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Narcissus
Adventurer
Joined: 14 Sep 2008
Posts: 42
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 Posted: Tue Aug 25, 2009 7:28 pm Post subject: **An aged and broken man enters the tavern** |
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A man in a tattered dark green robe enters the tavern, his skin appears to have been burned and scarred in a multitude of ways. His hair is held in various ways, from loose strands to dreadlocks and braids secured with bits of amber and wooden beads. His eyes however are warm and friendly and he greets everyone in turn. Over his shoulder he carries a large basket.
Next to him, and much taller stands Arakad... seemingly for protection.
"Hello everyone, I would like to play a game." He says and opens the basket to reveal many treasures and tokens of days long past.
"If any of these items catches your eye, you have but to make up a story involving the item, and the item is yours." His lips turn to a sly smirk and he adds, "But it must be a story worthy of the item."
OOC: Arakad donated a Valorite Runic hammer, these are the items. If Arakad wants anything in the basket its his, no questions asked... everything else is free game as long as you make up a good story involving the item. Multiple entries for the same item will be judged and awarded by me... sadly, shields can not yet be engraved 
Edit: Fixing the picture size. |
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Nyxanna ab'Arawn
Adventurer
Joined: 04 Oct 2007
Posts: 90
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| Posted: Wed Aug 26, 2009 3:13 pm Post subject: The Milkmaid |
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Nyxanna sat and stared upon the trinkets her eyes devouring each but she paused over one in particular. Within her it hit a resounding chord. Hats had always held a special place within her, she stared upon the man's Norse Helm looking from him to it with great thought. Etched upon it were the words | Quote: | | Curious Conundrum of Concentrated Thoughts. |
All my life they have said, Nyxanna you tell such tales. Tall Tales to be exact, and so it is for once that I put such talents to use for something of worth. So she began, her voice rang true as she spoke. Though her mind still beset with the ravages of amnesia some things we never forget. I have a tale to tell, pointing thusly unto the Norse Helm. It nearly sings its song.
The Milkmaid
By Nyxanna ab'Arawn
Early rose the sun this morn and wakened roosters from their slumber. Upon the hills of this quiet village the morning sun wrapped its warmth. Crows of glory filled the air, waking the sleeping maiden there. She rose and gathered up her buckets and headed to the barn. She worked from dawn’s first light to sunset’s last whisper and then she fell each day into bed tired and craving sleep. Her existence though dreary did enchant those about her for she was fair of face and fair of mind.
She was innocence and purity she was love and beauty. Yet knew none of this. So she tarried drawing milk from each cow until her heavy burden was filled. Today the back would ache with hard labor as she headed to town carrying her precious milk. The milkmaid walked past nobles and rich, she past merchant and beggar. Yet none made much notice. A peasant’s life was forever hers.
She called out with tribulation, Fresh Milk to warm the body, Fresh milk to strengthen thy bones. Only a copper do I ask for each pitcher that I fill. It was today that she did stop, and look upon a Knight of the King; he was a mighty man with great presence. Today he stood seeking to woo the noblest of ladies. The lady laughed and cooed such attention she was used to, and winked upon the Knight with warm smile. Her hearts desire known to all, she would marry this great warrior, and have him still, and live in wealth and greatness.
The warrior removed his helm of valiant splendor a visage of many great battles for his King. His face was not that of greatness. It was scarred and mangled of blade. The great lady shrunk back and turned fleeing into her home. With sadness the Milkmaid walked on. Her thoughts a mess she finished her weary day and fell into bed. Yet the warriors face was still fresh upon her mind.
The next morning dawned as the one before and the Milkmaid walked the village again calling out to any that would listen. Business was bad and she was hungry the milk not wanted by most. She stumbled this day her back not as strong as hunger had eaten her so. Her mind was fuzzy and lost to thought as she kneeled, bowed by the weight of the buckets. Footsteps arose before her and caused her head to rise. There was the self same warrior with face of gruesomeness.
He smiled; He picked up her heavy burden and stared for long upon her. Marry me! He said in sudden want. She laughed and shook her head. Though hunger drives a maiden so, though my back grows weak I will not bow to one who knows me not. I will marry none that cannot answer one riddle. He was surprised for she was not taken back by his looks as so many had. He was surprised for she refused certain life while death of starvation loomed upon her. He paused considering this. Curiousity grew in him, give me thus your Conundrum Milkmaid and I will set to answer it thus.
She spoke surely and truly:
What is it that you ought to keep after you have given it to someone else?
He paused, I know the answer not. Yet I will seek it until I die, for this I will give all. For I intend forever to be with you sweet one. Let not even death separate us. She looked upon him for a moment the words carrying to her mind.
Winters icy fingers touched the village the cold set in with harsh cruelty and the Milkmaid grew ill. The Knight had thusly not returned though he sought the wisest men upon the land. Many answers they gave him but none seemed right. Love, loyalty, money. All answers that rang untrue. At last weary he returned and found her thusly dying upon her bed. His heart breaking in two.
He looked upon her his helm firmly attached and a thought dawned upon his mind. Taking his blade from within its sheaf he placed it thusly against his own heart. Maiden fair I said unto you that not even death would separate us and so I return, so I am here. To this I will prove true. What I must keep, after having given it to you, is my promise lovely one. A promise to love you even in death, a promise that never shall we be apart. My promise I keep now.
So he drove his blade into flesh his heart pouring out blood. He fell atop her as he died his breath her breath slow and ragged. They did die arms encircled, frozen together for all eternity. Never apart even in death his promise ringing true.
The helm did fall from his head and rolled away towards the door, waiting for the next brave soul to know.
The End
Nyxanna's smiled her story told. Now to me your promise you shall keep. Her hand extended.
Wink |
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Narcissus
Adventurer
Joined: 14 Sep 2008
Posts: 42
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| Posted: Wed Aug 26, 2009 4:56 pm Post subject: |
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***The old man stood leaning against his cane heavily and seemed riveted as the woman told her tale, his eyes watered toward the end even and at the end a sad smile and feeling of fondness came upon him.***
"You have your prize."
"A fine tale, one I doubt could ever be matched in seeking of this ancient helm."
"It is yours."
*The old man hands her the helmet with a few tears still in his eyes*
"Who's next?" he asks as he looks around the room. |
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