a haggard face to the window. His head was pounding but the pain seemed dulled somehow, as if his body were beginning to build up a mild tolerance. The words of an old song came back to Façade and he murmured them in the common-tongue, though the song came from the campfires of the gypsies descendant of Harad.

"So many tears, so many tears," he sighed, brushing away the last of the tears from his cheeks, "and I am an empty vessel."

"You're not empty," Lufu insisted, tugging at the Fool's sleeve to gain his attention.

He turned back to Lufu and gave the child a wan smile. "Thank you Lufu. That is comforting."
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Postby Herger » Fri Apr 22, 2005 12:43 pm

Herger found himself alone in the hall once again; a bit too disoriented himself to make much sense of what had just happened. But whatever it had been, he was alone. The broken bowl lay forgotten against the wall and he decided he needed something else to drink.

Wandering somewhat less than balanced down into the common room, mostly empty yet as the day was not yet darkening into evening, he wandered up to the bar and asked for their best hangover remedy. "I don't wanna know what's in it," he insisted. "Just gimme the best ya got, and hurry."

His head was still aching, unaware it wasn't even entirely his own headache he felt, and he was getting annoyed. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the bar as he waited for the spirits to produce the requested concoction, he grew more annoyed as the seconds passed. He also was feeling nauseous, which was quite unusual for him. He was also unaware it wasn't his nausea.

A strange sense of sadness had been growing over him ever since leaving the room with Facade and the feisty Rohir-lady, and he couldn't shake it. It was an all too familiar sense of loss, but he couldn't account for it at the moment. But his mind began to dwell on the feelings and soon his own memories began to surface much more than he would have liked and by the time his hangover remedy was set before him, he was well on his way to a very melancholy state.
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Postby Herger » Fri Apr 22, 2005 12:47 pm

Scribbles wrote:and I'm sure none of you are interested in the highly entertaining but somewhat un-family-friendly thoughts he is currently having . .



I'll start the bidding at 100 coins, do I hear 100, 100, 100...

=:)
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Postby Scribbles » Fri Apr 22, 2005 6:41 pm

((ooc: SOLD!! to the dumb (but oh so desireable ;) ) blonde . . . ;):P:D:D:D ))

IC:

Morning ran into midday and then into early afternoon. Cornelius was no horseman and he took his time when he could. However, the tall warhorse would often take the bit and then he was hard pressed to hang on as the big stallion thundered down the road. The thoughts that filled his head and the expletives that fell from his lips during these hair-raising stretches would have set even the hardiest and least pious sailor to blushing like a maiden. The horse, however, completely ignored him and would only slow back to a canter when the fancy took him. Cornelius was tempted to get off the beast altogether, but the thought of making the trip on foot daunted him more than the warhorse's antics. Grimly, he carried on.

No matter the abuse his body was taking, this did not slow the monk's somewhat creative brain. He mumbled to himself, first waxing poetic, then melancholy, then downright rude . . .

'Ai me, 'tis a poor suffering servant I be,
to aid a friend who is in need,
can anyone doubt my loyalty,
while I suffer here so royally?

Was ever there such a sacrifice made,
of a blistered behind offered in trade,
at the feet of friendship, so humbly laid,
tho' some would argue, I feared her blade . . .

Oh fie! I say, the truth must out,
'tis generous of her to trust this lout,
and though I surely have some doubts . . .
erm . . . great gods of the Ainur . . . is that my stomach?'

Ai, ai, my nether regions feel like all the demons from the pits of Mordor are waving torches at far too close a proximity to my tormented flesh, doubtless I will arrive at my destination to find myself crisped and scorched like the most well-roasted haunch that ever turned above a firepit . . . blast the half-elf and her leggy horses and hard saddle, ai, ai!! Now these demons have unlimbered the sharpest of hay forks and are surely trying to draw blood from my poor, abused sitting parts . . . oh why did I ever agree to this errand? Surely my nether quarters will never be the same again . . . ai, ai!! May the gods grant that I am spared an attack of wind, for surely the slightest passage of warm gases will tear whatever scraps of flesh are left on my hind end bones and scatter them to the . . . er . . . winds . . . leaving me flayed like the worst criminal ever to languish in the dungeons of Barad Dur . . .'



Finally, the Bard's famous Songhouse hove into view, standing at the end of a long meadow that ran down to where the Withywindle joined the River Baranduin. Cornelius' eyes widened in amazement as he took in the spread of colourful tents to one side of the meadow, and the number of people that moved among them. "Hmmm, I don't recall the Scribe mentioning a Festival," he mused to himself, then had to grab at the saddlehorn as the warhorse nickered softly and set off towards the Inn at a brisk canter. He cursed profusely the entire way.

Cornelius drew the tall stallion to a halt in the yard of the Spintered Chamberpot and winced as he glanced down and saw just how far away the ground was. The horse snorted and pawed, then tossed and shook its head, obviously impatient to be rid of the monk's weight. Cornelius sighed and slipped one foot out of its stirrup, then leaned forward as far over the horses neck as he could. Huffing and puffing and moaning and groaning most piteously, he managed to worm his free leg up and over the warhorse's hindquarters, then with a yelp, slid off, only to end up in a heap next to the beast. Whereupon said beast turned his head and gave Cornelius a look that fairly shouted extreme equine amusement.

