Post by wilddog on Nov 18, 2010 21:15:56 GMT -5
[shadow=red,left,300]“Fate is a misconseption, it's only a cover-up for the fact you don't have control over your own life.”[/shadow]
Light reflecting off the countless crystal chandeliers cascaded down, settling on the table. If one would look at it for a while, one would see little rainbows forming. This of course being a trick of the eye, it still added an element of magic in the air. To the right of the room (when one would first walk into the room) stood tall, elegant windows, which overlooked the city of Aroughs. Even though Aroughs paled in beauty compared to other of Broddring’s cities. Nay, even the elves have created wonders. But, to many, this was home. And it was the most beautiful, magical place ever. If one was native here, one could gaze out of those widows for hours. However, a pleasant aroma of food would draw your attention to the table. A large boar centered the table, flanked with turkey, potatoes, venison, rice (from a far off country), bread, and pies. Additionally, there were the small appetizers, each cooked to order. The best cooks in the palace and maybe even in the city prepared this meal. And did they cook. For days, boys were sent off all over the country side, looking for garlic (in the case of Sir Buorn) sassafras (for Lady Feales) and the finest grain. The city was abuzz with orders and rumors, each being of equal size. Many a man has asked why. Why? But, nobody knew why. When the sun set on the day of the event, many people thought their questions would be answered.
The table was perfectly square. Maybe a little worn and old, but it served its purpose. For a table doesn’t need to accomplice much, only to support the vast array of foods. Plates and silverware rested, ready to be used. Thirty-five of them. And sitting in thirty-four of them were the ladies and gentlemen of Aroughs. Lady Feales, the wife of shipping baron Guy Bastone, gossiped relentlessly to Lady Clenoty, who was the wife of a minor lord. The great shipping baron Guy Bastone seemed to be talking to an unidentified old man, but was in fact peering at a pretty girl (Alfred’s) and at the same time making sure his wife didn’t know what he was doing. Weaving in and out of the doors were the servants and chefs of the kitchen, refilling wine glasses and scolding the guests for eating. Each guest seemed right at home here, but an edge was felt. If one would look closely at them, one would see nervous flickering of the eyes towards the one unoccupied chair. Its owner was nowhere to be found. And it just so happened that the owner was the man of the house, the host. Only when he would arrive would dinner be served. But, this only marginally dampened the mood of the evening, and the guests talked on, around that square table.
Many stories below, a different mood was just settling in. Grunting, a bloodied man pealed himself off the wall and stumbled, only to find a well placed stroke catch him in the chin. Wincing, he slid to the floor, half sitting, half lying on his back. Above him towered a young man. His nasty grin sneered at the lower man. He had no shirt on, but his pants proclaimed him a soldier. Behind him stood two men. One was the butler Alfred. He was dressed as a butler was usually dressed, white shirt and black coat. An older man, he had the look that he lost everything dear to him. But this of course was a gag, for he was trying to hold back a frown and a word with his master. The master was a man, about the same age as the soldier. He wore a large black hat and tapped impatiently with his cane. He was clean cut, shaven (but badly) and was dressed for supper. A blot of blood dotted his face, but he ignored it. “Steven, for the hundredth time, this man is not going to talk to you. Will you go get the man who is supposed to do this.”
“But, sir, I can get him to talk” The soldier, Steven said, “He killed my brother, burn it! He owes me!”
“He owes the entire army, not just you, Steven. Now I am ordering you, go get the man!” Enraged, the soldier kicked the prisoner, and stomped out of the room. Alfred, trying to put a word in edgewise, spoke up. “Young people. They have no respect or logic in them. All hot air. Why, some even don’t have any responsibility. Consequently, when are you going to join the dinner? It is your party, after all. I am sure they are expecting the host to join them”
Jokingly, the man hung his head down and replied with a meek voice, “yes, grandfather” As they claimed the cold stairs Alfred spoke of the old days. Much to the man’s annoyance. “Grandfather!?! Why, in my time, young boys had more respect for their elders. They would jump when we would say frog!” Through a door, they entered a hallway. The man paused and addressed the butler in a very serious tone. “Alfred, I want to know everything that man says. If he burps, tell me. I don’t care if I am talking to the King (here he inclined his head slightly), you come in and tell me. Got it?” With his acknowledgment, he grimly touched the brim of his hat and muttered a pray to whatever deity there was. “God knows, we need the help. This man is the only clue we have to the Ring”
“ I know” was all Alfred offered. Both men grew quite while walking. The man thinking about the incredible weight that was forced on his shoulders. Alfred; about other, domestic problems concerning his wife. So great were their thoughts they were oblivious to servants and guards that passed them. The manor house was not grand. But it was quite large, so it took one a while to travel from point A to point B. Finally, after what seemed to be an hour, they arrived at the room. Pausing just outside, Alfred straightened his masters outfit. The man stopped him before he reached his face, and said with a grin, “Surprising as it may be, I can handle myself at my own party”
“I have no doubt, master. Just remember that knives are for eating only. You can be rude (only a little mind you) towards the men folk. But for God’s sake, get yourself a wife.”
Smiling, the young man entered the ballroom. All conversation ceased. Even Guy stopped eyeing the pretty girl to peek at the newcomer. Many ladies instantly straightened their dresses and fretted about petty little things. Some even saw the blood spot on his cheek. Servants all paused and lined up. Alfred chuckled and walked off. Intoning, a cook announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, your host for this evening, Count Mongoth!”
