Justric

The Witch Trials

Name: Ebenezer Stone
Age: 23
Race: Human
Bio: Born in England of Puritan stock, his father Praise-God Stone and mother Tace were among the first settlers in the Bay area. A preacher, Reverend Stone found quite the calling in this new land where the proper word of God could be brought to the savages therein, and where he might serve as a bulwark against temptation to his fellow Christians. Indeed, upon his arrival he discovered that he had quite the influence! Almost as much as a judge and more than most aldermen! Ebenezer was groomed in his father's footsteps from those early days. The preacher's son was expected to become a preacher himself! So it was that after only a few years among the townsfolk, Ebenezer was shipped back overseas for study at the tender age of sixteen. His head was crammed full of puritanical ideals, influenced heavily by Calvinistic teachings in Scotland and even some Lutheran studies in the Netherlands. At the age of twenty, he set sail once more for the Bay to rejoin his ailing father and mother. He did not arrive until three years later, just after the death of his mother from illness. The man would not speak of whatever it was that had delayed him, simply asserting that the delay was unavoidable and that he had been in no position to even attempt communication. The townsfolk took the idea in their own head that he had been mistreated at the hands of Catholics, or even more sinisterly, the Church of England. Whatever he had endured, it showed upon his face. He was still a handsome man, but his eyes were sunken as were his cheeks, almost as though he had been ill himself or suffered from some great hardship. Stranger still was his tendency towards shaving, telling his father and all those who asked him that he regarded such things as beards and mustaches as mere vanity, citing the amount of time men spent curling and waxing said facial hair. After all, were not the despited Anabaptists and Mennonites known for their beards? This was met with some careful thought until an alderman pointed out that Quakers, too, shaved. This brought Ebenezer no friends. His father now an ailing and venomous man with poison in his words, Ebenezer took to quiet study while taking over the family's accounts. The burden of farming and hunting he took to as well, for his sire only desired gruel and thin tea now. Praise-God had made a mess of their fortunes after the death of his wife. Now, Ebenezer slept little. He stayed up late at night, drawing up accounts and writing by the window so that all could see by oil light that he was an industrious man.

The Bonny Black Hare

My parents were cruel and unusual, instilling in me a love for both reading and history at an early age. My father and my uncle are both woodcarvers and woodworkers, my father having been trained by his uncle. At least one of my great-grandfathers was also a woodworker. I developed a love of games from my brother. Making historical board games out of scrap wood and step-down golf tees allowed me to combine several passions into one.

The Bonny Black Hare

James led Ninny along the narrow deer path, losing it several times and ending up in briar patches that tore and ripped his fine clothing. It was vexing, but he kept his good humor each time he had to retrace his steps. Besides, it was his own fault he was in this predicament, haring off on his own after the black hare without a care and not watching which directions he was led off in. Not only should he have been paying attention then, he should also have been paying better attention when the solicitor went over the surveyor's maps! Who else should he blame? His uncle for bequeathing him the land? The horse for throwing him when it was lame? The hare for leading him off? His mother for-

"Now that is tempting," he chuckled to Ninny as he ducked below a bough. "How I would love to lay all of this at my mother's feet, the oh so prim and proper Widow Anna Rossmund, sovereign of the salons and matriarch of the Season! Her and all of those preening popinjays she parades before me. Bah. As if I'd marry any of those lifeless poppets! What good their beauty, you tell me, what good their bearing and standing if they have no spirit?!" He reached up and stroked the gelding's nose affectionately. "You don't mind me rambling like this, old fellow, do you? Course not. Weight's off your back and there's food aplenty for you everywhere we step. Sorry about the leg, Ninny. We'll see you right whenever we find ourselves upon our doorstep, alright then? Blame my mother," he laughed again sadly, "How I wish it were possible!"

The moon had risen high above the trees by the time James admitted that he was well and truly lost. He didn't think he'd been traveling in circles, at least he hadn't come upon the spring again with its crumbling walls, but it was hard for him to actually tell. Not having come upon the green of his manse nor the road that bordered the forest on two sides, he could only conclude he was headed towards the stream. On the upside, that also meant that he might be headed in the right direction of the crofter's house! He certainly hoped so, as his wet stockings and stiff boots were starting to rub blisters across his feet, making walking both painful and difficult. Not a superstitious man by nature, James still could not shake the the eerie feeling of walking by his lonesome through the ancient woods, the sounds of nighttime animals made all the more eerie by their obfuscation. Owls hoots, bats shriek, deer stepping through the underbrush. He could easily see how such forests gave birth to ancient legends and fireside tales. Any animal crashing through the shrubs could be a pack of goblins coming to ambush the unwary. The flittering of winged creatures might be fairies upon the wind, casting spells and making mischief. A snorting boar might well be mistaken for the snoring of a troll. The tired mind could play such tricks on the unwary, lost soul. James was not afraid. He considered himself a man of reason, and such things belonged solely to fireside tales and children's nurseries.

