Philippe left the castle and went directly to the stables, where he woke the stable hand and had a horse saddled and tacked.
“Ye be goin’ on a early mornin’ hunt, m’lord?” he stable boy asked Philippe.
It was not uncommon to go hunting in the early morning, so the fact that the lord of the Castle was up and requesting a horse at the hour of four in the morning, would not be all that unusual a sight.
Philippe grinned, “Oui! You might say that.”
He took the horse, led it out into the yard and mounted it. He was soon on his way into the town. As he rode he thought of the many ways he would like to slice Jack Gray up. One thing he knew…the man’s privates were to be the first thing to go.
Revenge and Recompense
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Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
He was in town in time for breakfast, and ate at the Bloody Drake Tavern. It was a good place and the food in it was good. After breakfast he rented a room and slept all day. That night he began to make inquiries into where a man by the name of Jack Gray might be hiding.
The man was obviously not well known. Evidently his wife hadn’t been too choosy regarding who she would give her body to. He guessed that any bum off the street would have done just as well.
He went from inn to pub to tavern to shop, and few had heard the name and even fewer had ever seen this Jack Gray. Philippe made his way back to the Bloody Drake and was sitting at the bar; and as fate would have it, the man sitting next to him had the information Philippe was seeking.
“You be lookin’ for Jack Gray?” he old white-bearded man responded to Philippe’s inquiry.
“Oui. Would you know this man and where I may find him?” Philippe’s hopes were raised.
“Yeah, I know him, but you won’t be finding him.”
“Why not? I must!”
The old man sipped his yeasty ale and laughed, “Because Jack Gray is deader than a doornail. He came down with some strange disease and he died. No trace of his body anywhere.”
Without saying a word, Philippe stood up and walked away from the bar, taking the bottle of whiskey with him. The man he was going to kill was already dead. Was there no justice in the world? Was there no revenge to be had upon the man who had ruined his marriage bed? If only he had come down with the disease sooner, maybe Tele would not have cheated on him.
Or, if it wasn’t Jack Gray, would it have been someone else?
Philippe sat at an empty table and went to work on the bottle of whiskey. The thought came back to him, “Would it have been someone else?” After all, it wasn’t totally Jack Gray’s fault. No man could have Teleperien unless she wanted it. His wife wanted to play the whore. She allowed it and enjoyed it. Who knows, maybe she even enticed Gray. Perhaps she seduced him. How many others had she seduced in his absence?
The whiskey only further fueled the bitter thoughts that came to him out of the darkness his surroundings at the tavern. He paid no attention to the other patrons, the singers, the bar tenders and the servers who periodically came to his table – other than to order a second bottle of whiskey.
He was hurt . . . bitter . . . angry . . . broken.
His men were murdered. His ship was stolen. He spent three years in prison and being tortured. He had been sick and on the brink of death. And now…the last straw….his wife had been unfaithful.
What more could be taken from him?
What did he have left?
Nothing.
Nothing but that bottle of whiskey.
The man was obviously not well known. Evidently his wife hadn’t been too choosy regarding who she would give her body to. He guessed that any bum off the street would have done just as well.
He went from inn to pub to tavern to shop, and few had heard the name and even fewer had ever seen this Jack Gray. Philippe made his way back to the Bloody Drake and was sitting at the bar; and as fate would have it, the man sitting next to him had the information Philippe was seeking.
“You be lookin’ for Jack Gray?” he old white-bearded man responded to Philippe’s inquiry.
“Oui. Would you know this man and where I may find him?” Philippe’s hopes were raised.
“Yeah, I know him, but you won’t be finding him.”
“Why not? I must!”
The old man sipped his yeasty ale and laughed, “Because Jack Gray is deader than a doornail. He came down with some strange disease and he died. No trace of his body anywhere.”
Without saying a word, Philippe stood up and walked away from the bar, taking the bottle of whiskey with him. The man he was going to kill was already dead. Was there no justice in the world? Was there no revenge to be had upon the man who had ruined his marriage bed? If only he had come down with the disease sooner, maybe Tele would not have cheated on him.
Or, if it wasn’t Jack Gray, would it have been someone else?
Philippe sat at an empty table and went to work on the bottle of whiskey. The thought came back to him, “Would it have been someone else?” After all, it wasn’t totally Jack Gray’s fault. No man could have Teleperien unless she wanted it. His wife wanted to play the whore. She allowed it and enjoyed it. Who knows, maybe she even enticed Gray. Perhaps she seduced him. How many others had she seduced in his absence?