"Yes I know, not exactly the most graceful of dismounts. But please to remember, oh noble beast, that getting back up there is going to be far harder for this fat, humble servant," the man groused as he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. The horse whickered softly, then nudged Cornelius' shoulder. "I'm going, I'm going!" the fat monk snapped, then turned towards the 'Pot's doors. He stood there for a few minutes, gingerly rubbing his abused bottom and wondering if he'd ever walk the same again. Behind him, the stallion ambled towards the grassy verge and began to nonchalantly graze.

Cornelius winced as he dusted himself off, hitched up his rope belt and set his face bravely. "Right, once more into the breach, y'old smuggler, and please to be keeping your wits about you," he muttered to himself as he walked up to and then through the double swinging doors and into the 'Pot's main common room.

He stopped and surveyed the semi-deserted room carefully, but the man he sought was not immediately apparent. He shrugged. Ah well, perhaps a nice, cold ale would ease his parched throat in the meantime. And besides, the best place to make inquiries about the whereabouts of the golden haired Fool was none other than at the bar.

Wasn't it?

He figured the taproom was reasonably quiet due to it only being mid-afternoon and doubtless, most of the Inn's patrons were sleeping off whatever revels had been held in the tents he had seen in the meadow. He sidled up to the bar and eyed one of the stools, then with a grimace, decided it might be more prudent to stand. He whistled for a barkeep, then nearly jumped out of his skin as one of the bar spirits popped into sight in front of him. 'Ai!! 'Tis patently bad manners to nearly rob a man of several years of his life!" he yelped. Flush rolled her eyes and began to move off. "No, no, please, fairest and most lovely embodiment of grace ethereal, accept my most humble of apologies, for surely I should have recalled the manner of your . . . er . . . being," he spluttered rapidly. "If it please you, may I have a very large ale and whatever the kitchen happens to be serving." Flush twittered at him and a very large flagon of foaming ale appeared, then the sprite disappeared.

"Probably going to check what sort of pleasing feast can be had from the bottomless well of savoury and delectable eatables in yon kitchen," he mumbled to himself, then took a very deep swig from the flagon. As he was wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he turned and looked around the room. Over on the other side of the bar he caught a flash of blonde hair and grinned widely. "Aha! My quarry appears, may the gods be thanked for such fortuitous good luck," he chortled, then picked up his flagon and made his way to where the blonde man he sought had his face buried in his crossed arms, a large mug of something hideous looking, and even more hideous smelling, in front of him.

He poked the man's shoulder. "Greetings, oh most splendid Master of Jests and Foolery!! What a joyful and momentous coincidence that we should meet again so soon!!" Cornelius leaned against the man in a comradely way and noticed the unmistakable distillery odour that clung to him. In his most conspiratorial whisper, Cornelius announced to the mound of blonde hair, "You know friend, the best cure for a hangover is not some hedgerow remedy, but a nice healthy dose of strong ale."

.
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Postby Herger » Sat Apr 23, 2005 9:11 pm

Scribbles wrote:((ooc: SOLD!! to the dumb (but oh so desireable ;) ) blonde . . . ;):P:D:D:D ))


Puffs up chest =:)

----------------------------

"Greetings, oh most splendid Master of Jests and Foolery!! What a joyful and momentous coincidence that we should meet again so soon!!"


He turned a rather annoyed eye to the fat man who had appeared to disturb his morni..er.. afternoon and eyed him strangely. Meet again? Whatever was the bloke speaking of? He must have been a good deal drunker than Herger.

Leaning in closer, the fat man then said, "You know friend, the best cure for a hangover is not some hedgerow remedy, but a nice healthy dose of strong ale."

With a snort and a nod, Herger decided perhaps the man wasn't so bad after all. "Are you providing.. friend?" he grinned wolfishly.
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Postby Scribbles » Sat Apr 23, 2005 10:23 pm

Cornelius squinted at the face that resolved itself out of the tangle of blonde hair. "Ai! Do forgive me fine sir, but I thought you were someone else! However, if you will allow me I can certainly er, 'provide' an ale by way of apology, indeed, nothing could be simpler." The fat monk looked around and not seeing anyone, produced a coin and waved it in the air. "Oh, please, most illustrious and wondrous tenders of this fine alehouse, might my friend here have a large flagon of your strongest ale?"

Plunge appeared with an audible 'pop' and snatched the coin from the fat monks fingers. A large flagon of ale appeared next to the mug of vile smelling hangover remedy at Herger's elbow. "Ai, and what about the food I ordered!" Cornelius shouted after the disappearing bar sprite.

"Friend or no, I'll thank you to keep your voice down," Herger moaned, then reached for the flagon. "Here's to getting to the bottom of the cure," he said with a wink.

Cornelius hefted his own flagon, clanked it against Herger's and grinned. "Aye, and just to be certain of a full recovery, perhaps a second one as well." He drained half his flagon at a breath, then wiped the foam from his lips with the back of one meaty hand. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said with an expansive gesture. "I am Cornelius, a most humble and abject servant of the gods, a fair storyteller, a passable juggler and for any donation that your generous and charitable heart may consider, I can also play and sing well enough to please gentleborn ladies and noble men. I am also somewhat of a humble businessman, and for a reasonable fee, can likely procure whatever it is your heart desires or your purse can afford." He took another swig of ale.