All the same, he found some relieve when the scent of a wood fire reached his nose. It was faint, but grew in strength the further along he went. It was puzzling, James admitted to himself, for he had no idea where such a fire might be coming from; if he was right, neither the village nor his manor house were in this direction, and there were no other neighbors in easy walking distance. Not unless he was really lost! Still, a fire meant warmth and people. Even a poacher could be forgiven if he was shown the way home. When James came across the small clearing with the ancient stone cottage, its chimney venting thick smoke into the moonlight, he was all the more confused. It certainly looked like the description he was given of the crofter's house. Only it was supposed to have been an abandoned ruin, unused for generations. So, if this was the ancient structure that was supposedly deep within the section of woods that he owned... who was in it??

"Not that we're in any position to complain, eh, Ninny?" he whispered to his horse in an amused tone. "Let's see if they have some soup for me and some hay for you, old fellow."

Raising one hand to his mouth, James called out. "Halloo! Halloo the house!"

The Orphan's Wedding

Feather nodded happily, another "Yes, Mistress" coming lightly off of her lips. The girl seemed quite content serving and even though she had no experience with the fancy clothes of the wealthy she deftly helped Kijani out of the corset and prepare for bed. All the while, she chatted excitedly about her heart's desire.

Even from the girl's simple way of speaking and limited vocabulary, it was obvious she was very much in love with Stone. Tall, strong, handsome, and he carved little wooden animals from scrap lumber to give her as presents. Feather even paused to run to her one small bag and produce a finely crafted wren for Kijani's inspection, the bird's image so perfectly captured in wood that it looked like an actual fledgling about to take flight. Feather also had the grace to blush when she swooned over how well he kissed. Sadly, it was also obvious that Stone was not a suitable suitor for an Alderman's daughter from anyone else's point of view, even an Alderman of such a tiny hamlet! As caring and devoted as she made Stone out to be, he was the youngest son of three with no land or business to inherit; Stone would end up being dependent upon his eldest brother for his living his entire life. Any children from such a union would have even less chance of inheritance later on in life. Too old to apprentice (not there was anyone in the village for him to apprentice himself to), Stone's only other choices were factory work in the city or joining the army, neither of which would endear him to Feather's farmer father. Feather, however, was oblivious to this blatant stumbling block.

As she finished assisting her new mistress for bed, Feather frowned slightly as she paused in thought. Something from earlier had finally worked its way through her head and was now bothering her. "I never thought of Master Vinegar in that way before. I mean... as a husband. I guess it's good he was a soldier, right? Defending us? And my folks both say it's a shame he's living here all alone. Maybe if he wasn't so old. And lame. And dour." She made a face. "It's odd how he's always willing to lend a hand but never wants thanking for it! Just before last harvest, he came to my brother Rye's barn raising without even being asked, brought cider for everyone to drink, put in a good share of work himself... but when Rye when to thank him for it, you'd have thought Rye had spit in his eye!"

Cocking her head to one side, the teenager blinked rapidly. "What do you think, Mistress Kijani? Would Master Vinegar be a good match? And are all men from the city like him?"

The Highwayman Came Riding

Feel free to switch to Bess whenever you like! The Highwayman will be appearing shortly, I think.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Robert bowed his head to stare mournfully into the dark amber within the tumbler. Her words wounded him all the more for even though he no longer loved her, Diana's words fair broke his heart to where he wished he still did. "I had been quite the storyteller, hadn't I?" he mumbled quietly. And he had been, once. There were times when he was the life of the party, regaling friends and guests with daring tales of adventure during his Grand Tour! The fights upon French docks, attempting to scale Notre Dame, running from the gendarmes, meeting with famed composers in Vienna, duels with upstart nobles in Saxony, dancing with gypsies in Spain and drinking with pirates in Portugal... It was all true, every word of it. Only Robert had spun it such that it seemed to conjure the images of his past before his audience, enthralling him as though they were there themselves. It was at a such a party, he recalled, where Diana had first caught his eye and he her ear. The memory was bittersweet now, as were all of them.

