![The Rise [?? ???????]](/data/avatars/m/14/14986.jpg?1408319181){kind=avatar}
The Rise [?? ???????]
Legend of Altera
(Single use of moderate swear word ahead)
"..You know, Reynolds, it's hard to believe you sometimes."
Escaping from a wide grin, almost hushed, the response was: "Believe what?"
"Your crap."
"Perhaps I don' mean for it to be believed, just interpreted. Why we make art n' tell stories.-"
"You farm."
"As do you, Henry. Yet ya never see me act so high and mighty for a low born."
"You' low born."
"Again, as are you."
The stench was strong in the inn, as per normal it was a thick scent of alcohol and ill-hidden sloth, curtained by the likes of complacent farmers and travellers. The walls were brown, as was everything; a thick layer of dirt clung to anything which proved timid of water or soap. The sounds that polluted the shambling building could suit a merry riot. There was, however, a warmth to the place not seen outside or in the cottages. But that could be held to the roaring hearth. The men talking the loudest happened to be Farmer Reynolds and Farmer Henry; a direly grey bunch of middle aged humans, renowned for frowning. Yet Reynolds had seemed all the more merry today, and a lot more wiser. Though Henry could barely recite the alphabet, let alone distinguish wisdom in tales from smugness.
"And unlike you, Henry- I don' care of it. I don't pray like a craven ta be, well. Nothin' more than. Ya all do that, and ya all know ya 'ope of it. Ya daughter s'well, wife-dearest be fillin' 'er 'ead wid' tales with the moral that she an' others was born wrong."
Henry's cheeks were on fire, and he'd have hit the man where he sat if there wasn't such a history between them. Instead his hand twitched and his frown grew, scoffing and shaking his head.
"'Born wrong'? Reynolds, me Julia knows one story an' tells it a thousand times over to lil' Rose. A knight rides to save his princess, all the faff in between, an' a happy endin'.-"
"Not for the villain." He interrupted.
"Ya pray for a happy endin' for him?" He spat out.
"No, he's a real man in a fictional story. It's two-dimensional; a lord savin' his toy from a savage. Let alone one who looks out for us."
Reynolds could swear he saw dust coming from Henry's mouth as he laughed, seeing how he'd seldom do it. Yet he did, at him, he could tell.
"For us? Against us, more like."
"Oh yeah, such as when he armed us when that Corruption crap destroyed your first farm."
"Screw off. I don' care for that kinda talk. Cuz of him the Lord of the Manor distrusts us.."
"It's because of the Lord of the Manor. Perhaps him an' his taxes could have been the knight in the story, an' may'haps your daughter could grow to be his toy- If she wasn' born to you. Yet he may father more baseborn to shun, an' maybe then Rose's indoctr'nated ambitions could be realized."
Henry's eyes met Reynolds, and a spark would have fit the situation well. Yet the elements shied away from the conflict and did not seek to further brew up the confrontation.
"..What happened to ya, Reynolds? Ya ain' been right since ya went down South wid' 'em Caparii."
"Perhaps they were goin' down south to see somethin'. An' perhaps I wanted to see it too. Difference 'tween me an' 'em be I came back to teach, while 'dey stayed an' were taught."
"The South is stress, slightly more than here. I'd go North, or Renatus, if I had the money, yet no. Taxes.-"
Reynolds grinned yet again, and groped for the forgotten ale he was drowning before.
"Gotcha speakin' like me now, eh?"
"You're fulla shit."
"You're not proving me wrong."
Henry leaned forward, his head in his hand.
"You learnted a lot, yeah? An' ya tell me a lot, yeah? I car' prove ya wrong, but I car' spell my own name. Tell me why ya can't be proved wrong."
Reynolds cocked his head, taking another sip. Henry turned behind himself and scrambled to see what he was nodding to, but quickly he realized he meant the young Forest Elven serving girl. Turning back to him, he shook his head.
"...What of her..?- Ya got a crush?-"
"Sleeves."
"..?-"
"Sleeves."
Turning back again, he did notice sleeves. Usually in this inn, serving girls wouldn't wear sleeves; it was deemed to masculine by the farmers and their Lord of the Manor to be proper of them. And further still, the girl was well known around the inn; and she rarely afforded to wear anythin' but her usual attire, sleeveless. After watching a bit, they further noticed the girl's strangeness. Usually timid, when serving a drunk farmer another ale; his forceful "thank you" gesture was quickly smacked off with, well, courage.
Henry was silent, not knowing what to make of it.
"There's a lot of sleeves, if you noticed. Even in the summer heat. Even in day. You noticed?"
Henry was silent.
"The Caparii people are wanders, ya know. Yet these ones were movin' an' stayed. Poorer than us, they were, yet they did somethin'."
"Moved closer to hell..."
"They did something else, Henry. You know; loads of phrases was repeated, yet for this context I'll say one of 'em: "You can do two things in life. The same, or something different." And the way the world's going, seems people wanna do the latter."
"...Wha-"
"Count the pair of sleeves, Henry. Count them well."
