Chapter 1: The Pail Rider

“They’ve made a law now that you can’t be out drinking in the streets on weeknights. It seems a rich kid on a horse was coming home from a bar with his liquor mug in hand when he bashed his head into a hanging merchant’s sign and let us all know he was a bleeder. His dad got the sheriff to crack down on people drinking in the streets, and life’s a little worse now for everyone. Ylbert the wandering town drunk has been shackled to the bar! Just shackled! Well, he’s not been actually shackled, but he can’t gambol as he wishes.”

“That’s the pits, Floyd. We knew about the rich kid but never that they would pass a horrible law like that. What are we fine folks going to do in our spare time?”
“You shut up Pants. I was telling everyone else at the table, I knew you knew about it. “
“There are other people at this table? They’ve been so quiet.”

With that I received a hearty laugh and slap on the back. Not so friendly a slap when you’re raising your glass to take a drink. Now my lap will smell like beer, but that isn’t… unusual. I suppose.

“I guess I haven’t told anyone but Floyd yet since I passed out afterward and didn’t see you for half a week, but I was the one who found that rich kid who fell off the horse. I was staggering home when I heard the noise, and was unfortunate enough to trip on the fellow. My knee went right into his stomach, so he puked on himself. And me. I wouldn’t have evidence or rememberance if I didn’t wake up with the smell.”
“That’s ‘remembrance’, Pants”
“Whichever!”

Floyd is great to have around when you’re drinking, and he helps you out when there’s something to move or a roof to be repaired. His problem is his wife and child. Sure he has a responsibility to them. As far as I know he does right by them. But if you have plans at the same time every week to hang out with your friends at the bar, it shouldn’t always come as such a surprise to her! Usually he comes in with a bit of a whine in his voice saying “Sorry, the wife had me doing stuff. It was like the baby had a poo explosion”.

Come on! Cleaning up poo is her job. Even if it’s a bad one this time, he helps her out with it all the other days of the week. It’s as if it was her effort to make him undependable. I would put that earlier statement of his up as an example, but this time it really was something kinda like that. Why can’t they control the rear end of their child?

“If no one else is going to ask, I guess I will. How bad was it Floyd?”

“Horrible! The baby was laying on the chair near the bed with the dangler tied to the back of the chair and the armrests keeping her from rolling off, when she lets off a couple warning farts.”

“How many times are we going to hear about your baby’s bowel movements before you find a way to take care of that? Tie a rag all around up in there.”

I know Marcel is at the table, but I didn’t think anyone else was. That was Grantham! That jerk is always doing that to me, taking a seat at my table during a commotion or something so I don’t hear him, then he just sits quietly. I didn’t know before if Floyd was just pulling my leg when he said he was telling everyone else. Who else is here?

“Oh come on! Who else is at this table?” I asked while knocking on the table with each word near the end there for emphasis.

“Ahh don’t get sore, it’s me and Relie.”

Then Floyd’s voice entered the floor again and said “Why do you guys keep doing that to him? You’re going to make him paranoid. There’s nothing more pitiful than a paranoid blind beggar.”

That spelled it out pretty fast didn’t it. More people playing tricks on the blind guy. At least I have an obvious thing to have fun with, people don’t spend time making fun of other physical qualities of mine, or try to make a joke about my sixuality. I guess they’d have a hard time with the last one as I plainly rock the girls upstairs every time I come here.

Being blind you get used to not knowing everything in a room and not letting that bother you. Can’t really be a control freak when you don’t know what’s out there even. But wait! You’d think you could use this as a choke on information you don’t really want to know about. Haha! Floyd here is great at describing things. I can hear him make the hand motions sometimes, so it may be even worse for Marcel, Grantham, and Relie in this conversation.

“As I was saying before Jerk-off’s prank here went awry, the warning farts go out…”

And there we go.


Really, tripping over that rich kid was a real pain in the ass. After I was on the ground I decided to just sleep where I was and let someone straighten me out in the morning. It’s hard to keep your bearings when you’re drunk and home isn’t any particular place. I’ll be clear though; I decided to sleep there, the [censored] in the street wanted to talk.

“Hey. Hey. YOU!”
“What? Me?”
“The guy who just tripped over me! You!”
“What?”
“I threw up a little.”
“That svcks! ”

I’m mostly guessing what went on from there because it’s too hazy, but it seems a town authority found us there and decided to drag both of us home to the rich kid’s daddy. The kid wouldn’t stop talking the whole way back.


Sitting in a chair with rope around me usually isn’t a way I wake up.

“Who are you?!”
“Uhah, what the hell?”
“Who are you, you stinking rat!”
“I’m nobody!”
“What were you doing with my son last night you maggot!”

Alright; as a street bum, I think these insults he’s throwing are pretty lame. Someone yelling at you when you’re tied to a chair has a certain authority however, and I feel like talking.

“Sheesh! Lay off the tongue lashing! Do you have any rum?”
“It’s five in the morning!”
“Don’t they have rum at five in the morning?”
“Why you…”

And he slaps me around a little. Yeah it’s funny, beat up the blind guy.

“Hey!” (cough) “Hey! Stop that!”
“You tell me what you were doing with my son last night!”
“I was boozed and I tripped on him.”
“How do you trip on someone when they’ve just had an accident?”
“Because I can’t see them!”

At this point I’m kind of embarrassed to point that out to people. I’m out there begging all the time plenty of people around know me personally. People that don’t, I’d at least think would know of me. The better known beggars all have something in their favor. There’s the Veteran Amputee, the Gimp, Crying Leles, Extra Thumbs Beatrice, etc. Really though, who hasn’t seen the blind guy around? I’ve bumped into crap all over the place.

Someone leaned my head back and pulled on my eyelids.

“Yeah boss, his eyes ain’t right.”

“Damnit [censored], are you sure you didn’t do anything to my son?”
“Sure I’m sure! I’m a victim here like he was. What was he in the street for?”
“He must have hit his head on the hanging sign as he rode by drinking. It had seemed to me that someone had knocked him off his horse. There could still be treachery afoot, you aren’t leaving until he wakes up.”
“Can you untie me a little until then? I was drinking like a fish last night and I’ve gotta race like a pisshorse.”

Wham! “You can hold it till he gets back!”


So all of that was relatively straightened out, but they kept me in that chair a bit too long. I’m quite sure nobody was pleased after that. You can understand why I’d rather laugh a little at the Pail with the guys than come out with this whole story right away. It might come across as if this ban on drinking in the streets was partially my fault. Blowhards that come up with crap like these laws cool off eventually, and the less opposition we throw up against it the sooner it will die down. The harvest festivals and brewing contests are in two months! At those times more than ever we need malt mobility.


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Well, you certainly live up to your reputation, Shades

The intro was excellent, you introduce the protagonist, you tell us who he is and what one form of conflict will be for the rest of the novel (his blindness and being a beggar) You tell us something about one or more of the supporting characters and then give us a flashback or two about the current subject, the ban on alchohol in the street.

I don't know the plot thus far, but with this kind of character, I expect it'll be good ^_^ Unlike almost all other fan fics, you introduce your character before the plot and conflict, which reminds me only of real novels. The rest of us have a lot to learn

A sidenote, almost no grammar mistakes, I had to use MS word to find them. The only reason I mention them is the quality of this work requires incredible scrutiny. In case you were wondering, you used a comma instead of a semi-colon once, and spelled remembrance wrong.

Thank you for writing, and I look forward to the next chapter, sincerely.

EDIT: Ah, I see. Good work on using a spelling mistake on purpose. Sorry, I took it out of context

Please DON'T write...er...ride 'Pails' OK?

PALE RIDER

Maybe it is supposed to be written "Pail Rider".
Anyhoo nice story, good plot, good intro. ALMOST no gramma mistakes. No CC right now. Keep writing!

Thankyou!

I'm trying to have a much longer plot than anything I've written before, and I'm hoping nobody else has written a TES story about a blind beggar.

You're right about the semi-colon, and spelling remembrance wrong was purposeful. Pants pronounced it wrong and Floyd corrected him, which annoyed him because he thinks he's smarter than Floyd.

