This blog shouldn't be taken to seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes (b) work on dialogue, and scene (c) build up the world of Korin, where my fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique.
That said, here's where we are:
Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....
The bauble worked, although it took some convincing to get Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane to come with me. Seymuhr earned the most suspicious looks from the guards at the Noble Gate. They walked around him, slowly, sizing him up and down as if he were a cow they wished to purchase for meat or milk. Both guards were taller than Seymuhr--as was I and, in fact, most adults--but the well-used maces hanging from his hips drew a few questions. In the end, they tied them in place with some stout twine.
Tane, the poor man, was the subject of open scorn and a stern warning. "If you speak one word of cheer, I'll make mittens out of your tongue," the taller of the two guards snarled at him.
"I only have...one," the monk replied. "My...tongue woul...d not make a com...plete pair."
"That's the spirit," the guard answered.
"Maybe a pirate could use a tongue-mitten," Seymuhr suggested. "Most of them only have one hand, anyway."
"Perhaps," the glum monk agreed.
We fell in step behind two more guards, who had answered a summoning bell as soon as I displayed the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation. I was left to wonder about the power of it; even I, a freelance historian well-versed in the ways of Korin and many of its cultures, was not familiar with the secretive group, yet the mere showing of it at the gate was enough to gain us passage. Was it only known to a select few who manned this post? Was it widely acknowledged in Veral Ski? Or had the queen been expecting to hear from Merrick who, until recently, had been an agent of the MOHP?
There was also this puzzle, which I had just entered my mind. Queen Phedora was, technically, my employer. It was her charge to preserve the history of the land that created the mission of the falcuhns to begin with. Falcuhns were people, gifted with observational skills and who could read and write, who were tasked with going out into the world of Korin and documenting what they saw. Why had Phedora not discussed this MOHP with me? Did she not think I was worthy?
I would find out soon. The Shieldsmen took an abrupt turn ahead of us, guiding us off of the main street that led to the primary castle gate. We found ourselves in shadow, following a tight alleyway between two buildings, past piles of stinking garbage. They stopped in front of a door set back into the wall so far that it might not have attracted notice had we not been guided to it.
"What is this? Aren't we to be guided to the queen?"
He gave a stiff nod, then backed down the alley way.
I looked back to the door. I could hear, barely, the sounds of muted music from the other side, and conversation. I was about to raise my hand to knock on the door when I realized what it was.
"Bones of Barnok," I said, glancing down at Broo Fang Tane, who in no way mixed well with others. "It's a tavern."
No comments:
Post a Comment