Riding the Bull to Freedom
I stand at the portal's exit, looking out into the hamlet of Holtburg. The summer sun poking its way through the shade tree's limbs, warming my back and causing the damp bile to become sticky. Ah, it's good to be home.
I teeter to the upper section of Holtburg and glance towards the pub. With a purse full of pyreal, I might as well spend a few on wine and good food. I have such trouble keeping food down when I travel. I reach the thick wooden door to the pub and pull it open. Immediately the smells of roasted chicken and dark ales fill my nostrils with their alluring odor. Sounds of music and laughter emanate from the far end of the pub, the signs of what seems to be a very lively party. Some food and drink first, then I shall venture back to join in on the festivities.
I sit on the hard stool up at the bar and feel a dull throbbing pain deep within my bowels. Damn that cow, I curse under my breath. The barkeep approaches and I order up a plate of fried chicken, steaming stew and a pint of the darkest stout. While finishing my second helping and fifth pint, I pull the dagger the gold knight gave me. Its blade extends twice the length as my knife and the handle is much sturdier and well crafted. An inscription is scrawled along the upper portion of the blade:
"Sometimes a dagger is your only friend" - Gertarh
That's a load of crap, I mutter as pulling the last swallow from the now empty pint glass. Beer and food are my only friends. And who's this Gertarh fellow. Sounds like an idiot to think this dagger is friendlier than wine and food. I pitch the dagger into the fireplace in disgust. Ah well, my pouch of coin is a worthy reward for my journeys, that and my gromnie hide pauldrons.
The music and laughter intensifies from the back of the tavern, so I hobble back, slightly tipsy from the black brew I consumed with my meal. There I find a group of men standing around a table cheering and laughing while 3 others play their mandolins and flutes. It is hard to see who is on the table, but with the reaction of these drunkards, it can only be a woman performing nude dance among other things.
I grab the attention of one of the less rowdy onlookers, "Hey, we have a sultry concubine shaking her naughties for us?"
"Nay, you stinky bastard, someone has gotten the town midget drunk
and dressed him up. Now he's dancing like a little fool for coin."
The amused spectator turns back to the crowd around the table and throws
one pyreal towards it.
After two more hours of witnessing the midget dancer, the crowds began to disperse. Greedily I scoop up the change that is littering the table and floor, even two 100 pyreal trade notes were tucked in the spaghetti strings of Jiggles' panties. I carry the passed out body of my favorite vassal down to the barn and put him down to rest. He needs to be fully refreshed for tomorrow night.
I walk over to the town font, disrobe, and sink into its cool waters. A series of bubbles rise up from the depths of the pool, followed by a strong sulfuric odor. Ah, it's good to be home.