Yeah, it's supposed to be The Pail Rider. It's a joke name, it's the name of the bar/brothel he hangs out at on weekends. In Daggerfall the names of the taverns were things like the Oak and Crosier, or the Griffin and the Badger, so I wanted to go for more of a joke name like they used in Redguard. The bar in Redguard was the Draggin' Tail, a take off from Dragon Tale. People who wouldn't go home for lunch would take it with them in a pail, then sit on the pail while they eat. Calling someone a pail rider is calling them lazy in this case, as they won't get off their ass. Comparable to calling someone a desk jockey.

A little later when Floyd gets his chair and mug pulled up to the table, Grantham’s gotten onto the subject of the sketchy meat they sell from the carts on South North street. Believe me, only the Bretons could come up with a name as dumb as the South North street.

“I had the runs for three days after that last batch of “mutton” strips I bought from him. The taste was off, but I thought for the price they had used a below par animal.”
“How many times are you going to burn yourself before you stop licking the torch?”
“What now?”
“How many times have you bought meat from him, and how many have turned out well?”
“Well…”

“The amount of times you come in complaining, it must be never” That was Relie adding an opinion. Then the old man Floyd hands us this gem:
“You might as well go with the cheap stuff while you’re young and your system can take it, but don’t go that cheap. Even scavengers have standards”

“Grant, I’m a freaking beggar and I eat better than you! Cutting corners to save money isn’t going to get you your kit any faster. You’ll just be a sickly doof.”
“That money’s going to a good layaway deal, he won’t hold onto the kit if I don’t keep paying it off.”
“I’ve never heard of someone honestly doing that, have you got anything to string him up with when you find he’s just taking your money?”
“It won’t come to that! The operator is straight with me.”
“Unlike that mystery meat man. I’ll help you avoid that mistake for awhile.”

“At least till the hunger grabs him again. He’ll want human flesh soon!”
“Oh… HA!”

Relie and Grantham exchange in sarcasm like that all the time.

“Here’s what it is: He’s selling you Raccoon meat. The festering kind he leaves in the trap too long without collecting. Stomach worms and stank rot have had the first choice of the meat, and they’re probably slicking out your insides so it all escapes the back way. Have you checked to see if your kidneys have shot out the back yet?”
“Are you [censored] serious? What the [censored]!”

Marcel with a laugh and a snort lets out “You’ve been eating that bad [censored] man! How’s your stomach doing now? I’ll keep a path clear for you to the crapper so you can evacuate your bowels quicker.”

I hear him back out of his chair. “Hey you all! We’ll need a quick path to a free hole in the back! Leave one clear for him or he will SIT ON YOUR LAP!”

Haha! That guy. The nearby customers are laughing at the audacity and it takes a bit to pull it back to the music.

“I’ve been trying each of the meats that come along, and I’ve got a theory about them”
“What’s that, Pants?”
“I think the more powerful the animal is, the better it tastes. I mean, look at it. A chicken tastes better than a drake because a rooster will peck the hell out of you. Pheasant tastes better than quail, an elk tastes better than a deer, and buffalo tastes better than cow, and so on. The more powerful it is the better it must taste!”
“What haven’t you had then, to add into your list of meat?”
“I haven’t had bear or most daedra, but I think the one I’ve been hankering to try most is Orc.”

Grantham slaps my shoulder and pulls back a bit saying “If that isn’t the damnedest thing! Who would eat one of those?”
And the sardonic tone of Relie kept up the pressure with “What a guy thing to say. One more way of comparing meat. Is everything with you males a violent contest? Even how food tastes to you depends on testosterone.”

“I’d like to point out that I sit on the ground holding a cup out most all day. I gotta think about something.”

“Hey! And that’s why the girls go eating guys and not the other way. They want to masticate the best meat!”

Brilliant insight Marcel. Floyd takes him on.

“So what then, guys eating each other for that best tasting meat? You’re a flit”
“No way man, you’re the flit!”
“Oh yeah, the guy who has a wife and child at home. How are you doing in that respect Marcel? Do you ever have occasion to use your dike? I mean other than when you take your hand to the meat.”
“Right. You can just kiss my ass.”
“It always ends up involving the ass when you talk.”

“Shut up you cupcake!”

There was a quick hushed call from Grantham as I heard the door open.

“Wood Elves!”

I’ve been going to the Pail now for a few years. It’s on the south end of town away from the Bay, so we get a regular crowd of townspeople and fewer of the sailors and travelers who hit up the places on the waterfront. Because of this we’ve got a running joke that if out of towners come around; we act like racist [censored]s at first to mess with them.

Me and Floyd have to be sitting for this to work often times, because he wears his hair longer and I’m kinda tall compared to the evening crowd. We’re the only two regulars that people could point out quickly as Nords, and we all in the bar play this trick on the Skyrimmers that sail in. We don’t get a lot of traffic from the Redguards or High Elves, but their ships run like clockwork. Every now and then there’s a group of four or five that wander in.

There was a whole exchange between people I didn’t know.

“Hello gentlemen! What is the name of this tavern?”
“This be the Pail Rider.”
“Interesting. What sort of rates do you have on rooms?”
“This is the kind of place where you rent rooms by the hour”

I hope the girls upstairs are listening from the balcony, these guys must look shocked.

“I see, perhaps we’ll just stay and enjoy the company for awhile then. It’s awfully quiet now though, what do you do for fun around here?”

“We beat up out of towners!”

With that break, others join in.
“Get over here you bastards!”
“We’re gonna burn some [censored] driftwood!”

I should probably explain that last one. Wood Elves don’t generally operate their own ships around here, or do much shipping at all, so any that are around this town are either hands on a ship or travels. So, Wood Elf becomes Driftwood. Driftwood is almost always followed by the phrase mother [censored]. In this town, mother is only half a word.

“Alright you bastards, you’ve had enough”

That’s the jolly pimp of the place, our friendly publican Thorley. He’s always smoothing things over if they won’t lead to profit, and he knows the guys are just screwing with the elves.

“Now you all! Come in this way and have a brew. Shots and touches are half off for you guys. The rest of you! Lay off, or the liquor price doubles!”

It only happens that way on average nights, people wouldn’t take much notice of new comers if we had a traveling band or a big weekend show. I’m just here for the beers and conversation tonight, I can’t afford the upstairs or the chicken. That’s what you save up the begging money for. Alcohol, steak, and six. Sometimes in that order.

Once again, you did a good job with this chapter. Very funny, even more so than last time, even if there is still no plot advancement. I'm starting to think this is just a comedy Fan Fiction...

Regardless, I don't need to point out the funny parts, and all the dialogue flowed well. You really captured that element of camaraderie, with inside jokes, saying how people are doing things in almost a routine.

We see a bit of a darker side to the tavern, if you know what I mean, but there's nothing wrong with that. Drunken guys in a bar tend to curse quite a bit. All in all, nothing really to change, especially since I have no clue which direction you're taking this.

That said, thanks for writing, and we look forward to the next chapter.


Note: After a quick grammar check, once more I had to double check using MS Word, nothing came up that wasn't intentional. All the misspellings were dialogue or thought, and all the sentence fragments were the same. Thanks again.

Ha Ha! Everything that isn't dialogue is the main character's voice! I J.D. Salingered the spelling mistake problem away!





Those elves got a table near one of the side platforms. Thorley must be trying to get their blood pumping.

I make it a point to get along with Thorley. He not only provides the three things I live for, he's not someone you want to piss off. You can't run a rowdy bar that sponsors fights and provides intercourse at a fee without having a hard edge under your smile. I called him the friendly publican because you'll never hear him shout or make a scene about something. He doesn't take care of things in a way that will be off-putting to the regular crowd. Put him behind a closed door and patience hasn't got a chance.

He's got an insidious plan to hook people on his wares. On the night of your 15th birthday, he sets you up with plenty of everything. You get the expensive dinner, the pony keg of strong stuff, and two girls when you're ready to take them. Thorley doesn't deal in catamites or rentboys, so I don't know what the gals do at that age.

From the first taste of bliss and acceptance into the ranks of the bar patrons, most guys who stay in town are hooked. Even if someone from out of town is in with friends and they claim to have it be their 15th (if they look the part) he'll let them have it because he knows how their friends will be spending that night.

These ulterior motives for his kindness have led to quite a result: A close nit group of neighbors hanging around the same place all the time and having fun. We've got the kind of group here who'll help you out just because they've seen you at the bar before. It's kind of self regulating too, we tend to keep the [censored]s out.