"Would you like to hear a story, my dear?" he asked softly with no trace of mockery. "I do have new ones, you know, ones from the colonies that I haven't told anyone yet. Only they aren't like my old stories. I do not think they would make anyone laugh, and if they did I should question that person's sanity." Robert took a careful sip to wet his lips before continuing. "There's a rather 'amusing' little anecdote about how we had three water boys in our unit, all named Jack, if you would credit it. A... livelier bunch of lads I've never met, not a one of them over fourteen and the best of friends. I'd always thought if we were to have a son..." Robert let that thought peter out and die where it was, a road he was not willing to travel this night. "They were the very epitome of mischief. Harmless pranks, japes minor enough to never offend or inconvenience but crafted well enough to bring a laugh. I shan't... I shan't forget the look on the Sergeant Major's face when he realized his mustache wax had been exchanged for beef tallow. The sad part was that it actually smelled better than his usual pomade. The three of them had this intense rivalry with the drummer boys of one of the other regiments, finding no end to the delight of sneaking to their camp in the middle of the night and filling their drums with water. Each of them adored us. They were our mascots, our good luck charms! And their prayers each night were always the same: Let us be dragoons!"

Robert faltered suddenly. A tear started to well in the corner of his one eye. "They... all died on the same day. Stray round from the enemy's cannon sailed past the lines and into the baggage train." A heavy silence filled the air, the war suddenly brought into the cozy parlor far from the Americas. When Robert was able to continue, his voice was hoarse and strained. "They had been playing at cards. Funnily enough... each of them had a jack in his hand."

Setting the tumbler down, he coughed and composed himself before his wife. The glass was still half full. Robert's face was sincere and honest, and the shining tears that refused to fall conveyed that whatever despair he may have felt when it came to dealing with his wife was no cause of hers, but rather a self recrimination that he was nothing as he should be to her. Robert knew that the core of his resistance to his wife's advances stemmed not truly from dislike; it was born of the knowledge that he did not deserve her. "The more I've seen of this world, Diana... the harder it becomes to find my way back to the old one. I can find nothing... splendid... in any of my stories now... The old ones seem such a lie compared to the new ones, and those are a heavier burden than I wish to carry. As things are now, a retreat is better, even if I must 'lick my wounds' as you say. However else shall I deal with mob? Strut about as though nothing has happened and endure their scorn? Unburden my mind to them in the hopes they might understand? There lie my choices, mockery or pity, and I... I can not say which of them is the worse to endure."

"Best to bed now, I think," he concluded in hushed tones. Robert had revealed more to Diana this night than he had any other since he had returned, fearing and hoping at once how she might react to the realization of just how altered to his nature he had become. "Tomorrow I will get you your gardener, Diana. Invite who you will."

The Orphan's Wedding

The stew proved more onion and gravy than beef, yet settled in the stomach warmly and filling the belly after barely a half bowl. The bread, too, was thick and coarse. In sharp contrast, the cider was light and bubbling, expertly made by a soldier experienced enough to ferment nearly anything in a pinch. It cut through the grease and left the tongue clear and clean.

The master bedroom conceded to Kijani had a wooden slat floor covered by a thick rag-woven rug. No artwork or decor graced its walls. Its bed was a massive affair that would have taken several sturdy men to even try and lift, much less actually move; its wooden canopy was surrounded on all sides by thick woolen curtains that were perfect for keeping out the chill, as were the heavy quilts and comforters that had been piled high upon the hay-filled mattress. The whole ensemble smelled of cedar and sweet heather, tainted only by the faint scent of ancient dust. A single dresser without mirror or decoration sat by the bed while a matching home hewed wardrobe took up the opposite wall. The furnishings were all stout and sturdy, broadcasting the message clearly: 'Here we are. Here we will stay.' A washstand in the far corner held a simple home-kilned pitcher and bowl. The low ceiling kept most of the heat from escaping too far from human use while a single window gave her a spectacular view of the orchard. From here, the boughs of a massive tree towering above all the others could be seen against the dying sun.

Feather's room was smaller by a half, containing but a single narrow bed and small dresser. It, too, had been piled high with down filled comforters.

the rooms may not have been used in some time, but Feather had chased away the ghosts of neglect and brought in a cozy feeling that was much needed with the cleaning. Or perhaps it was her simple cheerfulness that turned the unused bedrooms into homey retreats.

The Orphan's Wedding

The look on Feather's face was one that would have made a dead man smile, so puzzled and turned about in thought as she pondered what her new mistress had just said. The words seemed to be working their way through to her brainpan. They were having a hard job of it, however. "Master Vinegar?" she finally half whispered to Kijani. "Well, that's even sillier! Why would he swive me? We're not even married!" There followed a girlish giggle. "Besides, he's so old, Mistress! Why, I've barely seen seventeen harvests, and he must have seen at least twenty five! Maybe even thirty! It would be like swiving with me Da!" That there remained a solid three decades or more between her father and Victor appeared to be a trivial gap compared to the different between her and the lame soldier.

Feather sighed wistfully. "Not like the miller's son, Stone. He says the nicest things to me and brings me presents, Mistress!" She giggled again. "And when he kissed me-"

Her new servant was interrupted as Victor entered his own home, stumping along towards the far side of the house where his bed lay hidden by the hearth. "I'm off to bed, Mistress Kijani. I like to rise early." He waved vaguely towards the pot where the stew bubbled and popped, filling the room with the scent of peppered meat and onions in thick gravy. "Bread box is on the table by the bowls."