So he did, and the higher it grew, the more his face dropped; until it plummeted at Reynolds.
And so his grin softened, and he took another sip.
[More may come]
"..You know, Reynolds, it's hard to believe you sometimes."
Escaping from a wide grin, almost hushed, the response was: "Believe what?"
"Your crap."
"Perhaps I don' mean for it to be believed, just interpreted. Why we make art n' tell stories.-"
"You farm."
"As do you, Henry. Yet ya never see me act so high and mighty for a low born."
"You' low born."
"Again, as are you."
The stench was strong in the inn, as per normal it was a thick scent of alcohol and ill-hidden sloth, curtained by the likes of complacent farmers and travellers. The walls were brown, as was everything; a thick layer of dirt clung to anything which proved timid of water or soap. The sounds that polluted the shambling building could suit a merry riot. There was, however, a warmth to the place not seen outside or in the cottages. But that could be held to the roaring hearth. The men talking the loudest happened to be Farmer Reynolds and Farmer Henry; a direly grey bunch of middle aged humans, renowned for frowning. Yet Reynolds had seemed all the more merry today, and a lot more wiser. Though Henry could barely recite the alphabet, let alone distinguish wisdom in tales from smugness.
"And unlike you, Henry- I don' care of it. I don't pray like a craven ta be, well. Nothin' more than. Ya all do that, and ya all know ya 'ope of it. Ya daughter s'well, wife-dearest be fillin' 'er 'ead wid' tales with the moral that she an' others was born wrong."
Henry's cheeks were on fire, and he'd have hit the man where he sat if there wasn't such a history between them. Instead his hand twitched and his frown grew, scoffing and shaking his head.
"'Born wrong'? Reynolds, me Julia knows one story an' tells it a thousand times over to lil' Rose. A knight rides to save his princess, all the faff in between, an' a happy endin'.-"
"Not for the villain." He interrupted.
"Ya pray for a happy endin' for him?" He spat out.
"No, he's a real man in a fictional story. It's two-dimensional; a lord savin' his toy from a savage. Let alone one who looks out for us."
Reynolds could swear he saw dust coming from Henry's mouth as he laughed, seeing how he'd seldom do it. Yet he did, at him, he could tell.
"For us? Against us, more like."
"Oh yeah, such as when he armed us when that Corruption crap destroyed your first farm."
"Screw off. I don' care for that kinda talk. Cuz of him the Lord of the Manor distrusts us.."
"It's because of the Lord of the Manor. Perhaps him an' his taxes could have been the knight in the story, an' may'haps your daughter could grow to be his toy- If she wasn' born to you. Yet he may father more baseborn to shun, an' maybe then Rose's indoctr'nated ambitions could be realized."
Henry's eyes met Reynolds, and a spark would have fit the situation well. Yet the elements shied away from the conflict and did not seek to further brew up the confrontation.
"..What happened to ya, Reynolds? Ya ain' been right since ya went down South wid' 'em Caparii."
"Perhaps they were goin' down south to see somethin'. An' perhaps I wanted to see it too. Difference 'tween me an' 'em be I came back to teach, while 'dey stayed an' were taught."
"The South is stress, slightly more than here. I'd go North, or Renatus, if I had the money, yet no. Taxes.-"
Reynolds grinned yet again, and groped for the forgotten ale he was drowning before.
"Gotcha speakin' like me now, eh?"
"You're fulla shit."
"You're not proving me wrong."
Henry leaned forward, his head in his hand.
"You learnted a lot, yeah? An' ya tell me a lot, yeah? I car' prove ya wrong, but I car' spell my own name. Tell me why ya can't be proved wrong."
Reynolds cocked his head, taking another sip. Henry turned behind himself and scrambled to see what he was nodding to, but quickly he realized he meant the young Forest Elven serving girl. Turning back to him, he shook his head.
"...What of her..?- Ya got a crush?-"
"Sleeves."
"..?-"
"Sleeves."
Turning back again, he did notice sleeves. Usually in this inn, serving girls wouldn't wear sleeves; it was deemed to masculine by the farmers and their Lord of the Manor to be proper of them. And further still, the girl was well known around the inn; and she rarely afforded to wear anythin' but her usual attire, sleeveless. After watching a bit, they further noticed the girl's strangeness. Usually timid, when serving a drunk farmer another ale; his forceful "thank you" gesture was quickly smacked off with, well, courage.
Henry was silent, not knowing what to make of it.
"There's a lot of sleeves, if you noticed. Even in the summer heat. Even in day. You noticed?"
Henry was silent.
"The Caparii people are wanders, ya know. Yet these ones were movin' an' stayed. Poorer than us, they were, yet they did somethin'."
"Moved closer to hell..."
"They did something else, Henry. You know; loads of phrases was repeated, yet for this context I'll say one of 'em: "You can do two things in life. The same, or something different." And the way the world's going, seems people wanna do the latter."
"...Wha-"
"Count the pair of sleeves, Henry. Count them well."
So he did, and the higher it grew, the more his face dropped; until it plummeted at Reynolds.
And so his grin softened, and he took another sip.
[More may come]