I felt someone from behind me reach around with both arms and hug me close while I sat.

"Pants! Buddy!"
"Evangeline? How are you baby?"

She walked around my chair and sat in the one beside me saying, "Hi everyone!"

Everyone else here gave her a welcome. I hadn't spoken with her for a month or so, just our passing schedules I suppose, so I wanted to start in.

"So hey E, is Thorley not having you set up on the stools tonight?"
"Oh, I'm totally on assignment right now."
"Thorley must be losing it if he thinks we aren't drinking enough."
"There's always room for improvement. You're only holding a beer in one hand, and there's room on the table for some shots"

This almost makes it strange how Evangeline can work the way she does. She isn't working upstairs, she's a B-girl at the bar. She can hold a conversation with about anyone and keep them buying drinks. I guess looking good also helps, but I only hear about that second handed.

So Floyd says "It's hard to turn down another opportunity to drink, how about pull up those shots, Pants? Give our gal some extra percentage from the purchase."

"Hey wait now guys! I came over here to honestly say hi. I don't need you thinking I only come around when I'm desperate."

I'm about to chuckle from her little whine of voice for saying that, but I've just gotta add "Nonsense! I always drink more with you around! The liquid courage always gets me ready to ask you out"
"Then why haven't you asked me yet?"
"It's impolite to bother people at work. I heard that somewhere."
"Oh you boys" she said, drawing the words out in a silly way. Something happens when she says that however; Grantham. The split second she says boys, Grantham puts his mug down a little hard on the table and hollers,

"Men!"

Like the boyhood joking style is offensive to our collective manhood. It probably is. Ain't nobody gonna call me no boy. I love to think with my testosterone.

So we guys generally agree with Grant here, but the ladies burst out laughing. Relie and Evangeline are having none of it. Through a laugh Relie says

"So what'll it be Mr. Man? Are we finally gonna see that [censored] of yours to prove yourself?"
"Not again Relie, last time he tried, the bartender smacked him around" added E.

"Oh, we're not having this talk! If there's [censored] to be proved, we're doing it now!"
Marcel ribs him and says "Sit down buddy, nobody wants to see your little balls."

Grantham strikes with, "What have you got going, Magic Boy? And what's in your pouch there? A book? The little magician can read?"

"Hey come on guys, give me some credit. All the ladies love to rub up against this Magic Man."

"Only the [censored]s as far as I can tell, and they're looking to get paid."
"Thanks for having my back, Pants"

I hear a chair push back a bit with E giggling, "Alright guys, I'm going back to the bar, but I'll see you all soon!"

We all around the table responded with something like "See you, E." The other guys I"m sure are back to looking at the girls on stage or the ones on the balcony while I sit here thinkin' and drinkin'. Why don't I ask her out like I said earlier?

I know why. Because I can see the conversation.

"Imagine the two of us in love. A beggar six addict and a drinking conversationalist. We could find somewhere beautiful to settle down, where I could learn to do something other than begging and you could raise the children. Or the reverse of that, but it would be more like the children helping their dirty old father out. If they get into any mischief, I'd have no ability to stop them. We get a bit older and they do too, the oldest daughter starts working as a B-girl at the Pail while the boy apprentices on a fishing boat. Then we'll get back into the real business that caused us to have kids in the first place. After that, we'll guilt the children into keeping us alive with a bit of money here and there and race onward toward a chest clutching death with each other in bed."

It sounds great, but how am I going to burden someone else their whole life with my problem? I can't beg enough for two, let alone a family, and blindness hasn't yet led me to a sustainable job. How could I ask her to take on all that trouble with me? Or then the real question: What if she doesn't like me that way?

We have fun at the bar and all, but she's a B-girl. She talks to everyone that way. How would I from the bottom of the list of choices manage to get her to pick me? She's probably a little cynical about love anyway with a new guy proposing to her every week at the bar. I don't know why I think this [censored] up.

It might be late, I think I've been at the bar awhile. I've gotta be saving my money for my Adventure Weekend in a couple days.

"Alright , I've come to my spending limit this evening. Cheers!" I chug the rest of my beer, not too worried if someone else joined in. The guys did give me a little cheer there and bade me goodnight as I saluted and stumbled a bit toward the door. Lovely time again in this sacred palace of booze.

When I get near the door, I turn back toward the balcony. With my arm and finger jutting toward the sky I shout "[censored]S!"

The ladies on the balcony all shout back with a long "YEAH!"

It's good to be loved.

Nice dialogue, it really pulled me into the story and as other people mentioned it helped to flesh out the characters. It really reminds me of some Irvine Welsh scene with some football punters conversing in the pub.

keep the updates coming :foodndrink:

Thanks! I've got 18 chapters or so planned out for this story, but I keep getting distracted from writing. Critiques welcome.

Chapter 2: Hope

Why do they have to make temple bells that loud? So loud and deep it shakes your stomach. I can see their worshippers shaking and falling out of bed from that intense sound, like I do every time they ring it. Just the shaking I suppose, there’s nowhere to fall from where I sleep.

Everyone’s gotta urinate when they wake up in the morning and yesterday’s beer is usually what gets me up, but that temple bell is something you don’t recover from. I might get up to pee on someone’s wall and lay down again where I had been to catch more sleep, but not after that sound. That deep long tone just turns your world upside down. On days they ring it the animals are all constipated.

The bedding of trash I slept on isn’t quite friendly enough for me to stick around, but I’m still here. There’s still money in my leg bag, so I haven’t been robbed. Now all there is to do is find out where I am.

Bakers go around in the mornings delivering bread to their clients and selling the rest as they can. I’m on good enough terms with a few of them that they either explain where we are or take me where I need to be. Doors and windows are opening down the block, the baker and milkmaid should be coming along soon.

Here’s a baker now, you can smell him.

“Excuse me, Garson! Bring more bread and wine to my table!”

The chuckle that brought let me know just who it was. Holsson. In a goofy accent he says,

“Yes yes! But sir! Your tablecloth is filthy! Let me get you a new place to [censored].”

“Don’t you mean sit?”

“Sit, [censored], one leads to the other. Especially after eating. Four Eadreds”

I ain’t paying that for this bread. That’s zucchini bread prices.

“You know what the lady on the hill there says about robbing the poor. I’ll give you thirteen Athelstans”

“I’m not robbing you, it isn’t a half loaf you’re buying here. I was by the stables this morning selling to the old rancher, and he was selling meat off the old plowhorse that died of exhaustion yesterday. You’ve got a sandwich coming at you with a low, low price of four Eadreds.”

“That is a good price, but you know how the purse is. How about three Eadreds and two Athels?”

“Done! Let’s see that coin!”

I rustle around in my leg bag for the right amount when I hear the Sacristan shaking the chime as he starts the parade.

“So Holsson, you going to the service after you get the bread sold?”
“And listen about the way that bishop gets on about how we need to fund his pet projects? I think I’ll go play with my mistress.”
“How’s that wife of yours?”
“Don’t remind me!”

He must have been wandering up the street a bit more while I stopped to eat, that last part was more of a shout. I’m close enough to a main strip of road that I can set up somewhere for the morning to ask for money. I know this area. It ain’t bad. The procession comes through here after it goes through the rich part of town and the lower east. They’ve gotta pick up the rich people first so they can be at the head of the parade all throughout town so people will know they’re going to Temple.

I knew some of that temple stuff back in the day. We worshipped Kynareth like everyone else. We’d always get asked to help pray for the sick, so we’d hear about a sickness in the neighborhood and get ourselves over there. Kynareth being the Pure One among the gods, people know that children are uncorrupt and pure, so a child praying for you to get well is a great help toward getting well. We’d pray for all kinds of people, and they’d give us all kinds of stuff. Some pulses from the field, recent fowls they’d harvested, firewood. I didn’t have a real grip on the religion, but I made it look good.

Here comes that rustling of the chimes. I imagine the Sacristan is a fat guy, he wheezes on the uphills and talks like he has trouble getting his mouth open. He seems like a pompous [censored] most of the time.

“Join us! Follow to the temple that god may love you! Further her work by contributing to her causes of healing the sick and giving to the poor!”

Giving to the poor? My kind of guy. I always knew he’d come through for me.