"And you my fine friend. A thousand apologies are yours, from this my most humiliated heart to your most noble self, which, it is my fervent prayer, is kindly disposed enough to this poor, frayed self to forgive him for the most excerable mistake of thinking that you were a different gentleman altogether. Ahem. Yes, well, now that we have all that out of the way, may I have the honour of your name?"

.
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Postby Cerridwen » Sat Apr 23, 2005 11:24 pm

[[OOC: Scribbles edited! :P
And be warned... Muse appears to have found her marbles again. :whistle: ]]

IC....


Cerri heaved a sigh. She knew she ought to feel sorry for the little dragon, since the creature was so obviously and honestly distraught by the dawning of her late realization of the damage she had been causing, but Cerri was really too tired for more than a brief and rather cynical acknowledgement of it.
"Perhaps now you won't be so keen on inflicting yourself on hapless people," she returned tiredly, retrieving the brush from where it had fallen and picking the hair out of the bristles. She threw a few of the snarls into the fire, where they caught and burned brightly, then curled in on themselves and faded, just as quickly.
"Do you see that?" Cerri told the dragon, teasing another of the snarls of her hair out from among the bristles.
Chime made an effort to return her attention to what Cerri was doing. When she was sure she had the creature's full attention, she tossed another of the wads of hair into the fire, and pointedly watched it ignite and curl in on itself, and burn away.
"That, little serpent, is what a human's life is. That is what our hearts are," she said quietly. "We are fragile creatures, tangled, complex. We are made of very breakable stuff, and our lives are over in the span of a few years. We thrive and flower like the summer grass, and then the frosts come and take it away. The winds blow, and we are gone. We don't need more heartbreak in the brevity of our years than we already have."
She felt her throat catch in that unusual way it did when she was about to begin sobbing, and she knew that it was the dragon, not herself.
Please, the creature repeated, sounding again like a very young child, please, I didn't know...
"Then you either weren't paying attention or you didn't care. Now dry up, it won't be made better for your blubbering about it."
It might have been her tone. It might have been the words themselves. It might have been the icy sheet around her heart that the little dragon could feel. Whatever it was, it sent the creature over some edge somewhere, and her mental voice began wailing about in the confines of Cerri's head.
It was exactly like hearing a child's forlorn crying, and it jangled her nerves something terrible. The sound of that cry in camp would bring any adult charging to the scene, expecting to find blood and terror and severed limbs. Or at the very least, jackals. It typically meant some toddler had toddled himself too near something sharp, or that he'd been bowled over by his playmates and was sitting and bawling his head off and being very pitiful.
It made Cerri wonder, somewhere in the cooly rational corner of her head, whether she'd had everything right about Chime.
"Hush," she said. "Please hush, you're giving me a headache."
It worked as well as it might have worked on a child... Which is to say, it made it a great deal worse.
Cerri put her head in her hands and sighed. "Dragons don't cry, Chime. You need to get hold of yourself."
The distinct sensation of a heartwracking sob, which Cerri felt down in the pit of her stomach. Had she been the one crying like that, she'd have probably wanted to kill herself. I... d-don't know what a- a dragon's su-pposed to do, Chime replied brokenly.
Cerri stared into the fire, the cooly rational part of her mind beginning to whirl in circles around itself. What exactly did she have on her hands here? She knew the little creature was young. Chime had told her so, once. She'd assumed her to be of an equivalent age to herself, though, given her manner and some of her behavior.
I was pretending, came the very small reply.
Cerri's eyes no longer saw the fire. Her vision was beginning to blur.
"You were pretending," she repeated softly.
The little dragon hiccupped with such intensity that Cerri actually felt it.
All of the little dragon's pranks came to her in a terrifying new light. If the little creature was actually a child she'd seen and done more than any child had any right to, and she really hadn't understood any of it.
Cerri covered her eyes and felt a headache coming. This one was actually hers.
The little dragon was quieting. I don't know how to behave like a dragon, she said forlornly. I know how people behave. How wizards behave. I don't know who my parents were. Macraelen hatched me. I learned from him. She sniffled. When I found out he didn't know how dragons behaved either, I started making it up. He thought I was grown by the time you came.
"What about that guard," Cerri asked woodenly. It had been the little dragon's worst prank on her. She'd awoken to a half-drunken louse who'd claimed she was his wife. She'd had the ring to prove it, and she had been thoroughly humiliated. There had been others like that, but none nearly so elaborate.
Chime shrugged. I put a spell on you and went away. I don't really know how it went, only what you behaved like when you came out of it. It was funny to me, you being so out of sorts. I didn't... I still don't understand why. I don't think it's funny anymore though. I didn't realize it hurt you. If I'd known it hurt so, I wouldn't have.
"Did Macraelen teach you to play tricks on people?" Cerri asked tiredly. "To play games with them?"
Chime shrugged. He thought it was funny, and so did I. I thought it was funny because people behaved funny. I don't know what he thought. I know he beat me once when I tried to make fun of him.
Cerri nodded. "He would." She sighed. "He thought it was funny because he liked to hurt people. He liked to hurt them by making them believe things that weren't true, and then by playing games with them that made them hurt more."
A long pause. The little dragon gave the impression of becoming sad again. I still don't know how to behave so I don't hurt others, she admitted disconsolately. I don't like hurting people. Would you teach me? she asked suddenly, Please?
Cerri pulled her knees up under her chin, and folded her arms about them. "Why me?" she asked frankly. "I might not be the best person to ask something like that. And as you've admitted, you don't know about these things. I could twist you into something horrific."