The whiskey only further fueled the bitter thoughts that came to him out of the darkness his surroundings at the tavern. He paid no attention to the other patrons, the singers, the bar tenders and the servers who periodically came to his table – other than to order a second bottle of whiskey.
He was hurt . . . bitter . . . angry . . . broken.
His men were murdered. His ship was stolen. He spent three years in prison and being tortured. He had been sick and on the brink of death. And now…the last straw….his wife had been unfaithful.
What more could be taken from him?
What did he have left?
Nothing.
Nothing but that bottle of whiskey.
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Muira MacKinley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Fri Mar 31, 2006 12:03 pm
It was night again, and the sounds of loud voices and glasses being thumped to one another and against the wood table tops filled the Bloody Drake Tavern as Muira stepped inside through the kitchen entrance. The heat hit her square in the face and she sighed softly as the sounds of pots and cooks shouting orders surrounded her and reminded her of her station in life. She tugged off her jacket as she walked through the kitchen, exposing her white cotton blouse and the corset tied in the front, after all being poor meant one dressed themselves, so all she owned tied in the front. The laces on her blouse were loosened as she tired to release some of the heat of the room and ran a hand over the black cotton skirt that hung to her ankles. It had seen better days, but so had all of her clothes, none were of the best material and certainly none were in very good repair, she mended everything herself, and she just wasn't that good at sowing.
As she stepped out of the kitchen and behind the bar she tugged free the tie in her hair, letting the long locks slip down over her shoulders and kicked off the old worn leather boots. They were black, with the cuff folded down and holes in the soles and toes, they did little to protect her feet and nothing to the add to her looks as she grabbed an apron and tugged the white garment over her black skirt front before heading towards the man that was her boss to get her first tray of drinks and pointed to where they had to go. She wasn't late for her shift, but it didn't stop the old man from rumbling at her about not being there earlier as he pushed a tray of ales into her hands and waved her off to the far table in the room. Muira took the abuse without and word and turned to head for the table, her bare feet padding softly on the hard wood floor, easily avoiding spilled ales and booted feet of drunken men.
She allowed them to gawk at her, and as she set drinks down she suffered what would be the first of many groups of drunken hands and solicitation. She learned in her first week to let the men have their way if she wanted to keep her job, after all, she was just a poor serving wench, and easily replaced by someone who would take the abuse and so much more. But Muira was a woman of ethics, though she tolerated hands on her backside and the occasional grab for her milky breast, she never accepted any offer to spend the night. Instead she would smile, make some off handed comment about the offer being very kind and then would slip off to serve someone else. She was on her third round out when she noticed the man sitting by himself, working on his second bottle of whiskey and she nudged closer to one of the other serving women.
"Who is that sittin' over in th' shadows?" She asked looking up at the plump woman beside her, Jessie was not the prettiest woman, very much over weight, but with a big chest and plump rear end, the bigger men and dwarfs seemed to like her just fine.
"Don' rightly know," Jessie answered looking down at Muira, "came in a few hours 'go drunker then a dog on new years," she added, "probably some poor sod down on 'is luck," she added and finished adding drinks to Muira's tray. "Go on then, ain't makin' no money standin' h're talkin'."
Muira grinned, a bitter smile, "Ain't makin' no money out there either," but she swept up her tray and continued her night of serving, watching the man in the corner on his own, the poor dear had to be very down on his luck, he was certainly a handsome man, if not for the anger and sorrow writen on his face. Muira padded passed his table many times, but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't seem to be noticing anyone at that point at all. As the night went on she wondered silently what could weigh on a man's soul so. She finally found a bottle pushed onto her tray and she looked at it in confusion as Jessie added glasses to the tray.
"For your mystery man," Jessie stated as she motioned to Philippe.
Muira nodded and carefully balancing her tray and she moved to drop glasses off at their respected tables before heading towards Philippe's.
As she stepped out of the kitchen and behind the bar she tugged free the tie in her hair, letting the long locks slip down over her shoulders and kicked off the old worn leather boots. They were black, with the cuff folded down and holes in the soles and toes, they did little to protect her feet and nothing to the add to her looks as she grabbed an apron and tugged the white garment over her black skirt front before heading towards the man that was her boss to get her first tray of drinks and pointed to where they had to go. She wasn't late for her shift, but it didn't stop the old man from rumbling at her about not being there earlier as he pushed a tray of ales into her hands and waved her off to the far table in the room. Muira took the abuse without and word and turned to head for the table, her bare feet padding softly on the hard wood floor, easily avoiding spilled ales and booted feet of drunken men.