Light reflecting off the countless crystal chandeliers cascaded down, settling on the table. If one would look at it for a while, one would see little rainbows forming. This of course being a trick of the eye, it still added an element of magic in the air. To the right of the room (when one would first walk into the room) stood tall, elegant windows, which overlooked the city of Aroughs. Even though Aroughs paled in beauty compared to other of Broddring’s cities. Nay, even the elves have created wonders. But, to many, this was home. And it was the most beautiful, magical place ever. If one was native here, one could gaze out of those widows for hours. However, a pleasant aroma of food would draw your attention to the table. A large boar centered the table, flanked with turkey, potatoes, venison, rice (from a far off country), bread, and pies. Additionally, there were the small appetizers, each cooked to order. The best cooks in the palace and maybe even in the city prepared this meal. And did they cook. For days, boys were sent off all over the country side, looking for garlic (in the case of Sir Buorn) sassafras (for Lady Feales) and the finest grain. The city was abuzz with orders and rumors, each being of equal size. Many a man has asked why. Why? But, nobody knew why. When the sun set on the day of the event, many people thought their questions would be answered.
The table was perfectly square. Maybe a little worn and old, but it served its purpose. For a table doesn’t need to accomplice much, only to support the vast array of foods. Plates and silverware rested, ready to be used. Thirty-five of them. And sitting in thirty-four of them were the ladies and gentlemen of Aroughs. Lady Feales, the wife of shipping baron Guy Bastone, gossiped relentlessly to Lady Clenoty, who was the wife of a minor lord. The great shipping baron Guy Bastone seemed to be talking to an unidentified old man, but was in fact peering at a pretty girl (Alfred’s) and at the same time making sure his wife didn’t know what he was doing. Weaving in and out of the doors were the servants and chefs of the kitchen, refilling wine glasses and scolding the guests for eating. Each guest seemed right at home here, but an edge was felt. If one would look closely at them, one would see nervous flickering of the eyes towards the one unoccupied chair. Its owner was nowhere to be found. And it just so happened that the owner was the man of the house, the host. Only when he would arrive would dinner be served. But, this only marginally dampened the mood of the evening, and the guests talked on, around that square table.
Many stories below, a different mood was just settling in. Grunting, a bloodied man pealed himself off the wall and stumbled, only to find a well placed stroke catch him in the chin. Wincing, he slid to the floor, half sitting, half lying on his back. Above him towered a young man. His nasty grin sneered at the lower man. He had no shirt on, but his pants proclaimed him a soldier. Behind him stood two men. One was the butler Alfred. He was dressed as a butler was usually dressed, white shirt and black coat. An older man, he had the look that he lost everything dear to him. But this of course was a gag, for he was trying to hold back a frown and a word with his master. The master was a man, about the same age as the soldier. He wore a large black hat and tapped impatiently with his cane. He was clean cut, shaven (but badly) and was dressed for supper. A blot of blood dotted his face, but he ignored it. “Steven, for the hundredth time, this man is not going to talk to you. Will you go get the man who is supposed to do this.”
“But, sir, I can get him to talk” The soldier, Steven said, “He killed my brother, burn it! He owes me!”
“He owes the entire army, not just you, Steven. Now I am ordering you, go get the man!” Enraged, the soldier kicked the prisoner, and stomped out of the room. Alfred, trying to put a word in edgewise, spoke up. “Young people. They have no respect or logic in them. All hot air. Why, some even don’t have any responsibility. Consequently, when are you going to join the dinner? It is your party, after all. I am sure they are expecting the host to join them”
Jokingly, the man hung his head down and replied with a meek voice, “yes, grandfather” As they claimed the cold stairs Alfred spoke of the old days. Much to the man’s annoyance. “Grandfather!?! Why, in my time, young boys had more respect for their elders. They would jump when we would say frog!” Through a door, they entered a hallway. The man paused and addressed the butler in a very serious tone. “Alfred, I want to know everything that man says. If he burps, tell me. I don’t care if I am talking to the King (here he inclined his head slightly), you come in and tell me. Got it?” With his acknowledgment, he grimly touched the brim of his hat and muttered a pray to whatever deity there was. “God knows, we need the help. This man is the only clue we have to the Ring”
“ I know” was all Alfred offered. Both men grew quite while walking. The man thinking about the incredible weight that was forced on his shoulders. Alfred; about other, domestic problems concerning his wife. So great were their thoughts they were oblivious to servants and guards that passed them. The manor house was not grand. But it was quite large, so it took one a while to travel from point A to point B. Finally, after what seemed to be an hour, they arrived at the room. Pausing just outside, Alfred straightened his masters outfit. The man stopped him before he reached his face, and said with a grin, “Surprising as it may be, I can handle myself at my own party”
“I have no doubt, master. Just remember that knives are for eating only. You can be rude (only a little mind you) towards the men folk. But for God’s sake, get yourself a wife.”
Smiling, the young man entered the ballroom. All conversation ceased. Even Guy stopped eyeing the pretty girl to peek at the newcomer. Many ladies instantly straightened their dresses and fretted about petty little things. Some even saw the blood spot on his cheek. Servants all paused and lined up. Alfred chuckled and walked off. Intoning, a cook announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, your host for this evening, Count Mongoth!”
