On the job training

Seymuhr and Mira are about to enter the gates of Veral Ski in search of their companion, Broo Fang Tang, and to meet with the queen.


"What is your business here?" The guard loomed over both of us, snarling under a mustache that drooped nearly to his collar. His right hand tapped the hilt of his lendyll, a sort of short sword favored for close work.

"A friend of ours passed way earlier this morning," I said, instinctively gathering my shirt close up over my breasts. The guard's gaze lingered there and a tongue probed his cracked lips. "We seek him. After that we have business in the market."

"A fffffriend?" He sounded surprised. "At the m-m-m-market? What type of f-f-f-f-friend is so important that you waste my time this morning?"

I didn't know how to respond. "He's a cheerful chap, about so tall," I said, with a hand held level just above the top of my own head. "Dressed in robes..."

"Your f-f-f-friend sounds like a m-m-m-m-monK." He finished the word so savagely there was mist in the air.

"He is." Semuhr put in. He gathered himself up and stood between us. He was short than I, but tocky and fearsomely strong. "What business is that of yours? He means no harm to anyone."

"Usually," I felt compelled to add.

"Aye, usually."

"What business? What BUSiness? It is all my business," he called over our heads, spraying spittle. "Why..."

"That's enough, Art," the guard's companion put in. He placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him a few steps to the side. "Sorry about that," he said to us. "Today is his first day questioning the petitioners. I thought I'd give him a few moments to show his style."

"It needs some work," I said.

"T'appears so! We did see your companion earlier. Not many of those types will show their faces around here. I mean, I realize they're trying to do good and spread a little happiness, but you know, in times like these..."

I nodded. "Good cheer is a gift usually received with a closed fist, not an open hand. Hence our concern."

"You're in luck, then, if you're going to the market anyway. I believe that's where he was headed. Turn east after the fat whore dressed in blue and you'll come across it soon enough."

"Thank you for your kindness," I said with a bow, and good luck training your apprentice."

"Oh, he's a good lad, apart from the shouting and spittle and all; he'll come around." He glanced at Seymuhr, then back at me. "There are bath houses down that way, too. Strong soaps and thick brushes. You might want to steer your companion that way."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile and another quick bow. "I have hopes."

We ducked under the gate and headed toward the center of town. Art, looking downcast, ushered us on with a half-hearted wave.

A dangerous jest

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and the odd, loutish warrior Seymurh, have traveled to Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in all of Korin, to report to Queen Pheadora on the death of their companion, Merrick, who held a prominent position within the queen's Ministry of Human Preservation.  Tane has already entered the city, having left on his own before the sun rose. Mira and Seymuhr are at the gate, when someone calls out an apparent insult....

"What did you say?" Seymuhr asked again.

The crowd had gone silent. Some fidgeted, while others pulled in closer to get a better look at the fight they surely expected to happen. Times were difficult throughout Korin and anyone who went looking for trouble usually found it in relatively short order. I glanced from Seymuhr, whose admittedly short but thoroughly stocky and muscular frame spoke to his fighting prowess, to the hapless serf who had called out the insult. He was thinner, much thinner, and taller, and dressed in patched clothing. One of Seymuhr's maces would shatter his frame. The next blow would turn it into pulpy mist.

"I meant no harm, my lord," he stammered. "I only responded in the Otlyndian way. I thought you might appreciate the jest."

"Ah." I understood then, and hurried to place myself between Seymuhr and the poor man. Otlyndians were, compared to most human denizens of Korin, small of stature. I had heard of a recent trend that was rippling through their society. "That explains it. You see, Seymuhr, the current Otlyndian fashion is to take part of someone's speech and hurl it back at them as a sort of good-natured insult. I think it originated in their children but adults have adopted it because it's easier than thinking on their own."

"It sounds like a dangerous habit," Seymuhr growled. He still had his right hand on the mace that hung from that hip. Evidently he didn't think he'd need the other.

"You're a dangerous habit!" the serf replied, although with less confidence than before.

I pointed to the man with both hands, hoping to prove my point. Seymuhr paused for a moment, then a smile grew slowly. He nodded. The people nearby who had been anxious chuckled nervously. Others voiced their dismay.

Just then I sense another presence. The shadow of a tall man fell over the small gathering and I looked to see one of the guardsmen, arms crossed and scowling. "What is the matter here?" He growled.

"You're the matter here!" Seymuhr responded, his normally gravely voice bright and cheerful. He slapped his thigh and turned back to the serf. "You know, that has its merits."