“Hey Priest! Here I am. I’m poor!”
“Get out of the way, maggot! We’re serious here about doing our Lady’s work!”
“Sure I’d spend the money on food and beer, but it helps the whole tavern industry to have customers. Think of my plight! Have pity.”
“You indignant bastard!”

Wait for it. There it is.

Whap!

I expected it, but it doesn’t mean as much if I don’t take the smack from the bottom end of his processional rod. The parishioners don’t seem to mind. Gotta beat the flock sometimes.

I feel hands pulling me up. Female hands. Goody.

“I’m sorry Sheriff, I won’t heckle the ministry anymore.”
“It’s E, Pants. Stand up!”
“E? Imagine touching you here, what brings ya?”
“Clean it up a little, you’re coming with me to temple.”

Why would I want to do that?

“I’m what?”
“You’re coming with us to temple, we’re here at the back. You want to come because I told you you do.”
“Hey, I didn’t say anything”
“I know what you were thinking. And we’re not doing the other thing you were thinking either”
“I wasn’t thinking that! Honest!”

I lie.

She giggles and pulls me down the street. I’m not an unwilling prisoner, but I haven’t been in there in years. I hear the tone has changed. We mill in with the crowd on the way. I can smell the Comfrey flowers they wear and hold, a symbol of Kynareth for her healing medicines.

You know how crazy some of these religious types can get? Normally the regular folks going to temple wear the flowers there and have blue feathers to represent her sphere of the heavens, or they have blue ribbons to represent all that. The crazy ones take it a step over the line.

They dress their livestock that way on temple day. It “blesses” every living thing in their household to have them wear those, and to have the blue feathers passed over their heads.

On the plus you can see who takes these things too far. On the minus, I can’t see.

I’m sorry, that was cheap. But cows and dogs are around town trying to reach around with their heads to get that stuff off, and the chickens lay bad eggs when they eat those flowers. It would be nicer if they’d tone it down.

The parade of people going to temple must not have been terribly long, we’re about inside already. So I say,

“Our god Kynareth blesses you! Come all to her glory! Bless you as she blesses us all.”
“This isn’t the time for that, Pants!”

Brilliant. It's funny but not over the top.

Thanks for reading! It'll be a little slow for awhile more, but I'm hoping the humor can balance out the lack of action.





We found our way to the pews in the back and waited for the ceremony to start. They weren’t front facing, but I don’t think they were turned toward a central location. I had the urge to talk, but Evangeline laid her hand on my arm and said “They’re starting the crank for the organ.”

The sound was beautiful, I was impressed. From above the melody was sweet and it drifted down through what must have been an immense space to land sweetly upon your ear. It’s rare to hear something so pleasant when you’re on edge about where you are and what people will think. They talk big about helping the poor, but all the donations from regular church goers I’ve received wouldn’t buy me a goat.

During the song I could hear the people walking in front of us in their robes. It must have been a wide central isle we sat facing. The first ambulator had small hand chimes, the second had a smoking incense box, and the third was rhythmically tapping the floor as he walked with his processional rod. After a pause, one more person walked to the front. Slowly and deliberately he paced, with such timing that you heard his feet click at the far end just as the song ended.

In a loud baritone that Sacristan says, “Shall we pray?”

I hear people around me fumbling around, so I grab Evangeline’s hand for guidance. She bows my head with her other hand, and then bows herself in the pew.

“Hail mighty Kynareth, the Lady of Mercy, our life and fortune. For your love and healing we continually cry, for your patience and guidance we continually search. To thee we turn our hearts, as you forgive us our sins. Oh loving Queen of the Heavens, Patron of Sailors, may your work be sweet and your days forever!”

The crowd responded with a “Praise be!” while we said nothing. The smoke from the incense box slowly drifted in waves in front of us. Overhead the sound I would associate with waving banners increased as a breath the size of the sky sighed past. With a quick step someone left the platform and began,

“Who can know what it is our Lady has in store for us when we leave? From this uncertain life in which we toil, none can say when we shall leave, and we cannot choose when or from whence we come. Our strength in this life is trust in the power of Kynareth.

She has laid the foundation of the world. With her wisdom she has granted us the sky above and the earth beneath. She set all this in motion as a gift to her people. How can our lives be troubled then? She oversees the coming of the tide, the changing of the seasons. The very patterns of nature are her strokes, the very weather her emotion. With every raindrop she blesses our lands; with every harvest she grants us her bounty. Shall we then deny her our expression of love?”

Now the priest began to pace the central isle while speaking.

“A devout monk of our Queen of the Heavens lived on this very hilltop years ago. Before the town and the people, there was the glory of nature in the serene beauty of the bay. This priest lived joyously in the grace of the Lady, with the animals providing his every need and the birds themselves teaching him the noble way of Kynareth.

Kynareth loved her monk on the hillside, but the cycle must go on. When his time came, he and she stared smiling into each other’s eyes until the last breath had come. Our Lady was moved by his devotion. In his honor, the birds who taught him in life began to build him is chapel in death. The animals and trees even lent themselves to the task. His body was entombed in the altar of this small chapel, with his volumes of writing. The birds would sing the praises of our Lady with every song, and soon pilgrims began arriving to see this great sight.

The priest is dead, but the work lives on. We, like the birds, must continue the construction of our Cathedral to honor this priest, the founder of our Order. Kynareth blesses us continuously, but do we do her honor? The grains from the harvest produce strong returns, our shipping is plentiful, our livestock is hardy. Shall we shortchange Our Lady what is rightfully hers when we are so close?

We must complete the Cathedral of Kynareth in which we stand. Margrave Kensington has given graciously to us and to the town. Follow his generous example. Even knowing you owe your gain in life to the Lady, you cannot hold it all back.

City of Sailors! Our Lady watches over sailors on her sea to provide them safe journey. City of Workers! Our lady blesses your every bounty! City of Warriors! Was it not Our Lady who gave the Lord’s Mail to Morihaus to combat the unclean Daedric spirits?

Be devout to your master Lord Kensington. Be strong in the church. Praise be to Kynareth!”

I’m not sure what to think of that. It’s kind of a fairy tale about how we should give all we can to the temple. That’s probably not the original meaning of the story, maybe it was something about how to spend your life in service to Kynareth. I’m naturally suspicious of people who want my money without giving me anything; they’re either thieves or scammers. Care to take bets on which these guys are?

The music began again with the whole choir joining in. Lofty praises of the Lady and how she’ll save us all.

Evangeline pulled me toward the end of the isle we entered on. While the music played she whispered “I’m taking you to the side chapel. It’s named ‘Our Lady of Healing’. I want to see if they know something about vision.”

Are her eyes bad too, or is she trying to fix me? Of course it’s me. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. She can’t know how desperately I want to be able to see, but can it just be this easy? Have I been blind for these thirteen years just because nobody has taken me to this temple?

“E, can this work? What can they do for me?”
“We’ll have to find out. I’ve heard of miracles with their magic.”

She took me through the doorway with a small step up she forgot to tell me about. No trouble at all though, I was excited. It’s as if my dream girl was taking me through a dream. I’d sacrifice so much to get my sight back.

Evangeline spoke out to someone, “Brother? The man with me is blind. Can you help him?”

Oh god, say yes.

“Blindness? We don’t see that often. What is your name?”

It’s me. Breathe easy.

“My name is Pants”
“What? Why is your name Pants?”
“It was all I had when I was found blind, and my old self was hateful to me.”

The voice was soothing, but I wanted him to get on with it.

“How did you become blind?”

“I was working for my Lord Honmund of Skyrim in the fields when I collapsed from heatstroke. My eyes were open and looking upward, and the bright sun took my vision.”

“And you came here?”

“I was taken the side of the road, where a caravan was paid to take me away. I ended up here in Northpoint”

“Hmm, I see. And you are a devout believer in Our Lady of Healing?”

“All my life! I’ve been praising her while waiting for her kind healing!”

Whatever it takes to get there. I need it.

There was a slight pause and he drew near to examine my eyes. I’ve been told that they are clear and sharp like normal eyes, but they don’t recognize light or movement. He lifts the eyelids as I stand there, with care and reluctance.

“Your eyes are not a simple matter to heal like some others. Even in the service of our God our physicians cannot fix this. Our magicians will be required. We cannot begin to help you until full payment for the service is rendered in this case.”

