singelli:
mario102 :
Postman3 :
supernerd117 :
cylonbait :

You folks all answered Singelli's call.  This is the thread in which we write a neat little combined-effort story.  Remember, no graphic gore, no explicit adult situations, no magic, etc.

LOCATION: Nothing related to true Earthbound locations.  Imagine mainland Europe, with temperate forests, mountains, hills, plains, and so on.  There are rivers as well and maybe we find an ocean.  The starting point is a large town named Swain, a community located on a crossroads between two larger kingdoms.  The two kingdoms have contested over it in the past but the current general allegiance goes to the larger kingdom slightly further away.  Their names?  We'll discover those down the road.

TIME: It is springtime.  The last snow has melted for good.  The era is pseudo-medieval.

SITUATION: Word has reached Swain that the two kingdoms are mounting armies to fight a war against each other.  One kingdom managed to insult the other, so the rumor goes, and it is said they're both preparing for war.  Swain is located on a crossroads and near a river that act as major travel routes in the region.  People are either fleeing, preparing to hide, or declaring for one group or the other.  A week has passed since the first reports came.  And.... action!

**IN CHARACTER ROLE PLAY FROM HERE ON OUT.  QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, AND OTHER ITEMS WILL BE POSTED IN THE OTHER THREAD.  ANY NEW WRITERS CAN INQUIRE ABOUT PARTICIPATION ON THE OTHER THREAD AS WELL.  GAME ON!**


Erven's surveyed the common room with a frown.  His fingers ran through his hair for the 100th time of the day.  He inspected the few hairs that came out.

"More gray than black," he muttered to himself, flicking the strands away.

The tavern was quiet.  A few solitary drinkers were scattered amid the long tables.  The brick fireplace held little more than glowing embers.  It was late but there was no reason to get the blaze going.  Empty rooms waited up the stair but people found their way to their own homes.  And they did so earlier and earlier each night.  The moon hadn't shown her face yet when Erven barred the door for good last evening.

He shook his head.  Riders never brought good news.  People panicked at the hint of any trouble.  He had seen enough in almost forty years to fear little and rumors of war weren't enough.  But neither were the coins in back.  Erven didn't want for much but a destroyed town didn't fill his pockets.

"And conquerors fancy themselves rightful owner of a drink," he told Anise, the barmaid.  There wasn't enough custom for two girls and Erven sent the other girl back to her father.

"Aye, and whatever else they may lay them's hands on," she replied with a frown.

"If'n you don't want to be here, I can handle the place myself.  I've been at it for 20 years, girl," Erven replied.  He had a strong back and a thick torso from handing kegs of beer his adult life.  "I could serve a table or two.  If you feel safe in taking to the forests, have at it."

Erven caught the worry behind Anise's eyes when she left him to collect empty tankards.  She was a good girl, dull, but she worked.  Erven wouldn't have his staff any other way.  His eyes roamed the room.  My hall, he thought to himself.  He didn't know any of the folks in.  They were most likely from beyond the city limits, in town for news or rumors.  He couldn't boast to having the largest tavern in town so they could have been from Swain.  He did know the uncertainty hanging in the air overpowered the smell of wood smoke.

   'Twas a lonely, cold night. Justine tread purposefully along the forest trail. An owl hooted somewhere in the darkness. Justine's lantern lit only the ground in front of her. The girl's foot hit a root. She stumbled slightly.

That darn root, she mused. It gets me every night I come home from the tavern.

Justine worked cleaning tables, scrubbing tankards, mopping floors and serving customers at a small but respectable establishment in the town of Swain. Her employer Erven had sent her home a little early tonight. It had been just a little darker than twilight in Swain when she had left town. Justine had always wished quite fervently that her widowed father would move closer to Swain if not into the middle of the town so she could avoid these long walks through the darkness.

Then I would never have to trip on that root again, Justine pondered bitterly. Still, she admitted to herself, that nasty root was the only sign that home was near.

Her papa liked to stay well beyond the reach of the local tax-collector. He would never move into town. So to get back home Justine had to follow a winding forest trail from Swain which straightened out for the last league or so until she tripped on that infernal root. The root's location was not 100 cubits from the ivy hedge. Just beyond the opening in the ivy hedge was a dirt yard where no grass grew. In the middle of the yard was the cottage Justine and her father called home. Justine could smell the fragrant ivy before she could see it. Finally, the pointed leaves came into sight. She found the opening and ducked through. It had not always been necessary to duck but the overhanging ivy had grown thick and impossible to get one's head through.