You don't like hurting people either, came the soft reply, searing in its perceptiveness.
Cerri lay her head on her arms and sighed. It was one of the truest things about her, and in the last twenty-four hours she'd been the cause of more harm...
"You can start by severing this link I have with Fi- with Façade," she murmured. It told her more about him than she would ever have wanted to know, much less to have asked. She no longer wanted to feel his betrayal with her, or how sickened he felt having another pair of eyes prying into his soul. It was the least she could give him, the smallest kindness...
If I asked why, would you be angry with me? the little dragon queried tremulously.
Cerri took another breath, and began the process of reorganizing her gut reactions to this strange little creature. If the little dragon was as young as she feared, she was probably as innocent too. And as confused, about a great many things. Naturally, she'd ask questions.
"I wouldn't," the gypsy answered, to soothe whatever fears the young creature had. "He wants to be let alone. It makes him hurt to know someone else can see his secrets. I don't want to hurt him, so I'm not going to look. You can help me do that by reweaving that link to him, so that it isn't there anymore. I still don't know how that happened," she finished tiredly.
Oh.
A pause, in which Cerri could practically feel the little dragon thinking. She was giving this some serious thought.
"Can you do that soon?" Cerri asked.
Yes, Chime answered. It was your magic that did it. It likes balance. We're coming apart a little at a time, and the strands get loose. Your magic wanted to tie them up again, so it did. It isn't supposed to do that...
Cerri groaned and flopped down onto her back. "Is it going to do this every time it senses something isn't quite 'right'?"
Chime sounded genuinely apologetic. I can try, but your magic is... complicated. There are pieces of it that aren't supposed to be there.
Cerri had just the right curse for Macraelen for that one, but she bit her tongue remembering that she probably carried a child's mind around in her head.
He hopes he doesn't dream, Chime told her sadly. Is that because it would hurt him to?
Cerri swallowed once, wondering if she ought to even attempt to explain something as complex as heartbreak to the young creature. "I can guess, but I had rather not pry," she replied softly.
I can prevent him dreaming, Chime replied softly. He wouldn't hurt if he didn't dream.
Cerri shook her head. "A Bard that doesn't dream will sooner or later think something is terribly wrong. He already thinks I'm doing this on purpose, underneath whatever mad things his heart is telling him of other matters. Let it alone, little one."
But you don't! I could tell him so!
Cerri shook her head. The less anyone meddled, the better.
Please... it hurts you that he thinks that. Someone ought to tell him the truth.
"He isn't ready for the truth, Chime," Cerri replied softly, staring at the shadows the firelight was making among the rafters.
There was a prolonged silence, in which the little dragon puzzled and Cerri simply lay and breathed.
Why is it, came the query, that you are unwilling to see him hurt on your account, and yet are willing to be hurt on his?
Cerri had to admit, it was a good question, one only a child would dare ask out loud. And it was one of those questions that had no simple answer, none that would not take all day trying to untangle to this young creature's satisfaction.
"I would spare him," she replied, after considering a score of other answers that would take her down roads she did not care to go, this day or this afternoon or this year.
But why would you spare him, and not yourself?
Cerri searched the rafters in earnest for an answer. Finding none, she decided on something that was true, but that would probably puzzle the poor little thing to death. "Because I think he has fine eyes," she said, with a wry twist of her mouth, "and I don't want them ruined."
Sure enough it so confused the poor little dear that she could not, for several moments, say anything.
That does not make any sense, she declared gravely.
Cerri nodded. "Would Macraelen have spared anyone, if it meant he had to suffer?"
The little dragon so reacted to that statement that Cerri felt the heat of it in her own gut.
"We spare our friends because we love them," Cerri told her, "though mercy will spare anyone, for its own sake. Macraelen held no love for anyone but himself, and knew nothing of kindness or mercy. To love another is to occasionally be willing to put their needs before one's own."
Do you love Façade?
Cerri tried twice to answer before she succeeded. This was yet another of those discussions that would take all day to explain, and she was getting hungry. Therefore she decided on a truthful, if somewhat abstruse answer.
"I love him as I love you, and all other creatures of good heart and misguided intentions."
And, as she had hoped, this proved to be one of those answers that Chime could not untangle sufficiently to ask further questions about.
"Care for breakfast? I think we'll both feel better after I've had something to eat," Cerri remarked offhandedly, turning her head to stare out of her window. She was still tired from it all, and a little sore in places, but she was ready to start feeling a little more normal again. Breakfast would help that along, even if she chose to spend the remainder of her day in bed.
The little dragon distracted herself enough from her ponderings to concur, and Cerri closed her eyes and readied herself to get up and ring for one of the bar sprites.
Don't bother. I've told them to bring up a tray.
Cerri's eyes flew open. "Beg pardon?"
I've spoken to them before. They're quite friendly, really.
"They... know?"
Of course they do. They knew from the beginning. They're sprits Cerri, what do you expect?
The gypsy sighed, and crooked an elbow up under her head. "I don't suppose it's out of hand to ask you not to use that tone with me?" she queried gently, allowing her mouth to twist into a smirk.
Oh... ah... sorry.
"I've never been anybody's mother."
Chime gave a mental shrug. I can promise you I won't know the difference. But I will try very hard to behave, she vowed, with the short-lived sincerity of the very young.
Cerri smiled, remembering something her own mother had once said, and wondering how that lady would laugh to hear of all of this.
"Never fear, little one. I'll keep you whether you behave or not."
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Postby Scribbles » Sun Apr 24, 2005 8:16 am