“What do you mean full payment?”

“For this procedure we require one hundred talents.”

Holy [censored]! The richest men in the city would bankrupt themselves trying to gather that much!

“Do understand the reason for upfront payment. We often allow strong members of the church to work off their debt to us when there are lesser fees assuming they keep up their weekly attendance, but for a procedure this large we can’t take the chance that you’d skip town on the payment. There’s nothing to tie you here, so you must stake your fortune on this temple to receive your healing.”

What a shot to the balls. My chance to be healed stood up in front of me and fled at the sound of the Septim.

“Do you understand what this means to me? Paying a king’s ransom up front when I’ve only got the ability to earn beggar’s wages? With vision I could work, I could toil for the temple, I could do something! The way I am now, I’m useless! What are you doing to me?”

I swung at him. I swung hard. I came to the merciful church for help and they push me out on the street like the trash I am.

E catches me and pulls be backward toward the door. She says, “I’m sorry Brother!”

He responds “Young woman! Control your garbage monkey!”

I yell and struggle to break free so I could charge him, but I don’t know where I would go. So I stop and hang my head. She leads me onward to the doors, and then to the outside air.

I've read this through a few times now, and if I'm honest, it's taken me a few readings to enable me to respond. You've set yourself one hell of a challenge, that's for sure. Lead character - blind, and it's close thrird person at that too. No visual description (which you've remained consistent with throughout - very impressive!), and you utilise the other senses very well, especially auditory. Your dialogue is extremely good. Natural, funny, and gives a great sense of character - and again, most impressively, not just the lead character. Even your secondary characters have come to life very well.

I'm just...not sure where it's going yet. I wouldn't say that is a problem, it's still early days in the story, and you're still setting it up - and the skill you've drawn the characters with makes me want to know what happens next. I guess I'm just waiting to see what direction the story goes in. I'm enjoying the writing whilst I wait though.

More please!

Yeah, this will be a tough one for awhile. All this stuff is groundwork for the action of the story, because a revolution has to build out of something. Chapter five is when the pieces start moving, so it may be hard to critique on the story till then.







I'll let her lead me a bit. I'm in no mood to ask people for money after hearing the sour pitch the temple guys gave me. The feeling of being rejected has calmed to a dull pain, but I'll still act sore about it for awhile to earn some sympathy with Evangeline. She was the one who put me in the position to assault the clergy after all.

"So where we going, E?"
"The cemetery. It's a nice day for that."
"Are we visiting someone up there?"
"Not in the way you mean. Not a grave. We're just going there for the nice time."

Any time now she should apologize. Inadvertently crushing my dreams of seeing stuff requires some kind of regret.

I guess we haven't been going all that long when she says "Ok, we're just outside of town. To the east."

I haven't been outside town in awhile. Not a thing feels different. I'm curious as hell though, "Why did we come to the graveyard?"

"Oh that's right, you haven't been up here. Coming to the graveyard is a Breton thing. It's always kept up beautifully, and celebrations of all sorts are held here. There's follies, gazebos, small stone theaters, a hillside with glorious planters."

"You use the graveyard like the city park? I hope they clean up the dog droppings."

Next time I won't talk about poop on a date. Definitely.

She fakes a chuckle and says "Ah, the animals don't come here. This is the place for birthday parties and cookouts. "

"Isn't that morbid? Being around death like that?"

"We don't think of it that way. We think of it as being around our loved ones on holidays and happy times. It keeps us all connected to the past."

This woman can make anything sound nice. I feel the need to add something to the conversation, but I'm really reaching.

"In Skyrim all I remember about the departed was that at the tavern people would toast their memories if they were liked. If they weren't liked by most, they were forgotten."

"Our way seems a little more respectful" said Evangeline after a pause. I think what I said was awkward, there isn't a lot to keep that going in conversation. So, "What was all that about this morning?"

She tugs on my hand a little, "What's that?"

"This morning after the Sacristan abused me. Why'd you bring me to temple with you?"
"I just had the urge. I thought it would be nicer going with someone rather than going alone."
"Do you attend regularly then?"
"Not that often, and probably less often after today. I'm really sorry about what happened, Pants. It just occurred to me while we were in the service that the healers in the chapel might be able to help you, and I was so excited. I didn't know at all what they would end up saying."

I got the apology out of her, and I feel good about her intentions involving the temple. She didn't pick me up to try and convert me or something, and it's great to know she didn't set me up at the healing room to get shot down. This park is getting better all the time.

"Hey E, in the service, why was the whole thing about giving money to the church? Isn't their cathedral pretty well together now?"
"There's still parts in the back that need fixing up. There've been quite a few donations, so the front was finished first to give a good look for the patrons."

"How does it look good for the patrons?"
"Oh, everyone who donates gets to have some of their family's symbols worked into the fa?ade design. An oak leaf cluster, or stuff like that. It's a permanent record of who loves the temple most apparently. Do you remember any cathedrals from before?"

"Not really. I think of beautiful things from before and wonder if they're still the same. By the way, what do you look like?"

"Hehe, has it occurred to you that I like you because you don't know?"

"So you like me? This is nice. Maybe I can find a way to hold that over you. "
"You're bad!"
"Tell me why chicks love the flowers!"
"I can't tell you things like that. It ruins the feminine mystique!"
"That's ok, I have more friends with ovaries. I can ask Relie."

She laughed again. I'm doing alright. Maybe there's hope for the poor bastards of this world.

"So where'd you come from Pants? I mean more than what you told the healer."
"Ehh? I came from a plantation in Skyrim. I usually worked the fields with my parents and everyone else. The masters weren't terribly oppressive, but I was working doubly hard to earn extra wages. I collapsed of the heatstroke and have been blind ever since."

"But didn't your parents come for you?"
"Someone else must have found me, I was left by the side of the road without my pickings." The traveling group picked me up while I was delirious, and by the time I was at the next city I didn't know how to get back. They sailed me cheap to wherever they were going. My parents were poor enough as it was, I couldn't go back and burden them. I've been in Northpoint ever since"

It's annoying thinking about it. I didn't leave because I wanted to make things easier for my parents; I left because I wanted to escape the life of a serf. I may be a scum beggar now, but I'm getting laid once a week and I'm proud of it! But now there's just awkward silence.

"How about you, Evangeline? What have you been up to?"

"I grew up here in Northpoint. My daddy worked as a cooper. I joined the PG-13 when I became a teenager."
"What's the PG-13? Street gang?"

"Ha! No, no, it was the teenage version of the prosttute's Guild. We didn't give it up and we didn't have a pimp, we were just a bunch of makeout [censored]s."
"If you were there when I was growing up, I'd be broke all the time."

She gives me a quick squeeze.

"That's lovely Pants, but you might get lost in the life. You've gotta get married sometime."
"I don't need to go marrying someone from the town though."
"Why is that?"

"I plan to marry for political reasons. There must be a king somewhere who will give me his daughter in marriage so there may be peace between us."
"That's fantastic! Save us all by marrying the princess!"
"Until a better plan comes along, sure."

She stops walking. I'm a little unsure now what's going on. She says, "So why do they call it the Pail Rider?"

"It comes from a joke about working folks in the fields. You take your lunch with you in a pail, and you sit on the pail while you eat it or [censored] with the others. A Pail Rider is someone who doesn't get back to work. A lazy bastard."

"So Thorley named his bar 'The Lazy Bastard'?"
"Yes, essentially."
"That's great."

"Hey E, where are we?"
"We're now at the Sailor's memorial at the beach. For all those lost at sea. There's a statue of a man dragging his anchor out of the water, and cenotaphs, and walls carved with the names of those lost. My dad is one of them."

Her tone isn't half as happy as before.

"The Cooper?"
"He was called up for military service by Lord Kensington. It takes a toll on everyone."

I put my arms around her from behind and said, "It's tough. It's tough losing what means the most to you."

I felt her reach for her face, and then the moment ended. She pulled away.

"It's late in the morning, I'd better take you back to the city"

I didn't say anything, I just let her lead me.

Chapter 3: Calm fears

The first half of the day has ended up being depressing.

Something lucky happens, then something annoying, then something lucky, then something terrible, then something enjoyable, and it ends my friend crying and walking off alone.

