Justric

Angel of Mud

I can understand about work! If I said I was tired of shoveling snow, it wouldn't begin to describe my week!

Angel of Mud

The sun was setting by the time Dollinger opened his eyes and groaned. The blow to his head had left him groggy and slightly ill to his stomach, even hours after he'd be struck from behind. In the twilight of duck, he tried to rise to elbows to look about and take his bearings, only the effort of it left his belly heaving. He settled back down against the tree and closed his eyes against the ache. It would pass, he knew. Brawling was near a second trade to canallers, so today's loss was not the first time his brain pot had taken a knocking. Dollinger took comfort in that at least he was not also hung over. A large man, it took him a great deal to get drunk. When spirits would take their final toll upon his wits and body, it was as a great tree finally falling hard against the forest floor after being whittled away by beavers. No, he thought through his pain, it was more like one of those canal side whores over on Erie St in Buffalo: expensive, exhausting, only marginally satisfying and leaving him overall regretful for the experience.

Wait. Women. Woman. There was a woman.

Dollinger opened his eyes again, looking about. Yes, there she was. Pretty girl, country dress, strange expression on her face. With great effort, he looked to either side of them. No soldiers on either side, no sign of the earthworks where his unit had been entrenched and no sign of even the road. There were in some wooded area that he didn't recognize. Of course, he was in Virginia and as the Erie Canal scarcely traversed that far south there were probably great swaths of land he wouldn't recognize!

Wood. That word stuck in his head for some reason. Looking down he saw that his left hand still clenched the remains of his Springfield, the butt of it smashed away by some Rebel's head, leaving the under-stock and barrel in his grasp. The lock plate with its furnishing must have spun away at the impact as well, for all he had was the length of the barrel. He decided he'd keep it for now. If he got back to Union lines without getting shot or captured, he'd be able to show that he hadn't thrown away his weapon, for such an act would have instantly branded him a coward and granted him the coward's reward for desertion.

Dollinger looked back towards the girl. Young woman. He had to remind himself that this wasn't some barge cook or dock-side doxy, just a farm girl with far tender sensibilities than he might be used to providing.

"Pardon, miss?" he finally rumbled. Dollinger rubbed the back of his head with his freehand, grimacing when it came away stained red. "I know this'll sound like a damn fool question, but where are we?"

The Bonny Black Hare

ugh. I do apologize of the delay. I will sum it up by saying that I am deathly tired of shoveling snow!

The Bonny Black Hare

The hunting party was assembling upon the vast, rambling lawn before the manor.

The house was massive block of ancient grey stone already some number of centuries old, high upon a hill that reigned over the quartered landscape: the moors to the north, the farmlands to east, and the woodlands that ran both south and west. Many of the rooms were unused, especially those within the third floor and all of the northern wing. It had been built with the idea of security, able to house a grand family with all its servants and guards, save that James' uncle had died unmarried and childless. His grandfather, too, had retired to the manor for a number of years after the death of the then Lady Rossmund and had lived in miserly solitude with only two servants to attend him. There were rooms within that had not seen a human footstep within their dusts for near two generations! Those parts that were habitable James had lavishly spent upon. The outside may be cold and stark, terrifying even when lit by the setting sun, but his habitations were now the very height of luxury. He had given some... passing thought as to opening the rest of the manse and restoring it as well. The new owner wanted to be known for entertaining, for hosting, for great parties and grand hunts, so the space would be needed. The cost was no obstacle. Uncle Renfrew had left him a sizable fortune, not having any other male relation to pass it on to. It was just that even the idea of so much work and sorting through his family's collection of brick-a-brac left him just as exhausted as though he had already completed the task.

Grenmere Hall had been in the Rossmund family since the time of its construction. Far from the sprawl of London, its domains were mostly wild and untamed; the acre about the house was green and lush, for it had been kept so both by tradition and the tedious work of singleminded groundskeepers. It was upon what they called 'The Acre' that luncheon tables had been spread out for refreshments until proper dinner later that night. Riding and chatting with Earnest, James smiled in anticipation of a fine meal and the satisfaction of his guests. It was not pride nor nihilism that spurred on his desire to entertain; James had no real stake in becoming the center of the The Season's gossip upon their return to London in April, to be thought of nothing more than some wastrel or passing dandy or (and worse) a libertarian! He simply took delight in cultured conversation, in goodnatured camaraderie with moderate and modest consumption of what life had to offer. James simply wished to enjoy life.

He looked up at the house as they neared it and took quiet pleasure in his great fortune.