OOC:((

Cerridwen wrote:((OOC: Scribbles edited! :P))


Yes, I did. I added 'but oh so desireable' to my OOC, y'know, since it's "Herger" and all . . . ;);)

Yowzer, lookee at what all those marbles did!! ))


:D:D
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Postby Cerridwen » Sun Apr 24, 2005 12:32 pm

[[OOC: Yeah, I'm getting some of the little devils by post that I didn't even remember having. :P Ain't lookin' that horse in the mouth, though. Muse is happy, and recovering fairly well. When I find more of the sparkly little things I put them in her jar with her to play with and when I come back they're gone. I think she eats them or something.
Then I get posts like the above. :roll: I do apologize.

:P at the 'oh so desireable Herger'. I just laugh when I think of he and that monk together. Nothing good can come of it. :D]]
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Postby Frelga » Sun Apr 24, 2005 3:07 pm

"Are you feeling better, Façade?" Lufu asked when the Fool's tears abated.

"Much better, Master Lufu, thank you," the blonde man replied, patting the boy's back.

"He is gentle with the boy, I'll give him that," Frelga thought as the two of them turned to her, both clearly expecting a scolding. Lufu was the first to recognize the smile lurking in the corner of his mother's pursed lips.

"See, mom! He's better. I had to take care of him. He's my horse, remember?" Lufu beamed, pleased to have found an ironclad excuse.

Her cheeks dimpling again, Frelga scooped the boy up and held him close. Lufu locked his arms and legs about his mother and she cradled the back of his head in her palm, as if he were still a newborn babe. She felt her strength flow into the child, just as the boy had lent his strength to the sobbing, incoherent man who reeked of wine and sweat.

"Well done, my son," she said warmly, and both males glanced up at her in surprise. Frelga blew into the boy's hair to move a honey-colored curl out of the way and looked at the Fool. Some of the warmth lingered in her voice when she spoke. "Façade? I think no less of you for crying, you know. Only for drinking."

Setting the boy down, Frelga fished the wet rag from the twist of sheets where it had fallen off Façade's forehead. She handed it to him to wipe his face.

"Will you try the dandelion tea?" she asked, her voice crisp and impersonal, shutting away the memory of the last minutes. "It seems to have helped your friend." Who, when I see him next, will be getting a headache that a whole field of dandelions won't fix.

----------------
OOC: Sorry it took so long. I've been having all kinds of trouble with this post for some reason. :x
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Postby Herger » Wed Apr 27, 2005 8:18 am

OOC: Ok so a little late, but here as promised Scribbles :D

------------------------------------


Yes, well, now that we have all that out of the way, may I have the honour of your name?"

Herger's teeth grated slightly. "Well, let us make a deal then. I shall give you my name if you will talk a great deal less."

He quickly took up his ale in case the fat man decided to rescind on the offer, drinking down a great mouthful before setting back on the bar with a plunk and wiping his mouth. He was suddenly feeling quite a bit more cordial to the man.

Turning, he extended his hand with a grin, giving a firm shake. "I am Herger of the West Emnet, blacksmith by trade. Now, who is this poor sot who was to be the true vict..er.. object of your greetings this afternoon?"
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Postby Scribbles » Wed Apr 27, 2005 7:40 pm

((ooc: Ack! As promised? Folks will think I'm badgering all the other authors behind the scenes! Am I? )) =:)


IC:

"Herger of the West Emnet, eh? And a blacksmith too!" the fat monk exclaimed loudly.

Cornelius took the Rider's hand willingly and pumped the blonde man's arm with bone-rattling enthusiasm. He didn't notice the wince of pain that passed over Herger's features as he fairly shook the man's arm off his shoulder. Finally, the Rider literally yanked his hand free and undaunted, Cornelius continued.

"Ah yes, a most noble profession is that, I have squandered many an afternoon in the sweltering heat of a village forge, conversing with many a mountainous mass of muscle whilst he wielded his hammer and plied his trade!" At this, the monk leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink aimed at Herger's large flagon. "And most prodigious men they are in all their endeavors, eh wot! Never have I managed to outdo a blacksmith at anything, be it hard work, good food or the justifyable consumption of vast quantities of ale, eh, eh?"

Herger took another swallow of ale. "I would wager that you can out-talk them all," he observed drily.