"You have your merits!" Was the response. Both men laughed. Seymuhr clapped him on the back and he fell, face first, into the dirt. He was clearly winded.

"Seymuhr," I whispered, "You might want to tone your good humor down a bit. You'll kill someone!"

"Is this....man...assaulting you?" The guard asked the flattened serf, investing the word 'man' with contempt.

"No," came the winded reply. He pushed himself to his knees and I helped him to his feet. He gave Seymuhr a wary look and rubbed his shoulder, which looked out of place. "We were sharing pleasantries."

"Well see to it that you do it on your feet," he snapped. He jabbed the poor fellow with a finger and then looked surprised when he didn't fall down again. It was his turn to give Seymuhr and appraising glance, from worn boots to bald head and back down again. "And you! Move along," he added, after a pause.

He stalked back to the shadow of the gate, which was now just a few feet away. I made sure the serf was not injured, then turned back to Seymuhr, whose brow was furrowed as he watch the guardsman.

"Are you mad? Veral Ski may be one of the more enlightened cities in Korin, and therefore tolerant of diverse people and viewpoints, but don't think that you can insult a member of the city guard without consequences!"

Seymuhr sniffed and cracked his neck, dismissing the notion of consequences altogether.

I snorted. "Well, at least wait until we're in the city before you start a fight. Or until I'm in the city, leastways. You might be content to spend your day brawling and shattering skulls, but I have important business here--and I'd rather go about it without being covered in someone else's innards."

We took another step forward. It was our turn.

 

Trouble at the gate

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and the odd, loutish warrior Seymurh, have traveled to Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in all of Korin, to report to Queen Pheadora on the death of their companion, Merrick, who held a prominent position within the queen's Ministry of Human Preservation.  Tane has already entered the city, having left on his own before the sun rose. Mira and Seymuhr are at the gate.

The line at the gate stretched behind us as the sun climbed into the sky. I looked ahead and leaned out of place, scratching my head at the delay. To our left, carriage after carriage rolled by and passed under the thick stone entryway with barely a pause. Only those that showed some of the wear any recent disrepair were halted--and those only briefly. Still, we lingered with the rest of the pedestrian petitioners.

Ahead of us, two guards meticulously prodded a stooped old man carrying nothing but a crooked stick. They stood back, conversing with each other with one of them, a short plump man whose hair gleamed with some type of oil, rubbing a sparse beard between his fingers. He held out a hand then, apparently asking for some form of payment.

"Beware the petty in puny positions of perceived power," I muttered.

"It's not right," the man with the skins over his shoulder called back. I didn't think I had spoken loud enough for him to overheard. "We're waiting hear all mornin' and have to bend and scrape our knees. But them..." He gestured as yet another carriage sailed by.

I grunted. I was in no mood to carry on a conversation. I was starting to wonder if I should have just used my Traveling Stone to carry us directly into the city. Surely any perils such a display of the arts would encourage would be secondary to this confounding waiting.

"I know what we can do to occupy ourselves," Seymuhr said.

"Do tell." I watched as the old man pleaded his case and, eventually pulled a dull penny from a dirty pocket and shuffled on. If the guards were going to make everyone pay, we might have an issue. I had precious few coins left and I was unwilling to part with any of them.

"I've a few new poems to try out," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh. Great."

The line thickened near us as the other petitioners sensed the possibility of entertainment. I felt sorry for them. I had heard Seymuhr's battle poems before, of course, and found them somewhat lacking in emotional tone--although they tended to be very descriptive.

He cleared his throat, motioning for the crowd to come closer.

"Slimy mountain cave
crammed with shuffling undead things
just hit them again."

One or two listeners nodded appreciatively, although the confused look on their faces told me that they weren't quite sure what to make of Seymuhr's words. I just pressed my lips together, fingers entwined in front of my belly, and tapped my thumbs against each other.

"Maces swinging wild,
Mighty blows turn my foes to
pools of human goop."

"Ooooh, ahhh," I heard someone say. "I understood that one, so I did." There were nods of agreement.

"You're a pool of human goop!" Another yelled.

I froze. The small crowd went silent. Seymuhr, who had been about to bellow forth another verse, paused and looked at the man, who had been chuckling and poking another bystander in the ribs with his elbow in an attempt to get him to laugh along.

Seymuhr rubbed his palm over his bald head and dropped his voice to a low, menacing snarl.

"What did you say?"