"Oh! I say!" Earnest spoke quietly, a hand raised to catch James' attention while slowing his own mount. The old man was peering intently towards where the forest' edge met The Acre, his eyes sharp in defiance of his age. James slowed his horses as well, head cocked to one side and looking towards where his new friend was staring.

"What say you, Earnest?"

The RM's cousin said nothing else at first, so intent in his investigation that he did not wish to answer til he was sure of his senses. Then, very gradually, he pointed a black-gloved hand towards the border ivy. "S'Blood," he breathed out in awe, "We spoke of a wonder... and there she is now."

James quirked an eyebrow. "I... beg your pardon, sir?"

Earnest looked back over his shoulder at James. "The Bonny Black Hare!" he hissed. There must have been something of magic in the hare, for the sight of it had transformed the ancient into a boy again, blue eyes twinkling in wonder and tearing in remembrance. "There, Rosie! By that patch of ivy near that oak stump! It's her. I do so swear by God, it is her!"

James turned his horse, bringing the gelding a length closer to where he was directed. "The devil you say, Earnest." Save that there was a patch of black there, something moving about the greenery that did well look like a hare. He saw nothing legendary to its regard. He was much puzzled as to how the sight of a simple coney could move his newest acquaintance to tears. "You're not leading me on, are you? Some jest for the latest comer to the countryside? Wind me up with a tale and then have me to chase after it?"

"No, no, no!" Earnest whispered fiercely. "It's her. And no other! Have you ever seen a hare so black? So smooth and lithe? After her, Rosie! After her! Should you catch her, you'll be famed about the village, and even should you not the chase is... is... There are no words! Now, go you! I'll call up the others. We'll follow to your lead shortly!"

James pursed his lips as he watched the hare. It seemed to watch him back. He wanted to scold it for its impudence, then scold himself for falling to such fancy that a woodland beast could even be impudent in its simplicity. He laughed aloud at the very thought! Surely this was some prank the RM had cooked up to welcome the Rossmund's return to the lands, and when all was said and done James would arrive late to dinner with his guests enjoying not only his wines but his gullibility as well. Shaking his head, James laughed again. The owner of Grenmere Hall could not bring disappointment to them for their desert. "Alright then, Earnest. I'll to the hare, then," he agreed amicably with a knowing smirk upon his face. He called his beagles to him, Fair Maid and Boarer quick to answer with old Draper following close. He turned back to Earnest with that same confident smile. "i shall see you well before long, I dare say."

And then he was off, the horse surging beneath him and the dogs dashing to the lead in seeking quarry. James laughed gaily again, for what thrill there was to be had in the chase of her!

The Orphan's Wedding

Fair enough! Why not set the scene in the cart, and I'll follow through.

The Orphan's Wedding

(Laughing at myself) It's been such a hectic week, I forgot I created her! My apologies! I'm getting ready for a gaming convention on Saturday and another one the following weekend, so my mind's been a tad preoccupied. I'm just a *tad* behind in my work. (Grins foolishly.)

If you want Feather, then by all means take her; she's simple, not very bright and terribly weak willed. Fully capable of running a farming household, not so capable of anything resembling original thought. Nine out of ten questions put to her would be answered with, "I'd need to ask my Da about that." If you would prefer that I retain control and play her, I would be glad to do so as well.

The Bonny Black Hare

Oh. Oh! That was lovely! It may be a day before I have a response for you, as I am far behind in my work, but it has inspired me! This is going to be so much fun!

The Daemon Lover

"An... entertainer, you say." Lord De’Vance was not a man overly given to amusements, although in his fairness he would not deny others theirs. All his court was delighted at the end of the long winter, and courtier and servant alike were thrilled in eager anticipation for the coming celebration: Lark's Day. The coming of spring and the arrival of the planting season was a time of hope for everyone. After months of being trapped by freezing rains and heavy snows, noble and commoners all looked forward to the warmer weather. The land had been asleep. So, too, had the people as they were so tied to the land, but with the heat of the sun starting to wake the land, they were like the children waking well before dawn to start their mischief. Dancing! Singing! Feasting! Drinking! Gaming! And this would all centered around not just Lord De’Vance's hall but the fields immediately about it as well! Knights and men at arms would struggle mightily against one another to prove their valor and skill in tourneys, the heavy iron shoes of the war horses neatly turning up the ground with their charges to make the coming plowing all the easier. If there was any sport to be had other than the Owl's Night at harvest time, it was now. Lord De’Vance was more than willing to pay for these celebrations, as it was both his duty and even small pleasure to host these events. The King's parties in the distant city might be grander, but De’Vance always made sure that his were the heartiest.