She allowed them to gawk at her, and as she set drinks down she suffered what would be the first of many groups of drunken hands and solicitation. She learned in her first week to let the men have their way if she wanted to keep her job, after all, she was just a poor serving wench, and easily replaced by someone who would take the abuse and so much more. But Muira was a woman of ethics, though she tolerated hands on her backside and the occasional grab for her milky breast, she never accepted any offer to spend the night. Instead she would smile, make some off handed comment about the offer being very kind and then would slip off to serve someone else. She was on her third round out when she noticed the man sitting by himself, working on his second bottle of whiskey and she nudged closer to one of the other serving women.
"Who is that sittin' over in th' shadows?" She asked looking up at the plump woman beside her, Jessie was not the prettiest woman, very much over weight, but with a big chest and plump rear end, the bigger men and dwarfs seemed to like her just fine.
"Don' rightly know," Jessie answered looking down at Muira, "came in a few hours 'go drunker then a dog on new years," she added, "probably some poor sod down on 'is luck," she added and finished adding drinks to Muira's tray. "Go on then, ain't makin' no money standin' h're talkin'."
Muira grinned, a bitter smile, "Ain't makin' no money out there either," but she swept up her tray and continued her night of serving, watching the man in the corner on his own, the poor dear had to be very down on his luck, he was certainly a handsome man, if not for the anger and sorrow writen on his face. Muira padded passed his table many times, but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't seem to be noticing anyone at that point at all. As the night went on she wondered silently what could weigh on a man's soul so. She finally found a bottle pushed onto her tray and she looked at it in confusion as Jessie added glasses to the tray.
"For your mystery man," Jessie stated as she motioned to Philippe.
Muira nodded and carefully balancing her tray and she moved to drop glasses off at their respected tables before heading towards Philippe's.
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
Philippe was feeling no pain, as least not physically.
Emotionally he was totally shipwrecked.
The first bottle of whiskey had only a small amount of alcohol in it when he brought it to the table. The second bottle was full, but only a pint size. So he had it in his mind to walk to the bar and get another bottle if only he could get up out of his chair and walk a reasonably straight line. He removed his booted feet from the adjacent chair and was about to try to stand when he saw a serving lass approach. Perhaps he could persuade her to give him that bottle on her tray.
Muira approached his table her brown eyes taking him in. He was damned handsome, with the most shocking blue eyes that happened to seem so full of hurt that she couldn't help but feel bad for him. She always had a soft spot for the hard luck cases that found their way onto her shift. She reached for the bottle from the tray as she reached his table. She was loath to leave it with him as she put on one of her sweet smiles and hip cocked to look down at him, "Refill your drink for yea'?" She asked, Scottish accent very apparent.
He leaned back and smiled, "Oui, you are the lifesaver! But I'm going to need more than one little refill, lass. Why don't you sit down and join me, yes?" Even in his drunken state and seeing double he could see that she was a very good looking young lady.
Muira grinned, "'Ah can certainly leave you the bottle sir, but 'am afraid sittin' is not in the cards for me tonight," she motioned to the very busy bar around them.
"No, no, no...," he motioned with his hand for her to sit in the chair next to him. "You work too hard here, and anyway, tonight I'd like some company. Please, have a seat."
The smile faded just slightly as she opened the bottle and began to pour him another drink, "Tell yea' what, you drink and ifin' I get the time, I'll come back to you before my shift is up," she answered as she carefully filled his glass then re-closed the bottle and set it on the table beside his glass, "'Ah don' think the boss would be real happy ifin' I was to abandon my job in the middle of such a busy eve."
He reached for her arm and touched her just gently. "Why don’t you have the glass and I'll have the bottle. And would such a sweet girl like you really refuse the lord of this land, the great Phillipe de Bouillon, consort to the Queen, and let me drink by myself? That would be such an insult on a night when I don't think I can take anymore disappointments."
She froze and gawked at the man at the table, feeling her knees grow weak. She had not long been in this land, a few years, but she had heard of him, who hadn’t? Muria found herself sinking down into the chair across from him, "Philippe de Bouillon?" She whispered, "But the Consort died," she breathed looking him in the eye, searching for some sort of lie in his words.