Cornelius grinned from ear to ear. "Ah well, what can I say in defense of myself there? For I am gifted, or cursed some say, with a most uncontrollable condition where my brain and my tongue work in delightful concert to fill any awkward silence with the poetry of language. Of course, there are those who share your opinion, that I should listen more and speak less, the Scribe is always telling me that silence is golden, even though I have tried and failed on numerous occasions to show her the error in that old plum of a proverb, for how is one ever to strike a deal and fill one's purse if one cannot speak in order to offer their services and then in return, respectfully request payment for said services? Hah! The world would fall apart for lack of trade I tell you, so it is surely apparent to everyone, not just this humble servant, that silence is worth nothing and only the skillful application of words and sentiments serves up the coin of commerce and keeps the wheels of the world oiled with gold! And, this is not just an empty theory you know, I have many years of experience and many examples to support . . ."

Herger considered putting his head back on the bar. Forcefully. Repeatedly. He decided however, that it would likely not help his headache. He took another deep swallow from his flagon instead.

" . . . my conclusions, including many observations and very personal interractions . . ."

"WHO are you looking for?!" Herger interrupted, somewhat testily.

Cornelius stopped mid-sentence, put his head to one side, tapped his chin with the forefinger of his free hand, looked down into his flagon then frowned. He tipped the flagon up and drained it noisily, then burped loudly and produced another coin from somewhere. "Another round if you please, oh most exquisite being of ethereal beauty!" One of the bar sprites sproinged into view, two fresh flagons appeared then the coin and the sprite promptly disappeared. Cornelius pushed one flagon towards Herger then picked up the other and took several deep swallows.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then screwed his eyes shut in concentration. "Lemme see now, what exactly was I after . . ." He opened his eyes and grinned awkwardly at the Rider. "Please, not to be thinking that this poor fat servant is dim-witted, or slow on the uptake, or possesses a memory riddled with more holes than a fine cheese, but I have been dragged from my dinner, hauled into the wilds, rousted out of bed far too early, forced onto a most ill-tempered beast that dares to act like it has more of a brain than I do, and then subsequently subjected to what can only be called the most shocking abuse of a man's nether regions and tender bits possible. All in the name of haste to execute my current errand, though I fear that I may be far too distracted by pain to think clearly just yet . . . this ale is as much a curative for me as it is for you, my friend . . . "

Herger looked lost.

"I fear I shall never walk quite right again," Cornelius moaned. "And to think I have to ride that gods-cursed horse back again . . ."

Herger laughed. "A horse? All that moaning over a morning ride?"

"Ai, ai, laugh if you will, you who were born and bred to the saddle! Fine thing for you to scoff, you might think differently if you had tried to control that devil horse! But please to have pity and show a modicum of sympathy for this humble servant, who is not made for the rushing and roaring pell-mell and higgeldy-piggeldy over hill and dale, but well content to plod along at a dignified and sedate pace astride a most placid and gentle mule. Not all men aspire to the lofty perches so favoured by the men of Rohan, you know . . ." he grumbled.

The blonde rider couldn't decide what hurt worse from the laughter that he was heroicly trying to suppress, his ribs or his head. He was saved the trouble by the fat monk, who suddenly slapped himself on the forehead and blinked rapidly several times.

"Ah! This ale has most certainly had a somewhat restorative effect, at least on the somewhat scrambled remnants of the brain I claim to possess! I remember now! I have a certain something which I have been instructed to deliver to a certain personage, er, personally." He looked around the room once more then turned back to Herger.

"Tell me, most valiant and brave Herger of the West Emnet, do you have any idea where I might find the most emminent person of one Façade, Jester Supreme and most illustrious Master Bard?"
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Postby Herger » Wed Apr 27, 2005 7:53 pm

Herger raised an eyebrow slightly at the mention of the Scribe, whom he remembered with a somewhat wicked fondness, but wisely said nothing for fear of sending the man into another babbling stream of witless words.

Not that holding his own tongue did anything to hold the tongue of that fat monk. The top of that bar in contact with the flat of his forehead was beginning to look better and better.

He ranted on for some time and it seemed to Herger that this monk most likely rode a horse rather less well than another horse would. However, after quite a long ramble that Herger could not quite follow in its entirety, the man at last got round to some semblance of a point.

"Façade," he repeated. "Indeed, you are quite in luck, and moreso for your generous ales have loosened my tongue somewhat. The man you seek has become a recent aquaintence of mine, but alas he is currently... indisposed."

Herger looked around to make sure no one else was in ear-shot, then leaned in to whisper, "Woman troubles, ya know." He clucked his tongue in sympathy and sat back, taking another drink.

"But it is lucky for you, since he is most likely right where I left him."
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Postby Scribbles » Thu Apr 28, 2005 7:56 am

"Woman troubles?" Cornelius echoed, then his face softened. "Aaahhhhh, what man among us has not felt the bittersweet tang that can result from the company of that most exquisite and fairest sex the gods have seen fit to create?" His eyes became slightly unfocused. "One needs only to think of all the leagues upon leagues of poetic verse that has been created in their honour, of the mighty tomes that set the shelves of every library to groaning with the weight of their passionate and singleminded praise of the most heavenly of all this earth's creatures. Ah woman, what lusty battles have been waged in the hearts of men and on the battlefields of the world, all for the promise of a fleeting smile, a blown kiss or by the happiest of chances, a chaste kiss placed upon the fevered brow or cheek of an most ardent and faithful admirer . . ."

"Ahem, aren't you ,er, a monk?" Herger interrupted, then took up the fresh flagon of ale.