I can't nap this problem away, people seem to mind where you sleep in the daytime. The tried and true method is best; drinking.

Anyone else might try to stop by her place and say nice things, but hide and seek isn't my game. Blind monkey is.

She left me in the west end of town, and I think I'll go to Floyd's. It's been a week since I've gone there. His son and the other eight year olds think I'm great. I stay away from his baby daughter though; she can't talk yet and I can't admire the cuteness.

The West Market is fairly friendly to me, I beg there quite a bit. I'd better go there later today.

I'm getting pretty close to the house when this kid bumps into me.

"Hey! It's Pants!" he exclaims. I know this kid, it's Geor.

"Hey kid, what's going on?"
"We're going to play Smack! Come with us!"
"Not yet, I've gotta talk to Floyd. I'll be over that way in half an hour. Before you take off though, look over in Floyd's yard. Is his wife Virene doing anything?"
"Yeah, she's hanging laundry"

I make it look like I'm pondering something important.

"One last thing, is there anything on the other side of their fence near the laundry?"
"No"
"Take me there, but make sure she doesn't see us."

I'm always trying to one up the way I approach Virene. Sometimes I can scare her with something. Once I get over the fence I will listen for where she is and jump through the hanging laundry toward her. That has to work!

Geor silently puts my hand on the fence and scampers away. It's wood pieces stuck in the ground held together with twine. Not good. I lift my leg and grab my foot so I can place it over the fence, and then try to hop the other leg over. Pushing down on the fence a little while I do this, it creaks. I hope to heck she didn't hear that.

So far, so good. I hear someone take a couple steps, but I can't smell anything beyond the soaped laundry drying. Fortune favors the bold. Leap for it!

"Ye-AHHH!"

Plop. I hit the lower line and landed ass first in the mud.

"Most visitors use the gate."
"I believe you're too sly for me, woman."
"I told you, you can't call me woman anymore."

She's taken me by the hand to pull me up.

"Come on woman, you're not even a little amused?"
"I'm amused that you've got mud butt now. Not so amused that you kept my husband out late last night."
"Not me, promise. I was asleep in the gutter by the time he left, I'm sure."
"Yeah? Ha. He's on a short leash, and you keep it together in the back yard. Don't give him any booze."

The baby let out a cry, so while Virene went inside, I wandered around back to find Floyd. I found him promptly when I walked into his hammock.

"Have you got cause to wake me from my afternoon nap?"
"I come around to see you in the afternoon and you're going 'Have you got cause and [censored] to wake my lazy ass up?'. Do you ever work?"
"I work plenty, [censored], I'm just not working now."

I suppose he isn't going to offer me a place to sit.

"What's with Virene, man?"
"Aww, that. So I get home last night and the wife is on a rampage about how I'm staying out all night while she's at home shucking corn, and then it's my fault that her screaming woke the baby. She's going around with the broom and smacking me when she feels it appropriate, eventually just going at me with her hands hitting me. Of course I start hitting her back, but her fury wouldn't be stopped. Now I have a headache. I don't know if it's a hangover or a concussion."

"You've been hitting your wife?"
"Nothing serious man, just to fend her off from attacking me. And she won't let me have any drink for a week. Have any scotch?"
"I keep a bottle of it on me at all times. For medicinal purposes"

I pass the bottle, and I assume he's being secretive with it. If he chugs it like a jerk, she's sure to notice.

"Why does she even let you hang out at a brothel?"
"She knows I'm too cheap to have any real fun."

"I've been wondering Floyd, you've said before you were captain of a ship, but you've never gone sailing since I met you."
"Yeah. That was a long time ago in Skyrim. It was a picket ship owned by the Baron I worked for. Baron Ryshnek. I had been working for him in his infantry, but he was low on ship captains loyal to him. So I was picked. I didn't know a lot about ships, but we were brilliant."

"I'm not sure I can see you being on a ship"
"You're kidding, right?"
"Right."

"While I was captain of this little ship, the main fleet was in the center and I was at the end of the line nearest the shore. We had the shallowest hull, so we could run closer and get in behind the enemy. And that we did, we'd throw oil and torches over at them while spearmen pelted their defenders. It was all very grand in the military history of Skyrim, and I'll never be forgotten. The mighty military prowess of Floyd!"

I think he stood up.

"I cannot be defeated on land or sea! Come at me, [censored]es!"
"Sit down, nutbag. If you were famous like that in Skyrim for captaining a rowboat, you wouldn't be here now."
"It wasn't a [censored] rowboat!"

He takes another swig, so I reach out for the bottle. Floyd presses it into my hand.

"It wasn't all like that. We weren't much of a ship. There were about thirty men on board, and only six or seven wanted to fight. I was egging them on with my sword out, but the closer we got to the enemy, the less they paid attention to me. We were close to the shoreline like I said before, but before the ships engaged into it the bastards decided to go the other way. I was trying to throw them around and command them, but they sailed the ship the other damn way. The other ships were signaling us to quit our crap. I wasn't going to take my sword to them, so I took a baton and smacked the guys around. One of my own damn archers shot me in the leg so they could get away. Bastards."

"Your own guys were [censored] shooting you? How terrible can you be?"
"Hey, I wasn't so bad. When there's [censored] to do, you get out there and do it, you know?"
"So what next?"

"I'm there on the deck bleeding and shouting when someone drops the port spur. The ships jerked around and crashed right into the beach. Cowards poured off the deck all around me. There's all this talk later of executing me for my performance, but the Baron was a good guy and he sent me away. Now I'm here, and I'm not going back."

"[censored]!"
"You said it man."

He doesn't seem torn up about it, but holy hell. Floyd lived through a mutiny during battle and now he fills odd jobs in Northpoint. I gotta ask.

"You were a fighter in Skyrim, and now you're a general laborer by day and the political gossip by night?"

"It's something I've learned, Pants. You can't go back to who you were, you can't go back to what you were doing. Bad things happen. What if I get a job fighting for some warlord here and they have a dispute with Baron Ryshnek? I owe that man my life, and some other guy wants me to attack him?"

It just gets more and more serious. I didn't mean to get him going, but man. I've got stuff to say too though, and it won't do us well to be caught by Virene while we're sneaking drinks.

"Hey Floyd, some of the boys are going to the clearing to play Smack. Wanna go there to make sure it doesn't get too violent?"

"I'm up for it. Bring the bottle and call out for Raddin"

This is hilarious, it had me rolling! You are a great writer, not a single flaw in your telling of the story. Dialogue and characters are tangible! I loved it!

Thankyou! I'm having a good time with it.





Raddin had already left. Shows you how much Floyd pays attention.

The streets of Northpoint can be a real [censored]. They made them intentionally to confuse people who weren’t used to it. It’s so invading armies will get lost or have difficulties making their way through the vast maze. On a practical level, it’s hard to get places.

We make our way through the lazy afternoon crowd who aren’t in a hurry to get anywhere. Sometimes they greet us.

Conversation is in spurts, it’s odd to carry on too long when you’re in a crowd. I start by saying,

“I hung out with Evangeline this morning,”
“Oh really? That chick’s crazy about me.”
“Like hell.”
“The ladies all want what I got.”
“You’re old and you have a small dike. What’s there to like?”
“Say that again after I lay her next week.”

That puts us both in stitches. I’ve always thought of Floyd as a tall guy like me with a good head of hair, some muscles showing, and a willingness to kick some ass. There’s no reason to ask anyone what he looks like, I like the images in my head. Thinking of them that way helps.

“So what now, did she do with you this morning?”
“You won’t believe it. She dragged me into temple.”

“How’d she manage that? You never go there.”
“They’re the big time money hustlers, I think the amateurs should stay out of the way.”

I turned it over again in my mind before I started.

“We listened to the sermon awhile, then she took me back to a chapel for a healing. It didn’t go well. I laid it all out there before the priest, and he turned me down. I never knew it could be healed. Half my life in darkness and today is the first I’ve found anything could be done about it.”

“What went down?”
“It was a quick build-up, but the fall was monumental. The healing was in front of me for the asking. All I had to do was pay a hundred talents.”

“Holy [censored]. There’s no way to get that kind of money.”
“And they damn well know it! The hope was dangled this close in front of me! It fled with the wind. It’s days like this I hate it most.”