He put the bottle to his lips, took a drink and set it down on the table. He gave a curt laugh and a depressed shake of his head. "If only I had died in the prison, I would be thankful. No, lass, I didn't die; at least not until last night. Last night I truly died." He looked into her beautiful brown eyes. "Please, drink with me. That glass is yours."
She looked down at the glass and smirked then shook her head, "Don'a let the accent fool you my Lord, I don'a drink," she answered pushing the glass away and looked up at him, she wasn't even sure she should remain where she was, she certainly was not good company for any Lord, she was well below his station. "Ifin' I may my Lord, why are you here, surely there are other places where the drink is better and the company finer," she stated, very curious about this man who claimed to be married to the queen.
"Merci, but I am right where I should be, lass. For now on I shall leave the finer things to those born of royalty or with the godlike powers of magic. I'm but a humbled pirate captain without a ship upon which to sail. Nothing more. My wife seems to have liked other men far too much to wait for my return. Well, now she can have all the men she wants. I'm through being a damn consort and following the queen around like some dog. Please...drink with me."
She rolled her eyes and looked at the glass again, she despised the taste of alcohol, she had yet to encounter a drink she liked and the idea of drink the whiskey turned her stomach, but she reached for the glass anyway, only to jump when the meaty hand of her boss wrapped around her wrist, yanking her almost painfully to her feet.
"What the 'ell are you doing?!" He sneered, shoving her back towards the crowd, "yer suppose ta be servin' not sittin' on yer ass!" He snarled at her.
That was all Philippe needed to see.
He needed someone upon whom to take out his anger. He rose to his feet with his rapier in his hand. "Sir! Do you really despise your life so much that you want it to end this minute? Would you deny your lord, the Queen's Consort of Eldicor, the company of this young woman! Perhaps you'd like to shell clams and peel potatoes for the rest of your life, no?"
The innkeeper turned an angry eye on Philippe, his gaze traveling over the man, his lips twisting into a sneer, "The Queen’s consort has been dead for years, your no such man," he growled, not believing a word of it. He had heard plenty of lines in men's attempts to lure in his serving girls.
"Then you have heard wrong, monsieur. I'm Philippe de Bouillon and I returned to Eldicor a fortnight ago. You have but two seconds to apologize to myself and this lady."
Mumbles were heard from several of the patrons. "It is. I recognize him! He's the Queen's husband!"
Muira watched from a safe distance the two as they conversed, by now she should have scampered off to get back to serving, but she believed this man's word.
The big man glared at Philippe then glanced around him, suddenly getting nervous. If he was indeed who he said he was, his own life was in danger. He looked at Muira where she was standing silently watching them, "Well get in here girl, serve the man," he turned back to Philippe," My deepest apologies," he stated smoothly, "I had no idea, and of course she’s yours for the night, as long as you like her, I'm sure we can settle on fair price for a man such as yourself."
Muira paled slightly at her bosses words, he was selling her off as a common whore, she had never agreed to that when she had taken this job and she trembled slightly at where this was going as she moved to get back to the table as she had been instructed to do.
Philippe walked up to the tavern owner. "You know we do not allow slavery or prostitution in Eldicor, don't you?" He was about to say, 'with the exception of the Queen' but he held his tongue.
"If this young lady would join me at this table, it is only of her own free will." He took out a money bag and give the Bloody Drakes owner more than twice the money he would possibly owe for the room and board and drinks. "You may go back to work now." He sheathed his rapier and made it back to his chair and sat down again.
Muira watched her boss weigh the coins before heading away and she slowly sat down once more and looked at Philippe, unsure of what to say or do at that point as she tugged lightly at the ties of her blouse.
"Je regrette, madame. I'm sorry for this minor disturbance." Perhaps 'minor' was not the right word for he had nearly killed the man. He put some silver coins in front of her. "This is just for your time and conversation, nothing more. You are under my protection."
She looked at the silver in shock, for to her that was a week's pay with overtime, "'ah canna' take your money my' lord, you just paid my boss more money then could ever be worth my time," she pointed out a bit nervously.
-=to be continued from roleplay=-
Emotionally he was totally shipwrecked.
The first bottle of whiskey had only a small amount of alcohol in it when he brought it to the table. The second bottle was full, but only a pint size. So he had it in his mind to walk to the bar and get another bottle if only he could get up out of his chair and walk a reasonably straight line. He removed his booted feet from the adjacent chair and was about to try to stand when he saw a serving lass approach. Perhaps he could persuade her to give him that bottle on her tray.