Cornelius started, then blushed furiously. "Ah, erm, aha, yes well indeed I am now Master Herger , but I have not always been so." He sighed deeply. "Ah me, once I was a young man in love, stuffed to the earlobes with poetry and passion and longing and desire for even the slightest favour of a fair young maiden, but alas, it was not to be and her father drove me off with curses, not to mention the rather accurate application of many fist-sized stones, calling me hideous names and cursing me to all the gods in the heavens. Severely heartbroken, as well as somewhat thoroughly bruised about the ribs and shoulders, I took the cloth thinking that I could turn my excess energies to aiding the poor, assisting destitute widows and shepherding unfortunate orphans."

"And have you?" asked Herger.

"Aye, though my earlier reputation seems to have followed me, even unto the shelter of the cloth," Cornelius grumbled, then worked his way lustily through at least half the contents of his flagon. He slammed the nearly empty flagon back onto the bar, eyed Herger for a few moments, then smiled broadly.

"But it is not to lament this humble life or misfortunes that brings me to this famous haunt," he continued. "I do have an errand to discharge, but once my duty is done, the rest of the day and indeed, the evening is mine and I would willingly place them at your service, for the very reasonable and cheap price of a few tales of your undoubtably excellent and most valiant adventures in the West Emnet. I am always most appreciative of good tales spun by honest men such as you most certainly appear to be. But first, just so my poor confuddled brain understands aright, you say that you not only have made the acquaintance of the most emminent personage of Facade, but that you know where he is?"

Herger simply nodded.

Cornelius' smile widened even further. He raised one meaty hand and snapped his fingers. One of the sprites appeared to wisk away the coin that had appeared in his fingertips and leave two freshly foaming tankards behind.

"Excellent!! What say we tip another flagon in the celebration of such favourable news and then, if you would be willing to show overflowing kindness to this humble servant, direct me to the present location of the illustrious and aforementioned Master of Fools?"

.
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Postby The_Fool » Thu Apr 28, 2005 3:04 pm

When she spoke again her voice had returned to that business-like manner he had come to expect, making it quite clear that although she was pleased with the way he had dealt with her son's insistence, she was still far from pleased with him.

"Will you try the dandelion tea? It seems to have helped your friend."

He glanced out the window, narrowing his eyes against the glare as he thought over her offer. The prospect of drinking anything that was not water made him baulk. However his throat was painfully dry, his lips somewhat cracked from the lack of moisture in his body. Plucking absently at the blankets with long fingers he finally nodded his acceptance.

Behind him he could hear Frelga moving across the room to pour him a cup whilst outside the weddings tents still lay spread about on the grass, empty now and devoid of the company they once held within their brightly coloured walls. From this vantage-point he was reminded quite suddenly of his own family, the only one he had ever truly had. When he was well enough, he promised silently, it would be time to seek them out.

It was Lufu who handed him the cup of tea and he gave a fleeting ghost of a smile to the boy. It flickered across his lips as if striving to linger but despaired of the task after too short an effort. Though he still felt horribly empty, withdrawn and absent from both himself and his surroundings, the young boy's gently optimistic bedside manner was warming. "Thank you Lufu," he said, taking the cup from the small hands and cradling it in his own.

"That's okay," Lufu replied, climbing back up onto the bed and sitting at the foot, his legs tucked up to his chest, his small chin resting on his knees. "Dad always says you have to make sure your horse has enough water."

That ghostly smile twitched the corners of the Fool's lips and he cast his eyes to the tea in hand "Your father is a wise man then," Façade remarked quietly. He wondered when he would have the strength to create the semblance of himself again, a carefully crafted mask to wear in public so that none would know exactly how great a wound the Scribe had dealt him. Anger flared within him, and for the briefest of moments his fingers tightened their grip on the teacup, though his face stayed frighteningly calm. Smooth as glass, hard as stone.

"I suggest you drink that whilst it is still warm," Frelga remarked, coming over to the bedside to lay an arm around her son's shoulders. Façade blinked at her, then raised one slender musician's hand to massage his brow, frowning just slightly.

"Yes," he murmured, "yes I will. Then…I think I would like to go back to my own room. I want to take a bath. And change." He almost spoke those next words that ran through his head but his tongue silenced them before they passed his lips. I want to go home. I have to find my family. Better she didn't know. That way he would undoubtedly avoid an argument he would most likely lose. Slowly, he began to drink the tea.
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Postby LadyEdana » Fri Apr 29, 2005 10:03 am

Edana walked along the rain soaked lane trying to avoid the biggest puddles, which wasn't too hard since the sun had been shedding his warm light for a little bit now. She made a mental note to chastise her horse, Aidan, big time for running off right before the rain, as soon as he made his wandering way back. She jumped a slightly larger puddle, and looked up to see the welcome sight of the beloved Chamberpot, the gethering place of the bards.