I will have to find the shears next morn and give it a trim, Justine reckoned as she walked across the dirt yard towards her home.

Stamping the dirt off her boots, Justine then stepped inside to remove her footwear. Her stockings were drenched in sweat. She sat on a stool and removed them too. Barefoot, she walked on the tips of her toes to avoid waking Papa. She was almost on the threshold of her boudoir when she heard a gurgle and then a loud belch.

Papa has been into his moonshine again, she acknowledged.

Pressing the door inward, she was greeted by the sight of her grizzled parent sitting hunched over on the edge of her bed. She was not surprised to see him in the least. He always came in here when he drank. Not a bottle or jar in sight but perhaps he had reached his limit before coming in to wait for her. No matter how drunk he was, on very occasional but common nights like this, he found it impossible to sleep with his trousers on. So he waited on Justine's bed for her to guide him to his own and remove them which he apparently could not manage on his own in this condition. He looked very sad in the lantern's light.

"Yer late!" Justine's Papa growled. It is worth pointing out that Justine was in fact earlier than usual coming home on this night.

"Ah, you have been waiting that long. I am sorry Papa. The tavern was packed. I could not get away," Justine lied to calm him. She placed the lantern on a table and took off her red knit cowl. Justine shook out her golden tresses.

"Yeah, everybody is there swapping (hic) untrue rumours 'bout how the enemy kingdom will come and take us over. FROM MY COLD, DEAD- Hey! Ya work at the tavern dressed like that?" he pointed at his daughter's chest, seeming quite alarmed. The removed cowl revealed that Justine's dress did little to cover her bosom.

"We talked about this Papa," Justine blushed. "The men there love to see a young woman serving them with some chest exposure. There is usually an extra coin in it for the business. The business has been slow lately. We need all the coins we can manage. I do not mind. If this turns out to be a permanent uniform change so be it."

Her Papa rolled his eyes, appearing to think hard whether there was a time they might have had this conversation. Finally, he sighed.

"Next that Erven fellow will have ya wearing a shorter skirt on your dress an' make yer stockings show," he sneered before bowing his head in his stupor.

Justine had been about to take off her apron which would have uncovered a very short skirt. Instead, she retied the apron. She did not want to start an incident tonight.

"Ya have already seen eighteen winters girl. If ya had only married five years ago when I told ya to, ya wouldn't be an old maid," her father rambled sadly. It was only on his drunken nights that Justine's proud papa's true opinions came falling out.

"Let us get you off to bed," Justine flashed her papa a dazzling smile showing a full set of pure white teeth. She helped her old father stand up and walked him down the corridor to his own mattress. Laying him gently on his bed as he closed his eyes, Justine knew he would not remember tonight's exchange of words. She unbuckled his trousers and pulled them down.

"Sleep well Papa," sweet Justine murmured affectionately. She retired to her boudoir and undressed. She had not had a real talk with her father about how she dressed at work. He had only caught her this one time tonight wearing a skimpy uniform after coming home. She would have to be more careful if she was to keep her post at the tavern. It was good that her father would not remember this night. Had he been sober and stayed up waiting for her, Justine would have been pressured to seek new employment which was increasingly difficult to find in the current atmosphere at the town of Swain.

***clothed in a black hooded outfit, a mysterious man enters the tavern, cloth torn at his cape and legs, blood staining his left shoulder.***

*Speaks in a raspy and deep voice*
"I need a drink. Now. I do not care what, just make it snappy"

*He lays two gold pieces upon the counter*

Behind the counter was Erven pouring some moonshine into a glass. He gets up, and extends his arm with the glass.
"Here you go," Erven said.
"Thanks," the mysterious man replied.
"Say, you don't look familiar. Where do you come from?"
"I live right here in Swain."
"Alright," Erven said, unconvinced. Erven walked away from the counter and opened another door that led to a flight of stairs. He walked down those stairs, leading to a darker room with a single bed and a few books. Erven lay down on the bed, exhausted. He knew that the tavern wasn't making any money recently. What do I have to do, Erven thought, to make folks visit the tavern? Should I have a music and dancing night? Sure...we'll make tons of money!
Erven went upstairs, only to find that the mysterious man was gone.

Phillip strode through the woods at full speed on his mount, a well-built and speedy horse named Gus. Three men were after him on their mounts; speedy ones, to be sure.