“The Temple?”
“My blindness. They threw me out of my old home for being useless and these Bretons are foolish enough to keep me fed. I don’t do bad here, but I’m not doing anything! Just wasting not much of a life.”

“Shut the hell up. This ‘woe is me’ [censored] isn’t you. So what, you aren’t doing much? You don’t get depressed about it, you get a [censored] goal. You had a down day, but you’re not out of it.”

I can’t even think anything about it. I hate when people [censored] the way I just did. He’s right, it isn’t me. How did I even get emotional thinking about my worldly estate?

“I don’t know what that was.”
“Then you forget it.”

We’d stopped for a minute to converse, and we took off again.

Floyd said from in front of me,

“Up ahead is the Fighter’s Guild. Mutual Mercenary’s Foundation 5310.”
“How’d they manage a name like that?”
“Ehh, the first number is what province they are in, the second number is what region they are in. The ten says that they’re the tenth guild in this region.”
“Northpoint is the center of it all, how do they have the tenth one and not the first?”

“There’s been a strong anti-guild sentiment in this city. As a seaport it isn’t hard to reach from farther places, and they used to all be able to come and sell their goods without regulation. Guilds come in and put standards on how everything is made, and prices go up. They kept the guilds out of here for quite awhile.”

Sounds plausible, I guess. I say,

“Those goofy Bretons. Guilds are there to make things high quality.”
Most of the time, but these guys did have a point. Prices went right up once the regulation tightened. Supply was short too for awhile.”
“What happened with the Breton’s shipping?”
“I take it their ships weren’t manned by Bretons; that would be the fastest way to lose them.

“Like you’re any better, with your rowboat.”
“It was a [censored] ship!”

From farther away someone called,
“Hey Pants! Floyd!”

That’s Grantham.

“Guys! I’ve got it man, I’ve got it!”

Floyd nudges me and says,

“Pants, he has his kit!”
“Darn right I got it! All that saving has paid off! I’ve got my robes, my enchanted ring, and some spell scrolls so I can practice! I’m on my way guys, I’m gonna be casting spells like crazy soon. You slobs call me the magic boy, but tonight I’m going to Relie’s and she’s gonna be [censored] the Magic Man!”

Oh, oh, it’s too easy.

“So you’re bring another dude with you to her place? You’ve gotta stop that voyiurism, man.”

“You laugh at me, dirtbag, but I’ll be dancing all around.”

In a strangely sing-songy way, I can hear him doing a dance and saying “I’m in the Mage’s Guild. I’m in the Mage’s Guild.”

Floyd says, “Don’t pay attention to this ass, you’ve done a damn fine job getting into there. You’ve got every reason to be proud.”

I can’t seem too incredulous. I say,

“Alright man, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for you. Tell us about the guild.”
“The guild? I’m in it! I’m an Apprentice of the Scaramounga Guild!”
“The wait, the what now?”
“The Wizard of the guild can pick the name. I don’t know what it means, but our Wizard called it the Scaramounga Guild. It’s probably from some book somewhere.”

Floyd adds to it,

“They’ve been having a bad situation.”
“What do they got?”
“There’s been some trouble of late concerning mages who want to practice outside the accepted training of the guild. They’ve been getting stricter about who does what, and they’ve tightened up the sales to the public. You’re lucky I think Grant, to have gotten in now. It might get tighter over there soon.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’ll be getting some great tutorship from the higher ups, and a load of old stuff. They seem to have overstocked some of their magical equipment and alchemy devices. There were so many around, I’ll be using the best things up front!”

This really sounds like a sweet deal. It sounds like the deal was perfect all around. I’d better ask him to come and tell us more.

“Come with us awhile Grantham, we’re heading down to see the children playing Smack. Tell us everything.”

Sometimes I wish this would be an advlt board. Now I have to guess which word you used instead of the [censored] [censored]
Nice chapter, I love the dialogues :nod: They make me laugh.

Coming up soon is chapter six, which is a strange and interesting part about Adventure Weekend which might have to be posted on an advlt board so people can clearly read it before continuing the story here. Thanks for reading! I'll keep trying to crank these out. There's still some ground to cover before it moves quickly.







I don’t know much at all about guilds. I don’t want to join some motley group of beggars who trade signs with each other and trade clothes when they’re bored. The prosttute’s guild on the other hand is something I’m very familiar with. Though I don’t know any rules or specifics about it, I know the prices by heart.

I ask, “So it’s fun, right? What is it you do in the guildhall?”

“It’s like on the job training. Once you’ve bought into the guild, they start teaching you the basics that people need around town. Opening magically locked boxes for people, help the others with lab work, compiling research notes, stuff like that. We work at the guild until we can find a job somewhere else. Nobles keep magicians on staff, or there’s the Legion.”

“Yeah, but all that’s later. Tell us about the good stuff! What kind of freaky things are going on in the guild? Magic stuff!”
“That’s why I joined. I went in there once to buy some of their potions, and I loved what I saw. People floated books in front of them when they wanted to read. They were summoning scamps and freezing different parts of them. I was shown a laboratory where a man was using mummy samples to construct his atronach. Brilliant orbs of energy swirled through the rooms. I knew it in a moment it was where I had to be. Living on scraps for months was worth it.”

Floyd after a moment asked, “Can you afford to drop your old job to start this up? Is Relie ready?”

“We’ve talked about it, and she’s picked up a second job to tide us over. I’ll be making a living with it soon, but it won’t be a good living yet. Once we’re above water, I’m going to get her a ring.”

I’m a little shocked. It’s fast, so I say,

“Are you sure you’re ready? You’re still young, man. Why get married so soon?”
“Two weeks after I started dating her, a year ago, I told you guys at the Pail that she’d be the one I’d marry. I was pretty sure then, and I’m completely confident now.”

Floyd let out a chuckle, “That’s fantastic! Virene I’m sure would love to help get things ready.”

Grantham was a bit pensive, “You can’t tell her yet! I haven’t even got the ring! Keep it under your hat.”

“Can do, can do. But we’ve gotta do something. Up here on the left, a round on me!”

He pulled me to the side of the street where he bought five shots and a small jar of moonshine from the vendor. Then to us, Floyd said,

“One for each hand, to Grant and Relie!”

“To me and my gal!”

I just stuck my arm out and they tapped their little wooden cups against mine. Down the hatch!

Floyd said, “Let me refill your bottle with some from my jar.”

So I say in my mad wizard voice,
“Mixing the flavors? Dare we do it?”
“Dare, dare!”

My bottle has had something of everything in it at one point or another. Things taste funny coming out of it no matter what.

We thanked Floyd for the drinks, and the three of us sauntered on. At one point, Floyd tapped Grantham and said,

“You see that man? Netch leather hunting jackets. They’re undercutting the price of the ones our cordwainer makes.”

Grantham replied with, “Yeah, I’ve been seeing more Dark Elven imports every month. They’ve got shipments of Tantos and Chitlin Bows that came in last week. People buy that stuff right up. Sure, you can pay less for one of the foreign mass produced trinket weapons, or you can buy a locally made sturdy axe that will keep its edge. Those cheap imports will come apart in a couple months of wood hacking.”

Floyd replied with a, “You’re darn right! What do the Darks know about weapons and combat? You look through history, and it’s a long line of Nords handing the Darks their asses on a pike!”

I don’t know about that, we’d probably own more of their stuff if we could hack ‘em up that quick. We’re passing by the Arkwright’s, and he sounds like he’s kicking someone to the curb. He shouts,

“You’re [censored] incogitable! We don’t make temporary chests you stupid elf! These trunks don’t last a week, they last a lifetime! You don’t want to make a box, you want to make bags!”

I move with the guys to the other side of the street as we walk past. I don’t want to be near what’s going on. The elf yelled something in elvish as he stormed off down the street.

I’ve gotta know something about it.

“What just happened?”

Floyd answered, “That elf had tools with him, it looked like he was an Arkwright too.”

Grantham kept it going with, “Was he looking for a job or something?”

I’m lost for an explanation, so I let Floyd take it, “You see that sign there? To work there you’ve gotta be a member of the guild. But he’s not, and not likely to be.”

I reacted, “But that’s not fair!”

“Fair or not, that’s how it is. The guilds have this town sewn up.”

