Nemaisare — Roleplayer Guild

Although the excitement of the celebration to come was doing its level best to ward away the fatigue of having gone to sleep late and woken up far too early, Brother Rigby couldn’t hide the yawn that stretched his mouth wide as he leaned on the battlements beside Brother Jethro. He was looking in entirely the wrong direction, of course, entertaining himself with the view of the Dibbuns’ antics and the many smells he could parse on the breeze. Trying to guess what all was going to be served and making his stomach rumble while he was at it. 

“Mmm, sweet apple tarts, I’ll bet. Oooh, mushroom flans, d’you smell that? I’m sure of it. Dripping with leek and onion gravy…” He took in a deep breath, chuckling at the poor Sister trying to corral the Dibbuns into some semblance of order before they got underpaw; she did have her work cut out for her. “And nutbread warm from the oven, just enough it’ll steam your whiskers when you break into a piece. Wash it down with some of that sweet wildberry and pear cordial ole Ellis brought out this winter. There’s still a few beakers left, I-Who’s that then?”

Cut off mid-imaginings, Rigby’s ear twitched at the halloo behind him, and he wondered if that wasn’t the reason Jethro hadn’t told him to quiet his musings earlier. The vole was doing a far better job keeping an eye out for visitors who’d heard the news and come to join the celebrations. For one, he was actually looking the right way. Though as Rigby hitched himself around and grabbed his crutches, he saw the Gatekeeper looking down with a grim expression and Abbot Murty ambling his way across the front lawn. It did not occur to him why Brother Jethro might be making such a face until he’d poked his head out and peered down for himself and then his eyes went wide. 

Vermin at the gate?! 

Where’d they popped out from? So far as he knew, the Abbey hadn’t been troubled by their ilk for quite some time, though that wasn’t to say they weren’t about… Well, maybe they were only passing through. They looked a right scruffy trio, though the stoat had a wheedling tone that might well have convinced Rigby of their claims if it hadn’t been for the wary welcome the Abbot and Brother Jethro were offering. Still, who could blame them for knocking on the gate when the air smelled so heavenly? 

Once the decision was made to let them in, and he’d made it down off the steps to solid ground, the young mouse didn’t hesitate to accept the task he’d been given. “Right you are, Brother Jethro. We’ll get them squared away with the proper motivation.” Rigby knew full well how much good incentive there was to be found in the kitchens with the reward sitting right in front of you, painting the air with tantalising scents and always looking like a right work of art. “Well, hullo then, you three. Come along now afore those empty stomachs of yours have everyone thinkin’ it’ll rain. Right thunderous racket they’re making. Follow me and we’ll see you fed.”

And so saying, he led them off smartly, though not so fast that Zaris couldn’t catch up without much trouble. And along the way, not entirely unaware of the otter’s stern countenance behind him, though rather less concerned by it than the rat, stoat, and ferret might have been, he kept up a steady stream of commentary. “Come at just the right time, you lot have. Bound to be a score of things still needs doing and even more good victuals to fill up on afterwards. I’m Rigby, by the by. How d’you fancy yourselves at chair hauling? Or barrel rolling? Friar’ll want you washing your paws before he’ll let you anywhere near the food. Not to say it’s just you, he gets after everyone that way. Right, Zaris? Ah, could you get the door?”
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