Arrows whizzed by his head. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for a way to ditch his pursuers...nothing. He spurred Gus on. Why had he made that joke about that guy's wife? She wasn't pregnant after all! There had been countless "that guys" along his path, and he always managed to escape their wrath in one way or another...but he knew one day he would have to make amends...preferably with his head still on.

A large log loomed slightly overhead, held secure by vines as Phillip passed by. He gained an idea...He unstrung his bow, pulled it back, and released, destroying several of the vines holding up the log in the process. That was enough to do the trick. The log fell down, knocking two of the men off their horses. One to go.

The man whose wife he insulted spurred after him with greater haste. He began to catch up…Phillip took notice of his oddly-shaped hat. It was much like an elf’s hat, except it buckled down at the bottom.

“Are you an elf? You’re short, that’s for sure.” Whiz! An arrow flew over his head, lodging itself in a nearby tree. “And what of that hat? Look at me, I’m the Hero of Time!” Of course, he had just made that up on the spot. He had no idea who the Hero of Time was, but had heard of him through a game the children of Euleria played. They would don a similar hat, and pick up a sword, swinging it at enemies they called “Dodongos” and “Octoroks”. He didn’t understand a bit of it, but he liked to join in the fun from time to time.

“My mother made this for me!”, the man shouted, and drew his sword. He was gaining ground quickly. But it was too late for him.

Phillip quipped, “I’ve quite enjoyed our time together...but it’s time us to part!”, then shot an arrow into the man’s hat. The man was quickly dragged off his horse and flung into a tree. He hung there for a moment, then his hat ripped and he plopped onto the ground.

The man sat there for a moment...then began to cry. Phillip surveyed this for a moment, then tossed him a fair-sized bag of gold coins. “The price of my fun is steep”, he declared, then he galloped off, leaving the man bewildered.

It was a busy late afternoon at Erven's tavern. Justine hustled through the serving area, wiping spilled beverages off tables and wringing the cloth with a bucket of warm water, taking trays of mugs to Anise in the scullery to be washed and serving new customers whenever she saw them. People tended to get their drinks earlier these days because with rumours of an approaching war reaching Swain, it was thought unsafe to be out at night.



Justine noticed a handsome young man sitting at a table alone without a drink. She walked over to serve him. As she came near, he seemed to be chatting with the men at the next table.



"-that's what she said," Justine caught his words just before the other table erupted with laughter at whatever that was about.



"What can I get you, sir?" she said with a brilliant fake smile. "We have house ale, house beer, house brandy and house mead."



His mouth hung halfway open as he cut off his laughter in mid-chuckle. He spoke rather hesitantly.



"I am sorry. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Phillip of Euleria," he said, catching up her hand and moving to kiss it.



Justine pulled her hand away.



"Really? Oileria? I will guess the lamps do not run dry in that village," Justine set her jaw and cocked her left eyebrow as she retorted. The next table full of men giggled loudly. Phillip had a quick little giggle himself.



"It is a city. With gates and tall spires and banners in bright colours," Phillip smiled. At this Justine rolled her eyes and tapped her foot.



"Do you have a drink order for me or not?" she asked, looking boldly back at him.



"Oh, yes. I'll just have something with "house" in the name, please."



Justine blushed and turned on her heel. Walking behind the bar she grabbed a large mug off the bottom shelf and placed it under the brandy keg. The house brandy was their least popular drink. Very few people asked for more of it after tasting it.



After pouring the mug full, Justine strutted back to Phillip's table with the mug in hand. Placing it gently in front of him, she turned to clean the table next to him that the group of men had just vacated leaving a wet mess and a large tip behind. She could feel Phillip's eyes on her but she didn't have to acknowledge his interest. She was just here to work.





P3



thelastrequim


mario102


supernerd117


cylonbait


Singelli

EDIT: It's done!  Big thanks to P3.  He did most of the editing and much of the work.

Phillip eyed the serving lady.  She was a fine one.  He giggled as she bent over the table to reach the far corner of it.

He took a sip of brandy. He immediately made a face and gasped.  This brandy was awful. Should he say something? Did she even know it tasted worse than manure?  He’d fallen face-first into manure before and could make an accurate comparison.

"This brandy is fine stuff! More!" he stated as he gagged and tears flowed down his cheeks.  Justine spun around after he said this and cocked an eyebrow.  Phillip smiled weakly.  "Sure. Coming right up, sir."  Justine picked up her bucket and moved behind the counter.