If only he did not have endure Cuckoo's Eve first! It was the day before the spring rites, a day where no man nor woman could be held accountable for their actions outside of The Royal Bans: theft of coin or property, murder of another, high treason against the King. It was a day of... jests and japes. There would be pranks. Practical jokes, many of which would be neither practical nor truly a joke. There would be a fancy dress ball for the gentry, all masked and gossip, while townsfolk and farmers' families had their costumed revels. In short, it was a day of chaos. A serious man who had served on many fields of battle, who loyal served the King through a civil war, a man whose will was as iron as his hair, did not take well to Cuckoo's Eve. But his daughter so loved the holiday that he could not refuse its coming. If not for her? Then this custom and tradition of generation be damned! Only a day away until the start of the accursed holiday, a day far too soon for his liking. The soft cushions upon the ancient Lord's Chair of De’Vance Hall did nothing to ease his aching back; it crafting had been for some forefather of his that was far shorter and smaller than the heights to which Lord De’Vance had grown, someone who must not have had his shoulders like his either. Hook nosed and keen eyed, he pierced his Seneschal with a stare that could only be called... grumpy.

"Er. Yes, my Lord." The ancient man with his quavering voice and bronze-green brocade spread his arms to either side. "He is... a young man but doth seem quite the... the jongleur!"

A frowning scowl crossed the nobleman's face. "I thought you said he was a musician, Broadmere?"

Broadmere nodded as eagerly as the balding head upon his wrinkled stalk of a neck allowed. "And that as well, my Lord, and that as well! And a singer. And a storyteller. And full of sleight of hands and tricks unlike ever I have ever beheld in my life! A gaukler of the first rate!"

At this Lord De’Vance raised an eyebrow. Broadmere, his Seneschal, had served the lord's father's father in his time, and so it was a long life that must have been full of wonders to behold. In fact, Lord Tripple could not recall ever seeing the usually dour old man as enthusiastic as he was now, not even at his own beloved son's wedding. For him to interrupt the lord at court with news of some common wandering minstrel at the gates, he must indeed be something of note. "Well, then, hire the man for the feasting, Broadmere! You scarcely need my permission for such as this!"

Here, the Seneschal was un-nerved.. Now before the Lord's Chair in the the grey stoned hall, Broadmere was at a loss of how to explain why he was here advancing the cause of some un-named, homeless vagabond. Broadmere knew the laws and rights of both the Kingdom and the Lord's lands as well as he knew his letters; the evening visitor had called upon some very old and touchy tenets in advocating his cause, laws that Broadmere knew unused for generations. But they were laws all the same. The torch scones upon the wall flicked orange light across his face, the servant starting the evening fire in the great hearths to either side of the vast room. Stuttering, his eyes seeming to dart without discipline about as though the answers were hiding in the shadows, he tried again. "Yes, my Lord, it's just... It's not just about performing."

Lord De’Vance was losing his patience, a virtue already taxed by the apprehension of his least favorite day of the year. "Well? Spit it out, man!"

It came out in a rush. "He requests to audition before you directly, my Lord. He invokes Fallow Law."

There was a collective gasp from the assemble courtiers. Lord De’Vance seemed to freeze in his chair. By invoking Fallow Law, the entertainer was claiming that the Lord had stolen unused land from him, a serious accusation and grievous insult if unfounded. "Have we... taken land from his young man or his family, Broadmere?"

The Seneschal spread his hands helplessly again. "He does have documents to that affect, my Lord. I did not have time to peruse them in details, but it seems your great-great grandfather may have..." Caution. Caution. "...been overly hasty in some regards."

Lord De’Vance found himself tense and frustrated. The upcoming festivities had him on edge, and now this?? There was no man nor woman in living history had ever invoked Fallow's Law, so honorable had the gentry accorded themselves to the King's trust! The law was near a relict, a byline from the eldest days of legalities, a footnote in the annals of solicitors and lawyers that no base peasant had reason to know. Thunder formed behind De’Vance's stormy eyes, his anger plain. If this was some early Cuckoo's Eve merriment, the traveler would have Hell to pay!

"Send for him. Now."

The Daemon Lover

Elorwin and Justric

The Orphan's Wedding

Hmm, that's a good question. I'd say the cart is far enough back from the house that she may not hear exactly what's being said, but she might catch the tones. And by all means, if I can have a conversation between the Alderman and Victor, there is no reason you can not do the same for your two characters!

Glad you liked the punchline on that one!