She smiled and quickened her step the last little bit. As she pushed the door open and entered, she sighed, leaving the beautiful voices of the birds, for those of her beloved companions. She was home again. She looked around a little bit and saw the familiar faces of Scribbles and Finnie, but did not recognize the gentleman they were with. She hung her cloak on peg, and approached their table.
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Postby Scribbles » Fri Apr 29, 2005 11:35 am

((OOC: Um, Lady Edana, I don't mean to be a pain or anything, but in this particular sub-story of the Splintered Chamberpot, Scribbles is "gone" and the Fool is in a "private room" . . . the person Herger is talking to at the bar is Cornelius, one of my other "characters" . . . :):) ))
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Postby LadyEdana » Fri Apr 29, 2005 5:45 pm

(OOC: :P I'll change it when I get off work.... if I don't die of boredom first.)
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Postby Herger » Fri Apr 29, 2005 11:27 pm

Herger looked the monk up and down, then grinned. "Another drink it is," he said grandly, waiting until it was in his hot little hand before he gave the unfortunate news.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to pay the monk back a touch of his own. "You see, my fat old friend, the Fool whom you seek is, as stated, a recent acquaintance of mine, having first met him last eve and then enjoyed a few well-deserved drinks with him also. I might add that he has exceptional taste in drinks, should you ever get the chance, you must let him pick something out for you. I would highly recommend a few myself but alas, his ability to choose drink that will both kill the memory and yet leave the body alive enough is enough to put me right to shame.

"Now then, upon finalizing the enjoyments of imbibing last night, we both found ourselves in the most exquisite company of the 'Pot's cellars, which, as you may know, are filled to the brim with the most extravagant and delightful spirits you ever could wish for. Should you have the time, I would take a moment to browse them 'ere you go, they are a sight to behold, for certain!"

Herger paused a moment to take a deep pull of his flagon before wiping his mouth and flowing right back into his little speech. "Where was I? Oh yes, the cellar. So, as you see, the cellar being our final resting place of last night, you can only imagine the headache to which we both awoke, not by our own accord but by the shriek of a small boy who was immediately joined by his great mother-bear." He winced slightly at the memory.

"Now, at some point in the night, and an exact time I could not begin to guess at, for I was as has been previously stated, quite out of my regular consciousness, a woman found her way down into the cellar with us only to be awoken by the aforementioned mother-bear who accused us both of her, though I will swear on my grave that I ne'er before laid eye (nor anything else!) upon her.

"But nevermind that. I followed the very firm direction of the mother bear and proceeded to haul the Fool's carcass up the stairs and into his room. I offered my best remedy of dandelion tea though I don't believe he took any. Truly, it does help though it seems to have failed me this day only for the headache I have could split an Oliphant's skull in twain."

Herger tapped his fingers on the bar, scratching his chin as if trying vainly to remember something. At last he snapped his fingers and grinned. "Ah, yes! We were speaking of Facade, were we not? Indeed, you first mistook me for him, but now have asked after him. Last I saw, he was in bed where he could recover from both the drink and the woman who did him wrong, though I believe he had made little recovery in either department when I at last took my leave of the room."

He took another long drink of the ale, plunking it down on the bar and looking matter-of-factly at the monk.
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Postby Scribbles » Fri Apr 29, 2005 11:56 pm

Cornelius leaned against the bar and drank contentedly while Herger began to suddenly wax verbose. The fat monk was reminded of the Rohirrim's earlier remark and when he finally ran down, Cornelius grinned wickedly.

"Sooooo, I'd wager that the one blacksmith I cannot out-talk is none other than your verbally abundant self, eh wot?" he chuckled.

Herger shrugged. "I'll wager that it is not only in speaking that I could out perform you."

Cornelius raised one eyebrow. "Ah yes well, judging from that most eloquent tale, there is no doubt in my mind that you could drink me under any table in this, or indeed, any fine establishment."

The blonde man smiled widely. "And not forgetting the use of the forge and accompanying instruments thereof."

Cornelius rolled his eyes. "Of course, of course that too, especially since I am a most pious and chaste man, superior performance in that particular arena is to be expected from the likes of a lusty blacksmith, is it not? But getting back to prodigious drinking and such, it also appears that the emminent personage of the Fool could out perform this humble soul in that particular activity as well. And speaking of said emminent and out-performing personage, I do believe you also claimed to know exactly where I might find his illustrious self. Did you not?"

.
Last edited by Scribbles on Sat Apr 30, 2005 11:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Herger » Sat Apr 30, 2005 12:08 am

"Where to find him, I claimed? Indeed I did, and spoke it a number of times. He lies, last I saw, sprawled upon his bed within his room and accompanied by the she-bear and cub."

"But which, oh master of riddles, is his room?" the monk at last asked.

"I'm glad you asked that," Herger replied, "For you see, I'm a bit bad with numbers myself so I can't give it to you, but I will be happy to direct you there.

"You see this hall, go down the hall, take the first right, then up the stairs, second left, then a right,... oh no bother, forgive me that is my own room. Start over.

"Down this hall, second right, then first left and up those stairs.. wait, those stairs go down..?.. Ah, again, my adled brain, that is the way to the cellar."

He lifted his drink and finished it down then wiped his mouth. "Third time charms they say." Herger was having more fun than should be admitted to with this stranger.

Turning ninety degrees, he pointed. "That is the hall you want, there. Walk down that, first right, up the stairs, then a left and go about fifty paces... unless you walk with an odd gait, then perhaps fourty and a half paces, and the door should be off to the lef.. no, right, and if it is as I left it, somewhat ajar.

"Unless there is another man in this inn that you might mistake for Facade, then I would hazard to bet you would recognize him when you saw him."
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