Vincent paused, sure he should say something more to her but having little idea as to what. His tongue seemed frozen even as his thoughts tumbled about disorderly, the discomfort of having someone else beneath his roof in close agreement with his distaste for anything or anyone that came from Verrun and yet clashing with the desire to be a good host, the knowledge of what it was to be the outsider and the damage a beautiful face could cause. Leaning on his cane, he teetered there just staring at Kijani and Feather. Finally, Vincent just nodded curtly and limped around the hearth. Finding his bed, he shucked off his boots and socks to ease his sore leg up onto the blankets, followed by the rest of his body. He would undress later, when they were upstairs. For now, Victor just wanted to close his eyes and relax in the dimness of the shadows.

The Bonny Black Hare

There was a loud howling that reached James' ears from where he waded in the ancient pond, a baying that meant only one thing: the pack had found its quarry. Before he could say word one, his three hounds were off to join the rest of the dogs. They were bred to follow, to hunt. If that was where the rest of the pack was going, they could not help but follow, even if it meant leaving their master chilled and soaked in the evening air. All three dogs were quickly out of sight. There was simply no way for James to even try and follow, waterlogged as he was. The muddy bank would be unforgiving if he tried it, leaving him only the opposite direction to head in.

Remains of a stone ledge connected to the ruins of the wall allowed him to extract his body from the mud and algae, standing upon the ancient rocks to see his horse calmly foraging grass some yards away. James chuckled and shook his head. "Fat lot of good you've done me this day, Ninny," he chided in good humor. "I hope you are enjoying your repast, hm? A nice snack of nettles and long grass to fill you up, you kedge? Well... Not that I can blame you, Ninny. I wouldn't have wanted to jump into that pool either. Not that you gave me much choice, mind!"

He spent several more moments just standing there, resting and trying to gain his breath again after the exertion of pulling himself out. As Ninny moved about, he noticed how the gelding was favoring his one rear leg, limping slightly as he grazed from nettle to nettle and shrub to shrub. Now he understood why the horse had thrown him! With a bad leg, there was no way the mount would have been able to clear the hurtle and so had stopped short instead, throwing James unintentionally. James sighed to himself, shaking his head. There was no riding out now. And as the baying of hounds had faded beyond his hearings, he was also quiet sure the hunting party had passed him by, leaving him to his lonesome and quite unsure as to where he was exactly. During the chase, he had been so excited that he had lost track of where he had been heading. As the sun was set below the level of the tree tops, frog and crickets beginning their nightly chorus, the direction his house lay in was shrouded in mystery. Attempting to find his home in the dark was a folly he did not intend to pursue. The young man wanted to curse himself for being so silly, curse his horse for its bad luck, curse his dogs for leaving him... and instead, he laughed again.

"Well, Ninny," he sighed, "Looks like we're roughing it tonight, old bean!" The prospect did not dim his spirits. For one thing, home could not be all that far away. This section of woods wasn't so large that it couldn't be crossed in a single day; if he got it right, he would either be home in an hour or reach the country road that wound its way to the village in two or three hours. If he was truly unlucky, James would wander for half a day until he came upon the running stream that cut its way through the forest, a sure sign he was going the wrong way but would allow him to simply follow its length downstream to one of his neighbors. Another thing, James was not a timid man. True, a night under the stars in sopping wet clothes with only a lame horse for company would be uncomfortable, but it would not be unbearable. Especially as he still had a flask of brandy tightly pocketed within his waistcoat! He did have some concern for his guests, that they might worry for his safety, although once they saw him hale and hearty if weathered and worn the next day, they should forgive him as they shared a good laugh. Such were the friends that he had.

As he rested upon the stump of the ancient wall, a memory stirred. The solicitor had pointed out several key features as landmarks, including both this spring and... What was it again? The crofter's cottage! Of course! Supposedly the simple stone house predated both the spring house and the mansion itself, and was last known to be standing intact. If he could find it, that would be a far more preferable place to spend the night than huddled against a tree trunk or curled up on wet moss. Even if the roof was long gone, its walls would at least shelter him from the night's breezes and give him a place to start a fire! Provided, of course, his lucifers would still light...

Checking his pockets, he found the matches had retained their protective wax coating. His pipe, too, was intact and the tobacco miraculously untouched within its leather wallet; he was glad he had followed his late father's advice to line the inside of the pouch with paraffin! Pulling himself up and over the wall, he found his battered hat and headed for Ninny to pick up the reins. "Come on, then, old fellow. Let's see what we can find, hm?"

The Bonny Black Hare

Historical wooden board games: https://www.etsy.com/shop/TheGoblinParlour