At that time, Phillip poured the rest of the house brandy down his shirt. He hoped it would pass as something manly.

Justine filled another mug and brought it. She was halfway back to Phillip's table when a hand suddenly slapped her rear.
"Ooh!" she squealed.  Phillip couldn't help but take notice.  The man she turned towards took this as an invitation. He chuckled and said, "Give me another round! Hehe, make it two!" The men around him laughed.

Phillip was shouting at Justine. "Waitress! Oh waitress, where's my house brandy?”  He danced up to where they were standing.
  "May I borrow that, my lady?", Phillip quipped. Before she had a chance to reply, Phillip had taken the fresh mug of house brandy from her.  "Here! It's on the house."  Phillip dumped the entire mug into the man's face!

The man roared at the indignity. His friends giggled at the table behind him. Without warning his rage boiled over and he swung heavily at Phillip's face, catching him on the jaw and knocking him back into an occupied table. Drinks went flying everywhere. Many men stood up. Quite upset were they. None so much as bold Phillip who sprang to his feet, charged the man and with a swift tackle brought him to the ground.

Phillip removed his bow from his back...too late! The man knocked it out of his hands, then kicked his feet up and into Phillip’s ribs forcing him away.. This man was much quicker than he. Phillip saw that he must outwit the man. This would be easier if all eyes were not on him. And the man had begun to charge him!

Phillip suddenly found several men jostling next to him trying to get their own hands on the man who had knocked him into their table. Phillip was forced back while several men surrounded the cretin and appeared to stomp on him, not that Phillip could really tell what they were doing to him. The man was squealing for mercy just like a baby. His friends were already up, throwing tables aside and making violent motions at the group.

When the brawl broke out, men were thrown through tables and smashed with wooden stools. Phillip saw poor Justine duck under a table that two men were fighting in front of and he knew with all the flattened tables around with clobbered men on top of them that it was only a matter of time and circumstance before Justine's shelter was crushed and her with it. He could not let that happen.  Phillip retrieved his bow and made for the table.  

"Waitress!" he grinned. "Come with me if you want to live!"
 
Justine timidly gave her hand. "Yes, I want to live."  

Leading the young lady away from the mayhem, Phillip admonished her.  “Next time a fight breaks out you should take shelter behind the counter. I looks much sturdier than the tables.”

“-but we never had a barroom brawl until you showed up!" Justine exclaimed as they cleared the tavern’s threshold.

"But you never had this, either!" Phillip flashed a bag of gold.

"Is that how you handle everything?" Justine asked pointedly. "You can't just buy your way out of trouble all  the time!"

"Nope. But is it working this time?"

"Definitely not! I want nothing to do with you, your big bag of money or your tendency to start riots!"

"Fair enough. But you want even less to do with that other guy, right?"

“Thanks for standing up for me. You could have done it less offensively though. That man is an awful volatile drunk. The locals here know to steer clear of him."

"Maybe he could use a bit more of the house brandy next time!" Phillip grinned wildly.

"Don't! Stop it! My employer will have a fit when he sees the damage caused by this fiasco! Ugh! What will I tell him?" Justine flushed
angrily. Then pointing a dainty at Phillip she exclaimed, "This is all your fault!"

"Yes, it is. I have paid for it dearly. You know this is my last bag of gold, right?" he smirked and winked.     "OK, not really. But it could have been. Please...take it. I leave problems wherever I go. But I hope I also left a bit of fun.”

Justine’s eyes widened. "Wow. There's a lot of gold in here. Are you sure?" Justine frowned as Phillip handed her the bag.

"Yes, indeed, Waitress. And do you mind if I ask your name?"

"Just... Justine. That's my name," the pretty girl stammered. Then she turned scarlet and looked down at her feet.

"Well, Justine. You're Justine time. It looks like everything has calmed down now." The inside of the tavern had indeed quieted during their
conversation. “I'll take my leave. See you later...Justine."

Phillip sat astride his mount and turned to ride off when he heard Justine's voice: "Wait..."

Phillip looked back.

Her eyes were like blue diamonds.

"What is it, Justine?", Phillip asked.

Over her shoulder he spotted the man he fought with make furious moves towards him.

"That's my cue."

Phillip galloped off in the opposite direction of the sunset.

"Until next time then?” he called back.

thelastrequim :
mario102 :
Postman3 :
cylonbait :
Singelli :