Captain Horatio Horn and the Slutty Space Pirates
- 4 years ago
- 17
- 0
A Daemon-Horn BladeChapter 7 free porn video
As the Duke's carriage was back in its normal place in the stables of Haldyne, the Ducal Lady ordered it prepared to carry her back to Swanford the next morning. This wasn't unexpected, and frankly didn't slow down her companions too much at all. Her two white horses were fast and strong and knew the road northeast to the village well.
Her guard escort had wanted to move swiftly up the road at a much faster pace than wagons, or carriages could go, but the relatively short trip to the village didn't tax any of their mounts. Alternating a fast trot, a gallop for a mile or so with short 'rest breaks' where the horses just walked, the party soon travelled the miles until the village was reached and petulant Lady was safely escorted into her room at the Green Sails Inn a few hours before evening. She had wanted to stay in her own bedroom at the castle for the night instead, but she was eventually convinced to stay close with the others, as they would have an early morning departure hopefully the next day.
Home once again, the two lads along with the gléaman greeted old friends and plenty of friendly townsmen back over at the Goblin's Head Tavern, as they discovered once again that their pints of good local ale were still being provided entirely gratis by Ypreth the tavern keeper. The lads kept their tongues as quiet as possible and merely mentioned that they were escorting the Lady Ayleth east, keeping the details unspoken. They were sure that they were heading into certain danger, but didn't really want to frighten their friends.
"Bring me back a real Goblin's head!" Ypreth shouted and the other townsmen in the taproom cheered with approval. As adventurers off on some sort of heroic quest straight from fables and gléaman's stories, they were going to do what nearly no one in their village had done in a generation, since Ypreth's father had travelled the world; to travel off to strange lands and meet strange peoples and perhaps find themselves in mortal peril at every step along the way.
Recent traveler's tales had been full of accounts of Boar-Men raiding across the Emerald River and the night-goers had been reported in many parts of the eastern part of Duchy, driving many like the luckless bandit Loren out of their lands and homes. Even the northeastern-most station of the river watch was now reporting odd sightings along both banks of the river, and their old friend Bryce had many barracks stories to tell about the slow smoldering forest war of attrition that was now occurring in the great northern woods.
The lads had to reluctantly report that still the Duke had not yet made up his mind about ordering conscription, but that they felt it would soon become a necessary, and perhaps even absolutely essential. Rowan's old master Gorge nodded his head, and said that already he had received a large order from the castle for weapons, and muttered that it was too bad that his best smith at forging swords had but recently left. The laughter in the tap-room helped clear some of the cloud of depression that had hung over the villagers. But a pair of men were not so easily soothed from their own personal anger.
"Murderer!" Vainard Miller, the headsman shouted out to the entire packed audience in the tap-room. The beady-eyed village priest Lankfred arose as well and added his own hand in accusation.
"Stuff and nonsense!" Boyle cried, with his blackjack of ale in hand perilously in danger of being splashed all over his companions in his anger. "Rowan slew the foul creature that had murdered your daughter! She fell long in fact before he had even set foot upon the island in his brave attempt to defend and protect her. Instead, unable to save his own love, he risked his life and his very soul defeating that infernal monster and forging its very horn into a magic sword, now dutifully sworn to the cause of goodness ... to help protect The Lady Ayleth from peril, and to even protect this land against the many hidden terrors that seem to be lurking close to us!"
"What utter lies and filth you spew, stable boy!" The infuriated village priest snarled. "Like the shit you were raised in! Be still while your elders and betters speak, for like your iniquitous friend, your filthy hands lend themselves only to wickedness and vile undertakings. It is instead the pair of you malevolent lads that this village should fear, rather than vaporous and inconsequential shadows that weak frightened soldiers now fear in the darkness, like pathetic children needing a candle to ward off the gloom of sleep. You are accursed — and my God shall surely smite thee!"
"No, you are as usual quite mistaken." Rowan quietly said, standing up and unsheathing his sword, which soon began to glow in the dim candlelight of the tavern. "My sword shall be raised only to serve the good of this land, its Lady and its people, to smite its enemies and restore our Duchy to peace. Of this I swear, by my truth-oath, and before the eyes of the Gods." With this his sword began to burn brightly and shown like the very light of the sun within the tavern, and each of the men arose to make acceptance and bow to honor Rowan's oath, except for the headsman and his priest, who cast their eyes away from the lad in terror.
As Rowan sheathed his sword and accepted the love and camaraderie of his friends and former villagers, the Lore-Master, who had hitherto been quiet that evening, arose to face the anger and scorn of the two stubborn and obdurate leaders of the village, and with a deep sigh he reached into his jacket for a bit of parchment.
"Foolish, foolish headsman and priest. Your stubbornness against all reason and logic, or even a modicum of common sense ill becomes you or your duties. Sometimes a Foole cannot see what is right in front of him, but you are both too blind even to see the noses on your faces. The Duchy is on the very cusp of descending into a terrible war that cannot be avoid, ignored or wished away with shut eyes and the whistling of a merry tune. The time for obstinacy is quite over, and it is clearly apparent that the performance of your current duties are quite beyond your means. This village, and those hamlets and holdings nearby must be armed with both weapons and vigilance. The young men must prepare themselves for war and plans must be made for defending, sheltering or evacuating the elderly, and the women and children. This must be done at once, without delay or prevarication."
Now Oddtus unfolded the parchment and began to read from it. "Since your headsman, the Vainard the Miller, had proven himself unfortunately not at all up to the challenge of his current duties, it is with but slight regret that our Duke, His Grace Emdyn de Mosena, Duke of Tellismere accepts the resignation of the headsman of Swanford village from all of his assigned duties, pending the election of his duly voted successor. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. The Duke's signature and seal confirm this order, effective as of just a few days ago. Do we have any volunteers for the job? No one could certain perform the duties any worse than the previous headsman performed it!"
With that, Oddtus tossed the signed order from the Duke onto the master's drinking table, where there was a great surge of eager hands to grab and reread the letter, the contents of which were indeed quite as the Lore-Master had stated. How the clever Foole had arranged to get the Duke's actual signature and seal for this order quite surprised the lads, but genuine it indeed was.
"Don't look so dour, Priest!" Oddtus added with a bit of a smile. "A quite similar letter I'm certain has been already delivered to the Bishop of Tellismere, stating your zealous desire to do something far more important with the remains of your life. I'm positive that a certain rather remote monastery is about to receive instructions to cheerfully receive you, and that a few decades of pulling rocks out of poor mountain garden soil will do much to restore your kindly soul and its love of all mankind." The priest snarled and fled from the tavern, to the ridicule and laughter of nearly everyone present.
His friend the headsman was now reading the Duke's letter for himself, weeping with tears for his lost ambitions. Far too late he was realizing that he had not a single friend left in the entire village. He would still be a very wealthy man, but without a daughter or potential son-in-law, even one that was a lowly smith, or a single friend in the world, his wealth was about to become an extremely hollow pleasure.
Making an early evening of it, they gave their friends a last final toast for goodbye and they made their way back to the Green Sails Inn, and it was with more than a sigh of regret that Rowan passed by his old smithy. If Boyle had any regrets of his own about leaving the stable next door once again, then he certainly didn't show it.
"Let have a last tankard of ale from that cheapskate Kelvin Hunuwald!" He said with a grin. "I bet you that the tankard is 'alf foam and still not a full proper drawn pint, but at least it will be taken from someone else's pence. The Lady takes right after her father and she looks constipated every time she has to draw out a single coin!"
The Foole laughed but contented himself with a large beaker of wine, drawn from Hunuwald's finest select vintage keg, and then he seated himself at the table with the Lady Ayleth and her officer, Lieutenant Rothale, and the captain of the boat that they intended to hire. Soon, what had been already a heated discussion turned into a rather loud and angry one.
Listening in carefully, the two lads nursed their rather inadequate sized but still excellent pints of ale, and the lads got to listen to their betters argue for the next half an hour until everyone finally clasped hands together in some sort of agreement. The river was dangerous now, the ship's captain insisted, and no boat-master was willing to take anyone up-river, especially past Dead-Tree Junction, without a very sizeable 'danger bonus'. Left to the final choice of riding out from here to make the entire journey on horseback or paying a goodly amount of extra silver, even her guardian the Lt. Rothale was urging the Lady to stop acting like her father and just agree to pay the money - if speed was at all necessary, and at length she did so.
Their new boat-master, Coryn was the owner and Captain of a sleek two-masted river schooner called The Lady Ellyn that could be creatively rigged to speed upstream against the river no matter what course the wind blew except for head on. He claimed it could outrun or outfight any smaller or larger boats of river pirates that threatened danger on the river. He was a short wiry man of well-past middle years that had spent his entire life trading up and down the river and he laughed that he could guide his boat safely virtually blindfolded by feel alone, but that running the river at night was a foolhardy risk not worth taking at any price. He had a small but very experienced crew and the Lady, her bodyguard and the Foole were assured that they were well-armed and well-prepared for any sort of trouble ... assuming that the pay was good, and with the promised payment of a substantial danger bonus, it now quite seemed to be quite so.
Everyone now seemed to be happy, even the horses, who didn't yet know that they would be spending another week or even more trapped below decks in the ship's spacious cargo hold. Undoubtedly, just like the Lady Ayleth, they would be plotting at getting their dire revenge sometime later on.
Coins and handshakes were exchanged and everyone sat back for one final glass of refreshment. Rowan and Boyle settled for another pint of ale, or at least it was almost nearly a pint, and silently toasted their good fortune. Their boat captain appeared to be a sound and sober one and they hoped they'd make good time going east up the river, although their next destination seemed to still be indeterminate. From what the lads could tell, conditions on the river were dangerous right now but that the captain hoped to get them at least half-way up the river, and hopefully to the big mining town of Orshold, right on the border of Everdun, near the end of the river.
If the river proved too dangerous, especially near or past the infamous Dead Tree Island Junction in the river, a different large river tributary, the Elm River could be taken south to the large town of Elmcrygh. This route was frankly now suspect as well due to its close proximity to the Juniper Mountains, just to the west. In addition to all of the rumors of Boar-Men incursions south of the Emerald River, the Púcel seemed to be restless as well and the captain had heard several rumors of suspected goblin activity near there that made this choice dangerous well.
At worst, it was decided, that the party could be dropped of with their mounts as far east as possible so that they could ride southeast through the Lloan Valley to either Everdun to the east or instead down the good stone road that started from Everdun west to Orshold, then south and gently east through Samhold, Lydleford and then eventually the great free-city of Dragontooth on the great coastal mountain that divided the borders from Broadmore, Everdun and the Aldarian Blessed Sapphire Empire. By going either east or south they could reach the coast and get another ship to take them to Corælyn, well away from the fighting in or near Broadmore, or the threat of the Boar-Men.
One way or another, the lads figured they would be seeing a lot of very distant places no matter which way they ended up travelling once they embarked on the boat early the next morning.
When The Lady Ellyn sailed past the furthest river watch guard tower, past Swanford, Rowan knew that the adventure had now really begun in earnest. The faces of the guards were grim, and they didn't smile as they waved sadly to the ship. One particularly pessimistic guardsman even shook his head, and made a cut-throat gesture with his hand. The lads didn't find that especially encouraging, but the crew pretended not to notice ... they knew the river was dangerous, and didn't need any additional reminders.
As Captain Coryn had insinuated, his crew did, indeed, appear to be a good well-trained one. Tory, the First Mate, was young for the post, just a few years older than Rowan and Boyle, and he seemed a bit brash and impulsive, but fortunately this tendency was tempered by the patience and council of his consort, Beryl, who was the Second Mate of the ship. She was the solid anchor of the boat, to whom everyone looked for most routine guidance and instructions. The rest of the crew, Daren & Tashyl were young lads and quite able sailors, who handled most of the deck duties, while a trio of young lasses, Brenga, Gaylyn & Leresia, handled most of the mast riggings, and could scamper up and down the two masts and the ropes like lovely monkeys.
It also didn't hurt, in the slightest, that the young lady sailors quickly scampered out of their dockside attire, the moment they were out of sight from the town, and performed their duties, thereafter, in just a brief linen loincloth tied around their waists. Even Beryl let her well tanned breasts go bare, but left on a comfortable old pair of old ragged shorts to cover her bottom. The male sailors stripped down to just a loincloth, as well, for their own work attire. Apparently, as the young Swanford lads discovered, even in the early autumn, it is hot work to handle a boat on the humid and steamy Emerald River, and certainly no one was complaining about the view.
Fay
- 06.01.2022
- 30
- 0