I give it some thought as we go. Up ahead I realize is the statue of the child pissing in the water. I need to hydrate with all the drinking.

“Pull me up to the fountain. I need a drink.”
“You’re not putting your head down in there, are you? That’s everyone’s drinking water, you can’t just put your mouth in it like that.”

“That’s why I like this fountain. I intend to drink from the stream!”

And Grant says “Whoa ho! Gross.”

“It’s the same water either way.”
“I know, but there’s also some graffiti of a man peeing in his own mouth on the wall.”
“Someone must be into mischief. It must be those damn teenagers!”
“Them again?”

Then Floyd says, “It’s always them. They run Pants around the place.”

It’s true, but I’d rather not dwell on it.

“What’s that I’m smelling, guys?”

Grant says, “It’s a dark elf vendor making tacos.”

Floyd quickly chimes in, “The wife’s been having me try a bit of everything.”

So Grant says to him, “Have you noticed all Dark food is phallic shaped? Tacos, sausage links made of nix hound, bananas, cucumbers, geoduck. Even those kwama eggs came from a [censored].”

If there’s someone who knows about six, it’s me. I’ve had some Dark Elves.

“That’s why they’re always thinking about six. Even their food is shaped like those organs. They can bang like rabbits most of the time too, Elves only have periods every six months.”

Grant is impressed, “Six months! How can they go so long? It must be nice for the men”

“They live longer, so they slow down everything about how they have children. Don’t think it’s too nice for the men though; Because they’re so long between each period, when they get ‘em, they’re super periods. They’re witches from hell with heavy painful flows for two weeks straight. People who don’t know about it think they’re dying.”

“Remind me to be careful with the elf ladies.”

Floyd said, “The clearing is just up ahead, can it with the dirty elf stories. I can’t have my wife thinking it’s me who told Raddin about that.”

ROFL !!! I'll never get this picture out of my head now! Lol, it's like going on the "Ronald McDonald tour of Europe!"

Hehe! I thought the Dark Elf period explanation was pretty good too. There has to be a reason they have children so slowly and everything is spread out. Dark Elf men just need to remember when the super periods are coming.

Super periods for two weeks straight...


..you kill me..

..NOW I know where the phrase 'bleeding hell' came from!!!

Side note: wouldn't that attract vampires?

Another nice addition Shades. :goodjob: What are you doing to those poor Dark Elves?? :rofl:

Lol on bleeding hell. I hope it only attracts the desperate freaky vampires.

For the story I need the Dark Elves to seem slightly separated and not too respected by the residents of the town, even though there are a couple hundred of them living in the town. Having these guys keep up the jokes will keep up the separation. And two of them are Nords, they learned early on to distrust the Dark Elves.



Chapter 4: From Kids to Killers

The kids in town are my favorite. I’ve been hanging out with some of them since Raddin turned five or so. I wrangle them up a bit when they’re getting into trouble, and I keep a watchful eye on them so they won’t get into trouble. They like me too, because I give them all the good ideas.

There’s something to be said for what people teach their children, or have society teach them. All those better minded evils that they tell you when you’re young. Look at them when they grow up. They work half-heartedly for a master who doesn’t like them, on good days they’re quiet and complacent, on bad days they’re either irate or they want to eat their swords. That works for the sword eaters, but the amateurs always lose.

My way is to show them what freedom is all about, even if it isn’t always a good idea. Today for example, they’re playing a game I taught them called Smack. Polite people don’t hit each other. I teach the children how.

For the game, the players stand in a loose circle facing inward with their eyes closed and hands behind their backs. The odd man out has a leather padded club, and when he puts it in the hands of a kid, that kid has to beat the kid to his right until that one gets around the outside of the circle back to his place.

This game is life, I think. It starts beating you without you even knowing its coming. You’re in constant danger while you stand still, but you always return to the same place after an ordeal. There’s always someone new to attack you, and all you can do is escape with as little pain as possible.

The kids love it. I just keep it from going too far.

There sounds like enough kids here, I’ll start in with a, “Boys! Stand ye ready?”

You’ve gotta sound pompous when officiating such a noble sport.

“Yeah!”
“Keep it clean! No hits to the head, no punches, no grabbing at the clothes. Stickman!”

Just one kid yelled out “Yeah!” These guys don’t mess around.

“Let it begin!”

I make a pose like a politician when I say that. I remember the folks running for judge or whatever from when I was a kid making these odd speaking stances. Like they were elevating what they were saying by holding their arms that way.

It’s odd that I can remember dumb [censored] like that but I can forget the things most dear to me. I think of beautiful things I can remember and wonder if any are still the same.

“Smack!”
“Oww!”

That’s the first hit of the day. I can hear them one after another while the others have opened their eyes and are cheering. I’m yelling “Go! Go! GO!”

I step back toward the guys.

Floyd says, “Pants! We’re here at the table!”

I move that way remarking, “Damn they grow up so fast. Before long we’ll be getting them Thorley Specials down at the Pail.”

Floyd says, “Sometimes they don’t grow fast enough. There are three types of kids. The kind who do what you say. The kind who listen when you tell them not to do something, then do it when you leave the room. And the kind who after you tell them what not to do, they do it right away in front of you. Guess which one Raddin is.”

“That bad, eh?”

Grantham weighs in with, “I was the kind who did it right after Dad left the room. You might be able to blame it on your little sister then.”

Floyd takes off with,

“It’s the simple things even with Raddin! I say to him ‘Look, when I come home, I want the place clean! I don’t want to be picking up your [censored]!’ Then he’ll slowly walk over to something and knock it over. I chase him all around the place then. That kid is fast. That’s why he does well at Smack.”

He’s ripe for a burn.

“Like you’ll ever be in charge of something. Can’t control your rowboat, can’t control your son, you get controlled by your wife.”

“Yeah, that’s joke isn’t worn out. What’s the matter Pantsie? You got no jokes? Keep dragging out this tired old [censored] you’ve been saying all afternoon. Say something funny, Pants. Let’s hear it.”

Grantham asks, “You were on a row boat?”
“It wasn’t a [censored] rowboat!”

You’re darn right I’m laughing about it! Grantham doesn’t know what we’re talking about, but he pensively laughs with me.

We’re interrupted by the kid’s voices picking up. It breaks the pleasant mood when you hear a kid yell out “Give it back you son of a [censored]!”

I’m curious anyway. Another kid shouts, “Don’t you call my mom a [censored]!”

That was Geor. When I hear some commotion and the crack of the bat, I run down there.

“Get the hell away from each other! I said make this a clean game of hitting each other! What the hell are you doing?”

One of them said, “Geor took the bat when it wasn’t his turn, and he hit Hindrin in the face!”

You’ve gotta respond with tough love.

“Damnit! Get over here Geor! Bring me the bat!”

I grab him by his arm when he gets here, and I give him a couple wallops on his butt with it.

“The rest of you guys, the game is over for today.”

From somewhere a meek voice asked, “Are we still having the chariot race next week?”
“The race is on, only today is canceled. We can’t have you unduly harming each other.”

I hear some of them sulk off, but I’m still standing here with the bat and Geor.

“Geor, I’m not that mad at you, but you can’t be doing that. You broke the rules and smacked someone the wrong way. I’m not saying you can’t break the rules, but you shouldn’t break them when someone is going to get hurt like that. You’ve gotta have a good reason for doing it. There’s no reason to hurt someone when you just want your turn faster.”

“But he called my mother a [censored]!”
“You can survive petty insults. I’m insulted all the time, but I’m not plotting revenge. What he says is never as important as what you do. Keep a clear head about it.”

“Yeah, sure”

I’m thinking about his ‘Yeah, sure’. It didn’t sound too much like sarcasm, but that’s what I would have said if I was being sarcastic. Geor doesn’t seem the type though. Then again, I didn’t know till now that he would smack someone in the head with a bat.

I’ll change it up.

“Are your goats ready for the chariot race?”
“They’re doing good, I feed them a lot.”
“Raddin has been training his sheep to run. You’re going to be up against some strong competition.”
“Really? Wow.”

“Put some time into running your goats, Geor. I’m gonna go piss in the wind.”
“Don’t they tell you not to do that?”
“They tell you a lot of things kid.”

Wonderful dialogue... as always. :goodjob: