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A Kitchen-Wench by JimBob (~BBW, D&D-Type Fantasy, ~XWG )

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JimBob

like a thief in the night
Joined
Apr 11, 2008
Messages
386
Location
Dinotopia
~BBW, D&D-Type Fantasy, ~XWG - In a world of sorcerors and swordsmen, what is the ultimate treasure and the perfect weapon? And what's to be done with her?

A Kitchen-Wench
by Jimbob

Chapter I: The Gift of the Mists

Hear that I am Valtag, swordsman and great leader of the Clan Aidgar. Know that when you hear this tale, I will be dead, though I am feared long dead. I have carved out my name in the broken skulls of men and the battered walls of fortresses, but only a parchment and the songs of the bold bards shall be my epitaph.

Know ye first in this story - and in the hearing of it - that mighty Valdag was not made thus mighty by birth, nor through the spilling of blood, the despoiling of villages, the claiming of titles. I was born not of the warrior caste, but the serving caste of the Aidgar. In my youth I was Ask, son of Angul, of the little village of Lizard's Tail, and he and my mother ran the inn called The Shepherd's Delight.

I was born as all of my caste are, as my father and mother were born and theirs before them: weedy and weak. The two peoples of our tribe were then as chalk and cheese, different in every particular. The warriors were born, man and woman, to fight and to excel at all they did. Theirs were the mighty bodies of gods and the mighty feats of demi-gods. The farmers and villagers were born, man and woman, to do as best they could. They provided land; we farmed it. They hunted animals; we cooked them. They went on quests; we sheltered them in our inns.

None of the two castes of the Clan ever intermixed, not through law; we simply had no thought of doing so. No mighty axe-thrower wanted a weedy milksop in his household, nor did any brave bow-woman desire a little weakling in-between her sheets. We were happy, in our simple way. Happy.

Ask, I was, Ask the table-scrap boy. From the time I could walk I filled the mugs, spread fresh reeds and rushes on the floor, cleaned the stables, and did utmost of other tasks. Mine was a hard life, and I learned from early on that to grumble about my tasks would earn me a sharp slap on the back of the head, but there were two simple pleasures. The one was to play on my simple Fife, on nights when Aidgar folk brawny and skinny alike were given to hearty, alcohol-drenched singing; the other I shall speak of at another time.

Ask, I was, who never dreamed of holding a sword not made of wood. Ask, whose father was an innkeeper, and his father a farmer, and his father a boat-maker, and so on. Ask, who would grow to be a balding weakling and take a weakling wife and seed weaklings to the weakling line, ad aeternum, and such a sickening truth it was that I did not even lament it, for what else did I know?

Until the day the wizard came to stay.

A misty day it was, and in my elder days I do reflect on that. A misty day seems true for what followed - for mist is not to be found in Lizard's Tail, that day even to this. The mist cares not for what's in a fellow's purse or hung around his belt; good or evil can come out of it. Good or Evil, as came out of it that day.

I had arisen early to begin my chores, and held up the pitch-fork to muck out the stables in the early hours of the morning. I was eighteen at the time, and a smart lad for my age, but even for all my wits I could not for the life of me see the hand in front of my face when I stepped out of the inn that morning, let alone the stables.

And as I blundered about, through the grey uncertainty I perceived a figure of darker grey, tall and pointed, and making a peculiar rumbling sound. Fearing it some Jas-Ogre - as such creatures were known to swoop down from the mountains around Spring - I turned my pitch-fork out and cried aloud "Halt! Who steps in the fog this morning?"

"Only a stranger come to seek lodgings." The voice was like a river; calm and flowing, with who-knows-what hidden beneath the surface. I waggled my pitch-fork.

"Show yourself then!" I cried, "And be recognised!"

The figure held up a hand, and the mists parted around it. It was human, alright; and the human figure that stepped out amazed me so that I risked dropping my pitch-fork on my foot. It was indeed a wizard, a true sorcerer. He wore the simple browny-yellow ascetic robes of one of the orders, emblazoned with inky black runes I could not discern.

Around the edge of his pointy, wide-brimmed hat were tied umpteen little insects on strings, that jangled and seemed to emanate the very mists from out their mouths. Around his waist was tied a belt that similarly held umpteen herbs and potions.

I caught a glimpse at his face. He looked to be in his early 50s, though I knew he could be up to thrice that age. His pleasantly ginger beard was stretched only around his chin and jawline, unusual for a wizard, as was his shaven heard. His face was wrinkled and solid as a rock, and he seemed surprisingly spry and jolly.

Amazed and thrilled as I was, I kept my distance. I could see he was leading a horse, which led a covered cart probably filled with trinkets and gee jaws that could cause all sorts of mischief.

"Give me your name," I said. "A wizard's name is as good a guarantee of his purse as any."

"Wise lad," he chuckled, "Perceptive, too. Very well."

He bowed low, removing his amusing hat to reveal his bald, freckled pate. "May the humble practicer of charms known only by the name Madrigern welcome himself to The Shepherd's Delight? Have you a little hole in the ground in which I may place my bones, and a dry ditch for me to park my horse and cart?"

I did not answer at first, too spellbound to speak - and here let there be a little lesson, that a wizard's name might also be a charm in itself. Madrigern of the Mists, the keeper of the grey lore and tamer of Ogre-Mothers!

Madrigern the mage, here at the second-best inn of the miserable cow's arsehole that called itself Lizard's Tail!

With his chuckles chasing after me, I went to fetch my mother, my father having departed to buy fresh supplies at market. She wasted no time; while I housed his horse and cart in the stable-yard, she put together our finest bread and cheese, and a pint of frothy beer with a roasted turnip floating in it.

"As he likes it," she explained.

"How do you - " I was about to ask, but she hushed me as the mage sat at table, putting down his hat and taking a healthy bite of bread and cheese.

"It has been a long time," he said to my mother, who blushed a little - spots of red blooming on her pale skin - "a long time indeed, Tishtig."

She smiled, and to my surprised horror, leaned in for a hug, which he grandly returned. "You always spoke the truth, Madrigern. It's good to see you after so long. Should I be surprised you haven't aged a day?"

"Not in the least," he said. "You have not introduced me to your son, though he knows my name."

"I'm Ask, son of Angul," I retorted, hotly, "And capable of answering for myself."

"Oh ho ho!" he replied. He had an odd habit of never failing to find something funny. "Such ferocity! I would not expect this from the son of Angul, weak inn-keeper in the lower castes. But from the son of Tishtig the pick-pocket, the bandit of the Haldarn Coast…"

He patted my mother's head a tad patronisingly.

I gaped, unable to speak. My mother was a quiet woman who spent her free hours embroidering tapestries and caring for the babes of the harvest-picking women. Her?

"Her?" I said. "A thief?"

She sighed.

"It is true, young Ask," she began, "I will not burden you with the story of my falling-out with your deceased grand-parents. But I was driven from them, and could only find my way through dishonest means."

She crossed her arms, ran a hand through her grey hair, and smiled. "And the charity of an old fox who knows no laws."

He chuckled, a low belly-laugh that he drowned in a glug of turnip-sweetened ale.

"A wizard cannot live on magic alone," he said, smiling through his seriousness. "He must sometimes supplement his income by turning to foolish rat-girls."

They laughed, and I wiped at the tables awkwardly. Here was a world I knew I could never enter, and could only observe from the sidelines. For the first time, I felt - jealous? Deprived, perhaps? It has been so long since then, and I am so immersed in that world now that to recall my life before is to recall a dream.

And, as in a dream, the strange and wonderful happened not long after.

That night, the wizard caroused with our regulars - tired farmers and brutish warrior-folk alike, some of whom knew him well from old campaigns. In his deep booming voice, he sang old songs of the long land, accompanied by a stringed instrument of his own invention and the soft melody of my fife.

My playing was interrupted seldom, except for when I was summoned to lay down fresh rushes and when my wandering eye was drawn to the fair warrior-womenfolk with their supple arms and their chain mail armour shimmying in the firelight. Even then, even so steeped in my caste as I was, my tastes in women were still…but I wander from my story.

Towards the end of the night, Madrigern plucked my mother's sleeve and beckoned her and myself to the stable.

"So," my mother said, the unfamiliar irony returning to her voice. "I suppose now you'll tell me why you're really here? That cart has enough supplies to keep you house comfortably in any forest."

"You guess well, daughter of Kaleimeth the Unavenged," he muttered, smirking. "I have come because I have something that needs safekeeping, something that came into my possession recently."

From out of his spacious cart he drew a large square cage with a heavy canvas over it.

Laying his hand on the canvas, he explained, "It is a thing of contradictions - a present, and a burden. A treasure, and a grievous weapon. A blessing and a curse. That which builds empires and ruins kings, plants forests and topples towers. Behold!"

He pulled away the cloth, revealing -

A girl.

She was huddled in the far wall of her wooden cage, clutching her arms around her legs and burying her face in her knees. A cascade of long hair stretched from her like a waterfall, dark blue and straighter than an arrow's path, and much unlike that of our Aidgar women. Her face was round as the moon, what I could see of it, not thin and angular like the girls I was used to. Her skin was pale as the moon too - paler; she was pure white, as driven snow, with dark blue blooms on the skin around her kneecaps, her cheeks, her elbows, the tips of her toes and other places. She was dressed in grey rags that seemed to have burned.

I had never seen a lovelier creature, and almost said so. She seemed to bring the room into focus the way a stream will make small fish seem closer and bigger. I could swear the colours and shapes around her were more vivid the longer I looked. And as I looked, I noticed something else about her. Like a finely-made pillow, or a fresh pat of butter, or a baby…she was not wiry or muscular as every other woman I had ever met had been. She was…was…soft.

I had seen pictures of the fattened rich, do not mistake me. I had seen artist's scrolls depicting the Lairds and Monks and Merchants and their wives, all round bosoms and puffy cheeks and double chins. But this was a subtle softness, a mild softness around her thighs, her bottom, her adorable face and the little roll around her middle. At eighteen, I found myself…wanting her. I was in love from the very first sight.

"I have heard of things like this," said my mother, and her fear-dredged tone broke my reverie. "They bring doom to mortal beings."

"A common misconception," replied Madrigern confidently. "This, my dear Tishtig, is as you suspect - a Vesh-Taen, a babe forged in the stars. She fell to Earth with her sisters this past winter, and though I saved her they were taken from me by Death."

He shook his head.

"Much as I have avoided him myself, I hate to see so many fall into his clutches, in their slow march. The grey hairs, the wrinkles…" he inspected my mother intently.

"That thing is a weapon," my mother began. "A treacherous shapeshifter that will bring us - "

"That GIRL is entirely INNOCENT," he interrupted with a roar, and for the first and only time I heard him speak with utmost seriousness. "She knows nothing of her kin being used, as torturers, lighthouse-keepers, harvest-burners and the scourge of armies. She is a lost young girl of eighteen years, with no knowledge of the common tongue. She is my present to you. And look! I have brought gift-wrapping!"

He snapped his fingers, and mists poured out of the bugs in his hat. The girl did not move as the mists swirled about her, but her rags coagulated into a simple cloth dress that covered all of her plump body, to my relief - I was unsure of the strange feelings it had brought about in me. Her skin took on the bloom of the Aidgar, a rusty red-brown tinged with dark freckles; her hair became a curly bun, sensibly tied behind her head. Only her face and figure stayed the same, and for this I was thankful.

"What am I supposed to do with her?" said my mother. "She will bring ruin unto our house, no matter what she knows. A kitten may be raised by mice, but it finds its claws sooner or later. And sooner or later, this little creature will learn to change into a lion, or worse!"

"Not at all," he smiled sardonically. "She can barely change now. A shapeshifter is only as powerful as their mass - if she knew how, she could only become, say, a baby deer. Or a particularly lithe foal."

He patted my mother's shoulder reassuringly. "She is harmless, for now, and I am giving you to her because I know you always wanted a daughter. Tell everyone she is the mute daughter of your mad cousin in the Port Towns. That's what I shall be telling them anyway."

He held out a little purse. "This is my legacy for her; it will take care of my debt to you for looking after her. I have placed a charm on it, that there will always be inside three more coins than she could need when her hand is inside it. For others, it is always empty. One day I shall come for her, to take her from this place…or leave her to it."

"What is her name?" asked my mother, looking cautiously as he opened the cage and drew the girl out. I noticed her eyes were bright, even in her masked state, but they held a fold at the corners, a strange and beautifying feature I had never before seen in a woman. All a mystery, she was!

"Her name is Nell," he said, "And she will do fine as a lowly kitchen-wench. Won't we, Nell?"

He chucked her under the chin, and she nodded sadly. He muttered a few more words in a tongue that sounded like leaves burning. He pointed at my mother, and she curtsied politely, causing my mother to coo with approval; he pointed at me, and she looked at me with a curious expression. I turned away, bashful.

"You will look after her, young Ask, will you not?" he said to me in the common tongue. His satisfied purr told me he already knew I desired nothing more in the world than this enigmatic girl and her milky-soft form. I nodded, and excused myself to go and clear away tables. Her eyes followed me even as I stepped outside.

+++​

The next morning, grey as the last, I went with the Master of the Mists to tether his horse and wrap up his breakfast. He had a whistle to his lips and a new stick in his hands, lent by one of the town craftsmen, that he tapped in time to the tune.

"Where will you go?" I asked.

"I have some errands in the low country," he replied. "Then I must attend a council of dragons, ride to the rescue of five sage princes…who knows, I may not return here for many years. Why, lad?"

I swallowed, thought of Nell's weird expression and strange form. "Why would she require all that money? Three more silver coins than she'd ever need? That'll last out her days. And what about this shape-shifting? Should we not be worried?"

He smiled, genuinely rather than mockingly. "A wise lad, so I said. Wise indeed. I cannot give ye the visions of the future as I see them, but I will leave you with this: a shapeshifter is only as powerful, only as dangerous as their mass…and how they use it."

With a grunt, he mounted his cart and patted his horse's rump affectionately. I stared up at him, uncertain of what he meant, of what this meant for me, of what might happen. All I knew was that, completely unexpectedly, I had begun to fall in love with Nell; and unbeknownst to me, begun the first step in a journey that would take me higher than I dared dream and lead to the greatest depths.

Madrigern looked towards the sun, in the direction of the farmlands before us. The wizard breathed a heavy breath, full of forebodings.

"Keep her fattened," he said. "Keep her fed."

He rode away, and took the mists with him.

(Continued in post 3 of this thread)

 

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