Muira approached his table her brown eyes taking him in. He was damned handsome, with the most shocking blue eyes that happened to seem so full of hurt that she couldn't help but feel bad for him. She always had a soft spot for the hard luck cases that found their way onto her shift. She reached for the bottle from the tray as she reached his table. She was loath to leave it with him as she put on one of her sweet smiles and hip cocked to look down at him, "Refill your drink for yea'?" She asked, Scottish accent very apparent.
He leaned back and smiled, "Oui, you are the lifesaver! But I'm going to need more than one little refill, lass. Why don't you sit down and join me, yes?" Even in his drunken state and seeing double he could see that she was a very good looking young lady.
Muira grinned, "'Ah can certainly leave you the bottle sir, but 'am afraid sittin' is not in the cards for me tonight," she motioned to the very busy bar around them.
"No, no, no...," he motioned with his hand for her to sit in the chair next to him. "You work too hard here, and anyway, tonight I'd like some company. Please, have a seat."
The smile faded just slightly as she opened the bottle and began to pour him another drink, "Tell yea' what, you drink and ifin' I get the time, I'll come back to you before my shift is up," she answered as she carefully filled his glass then re-closed the bottle and set it on the table beside his glass, "'Ah don' think the boss would be real happy ifin' I was to abandon my job in the middle of such a busy eve."
He reached for her arm and touched her just gently. "Why don’t you have the glass and I'll have the bottle. And would such a sweet girl like you really refuse the lord of this land, the great Phillipe de Bouillon, consort to the Queen, and let me drink by myself? That would be such an insult on a night when I don't think I can take anymore disappointments."
She froze and gawked at the man at the table, feeling her knees grow weak. She had not long been in this land, a few years, but she had heard of him, who hadn’t? Muria found herself sinking down into the chair across from him, "Philippe de Bouillon?" She whispered, "But the Consort died," she breathed looking him in the eye, searching for some sort of lie in his words.
He put the bottle to his lips, took a drink and set it down on the table. He gave a curt laugh and a depressed shake of his head. "If only I had died in the prison, I would be thankful. No, lass, I didn't die; at least not until last night. Last night I truly died." He looked into her beautiful brown eyes. "Please, drink with me. That glass is yours."
She looked down at the glass and smirked then shook her head, "Don'a let the accent fool you my Lord, I don'a drink," she answered pushing the glass away and looked up at him, she wasn't even sure she should remain where she was, she certainly was not good company for any Lord, she was well below his station. "Ifin' I may my Lord, why are you here, surely there are other places where the drink is better and the company finer," she stated, very curious about this man who claimed to be married to the queen.
"Merci, but I am right where I should be, lass. For now on I shall leave the finer things to those born of royalty or with the godlike powers of magic. I'm but a humbled pirate captain without a ship upon which to sail. Nothing more. My wife seems to have liked other men far too much to wait for my return. Well, now she can have all the men she wants. I'm through being a damn consort and following the queen around like some dog. Please...drink with me."
She rolled her eyes and looked at the glass again, she despised the taste of alcohol, she had yet to encounter a drink she liked and the idea of drink the whiskey turned her stomach, but she reached for the glass anyway, only to jump when the meaty hand of her boss wrapped around her wrist, yanking her almost painfully to her feet.
"What the 'ell are you doing?!" He sneered, shoving her back towards the crowd, "yer suppose ta be servin' not sittin' on yer ass!" He snarled at her.
That was all Philippe needed to see.
He needed someone upon whom to take out his anger. He rose to his feet with his rapier in his hand. "Sir! Do you really despise your life so much that you want it to end this minute? Would you deny your lord, the Queen's Consort of Eldicor, the company of this young woman! Perhaps you'd like to shell clams and peel potatoes for the rest of your life, no?"
The innkeeper turned an angry eye on Philippe, his gaze traveling over the man, his lips twisting into a sneer, "The Queen’s consort has been dead for years, your no such man," he growled, not believing a word of it. He had heard plenty of lines in men's attempts to lure in his serving girls.
"Then you have heard wrong, monsieur. I'm Philippe de Bouillon and I returned to Eldicor a fortnight ago. You have but two seconds to apologize to myself and this lady."
Mumbles were heard from several of the patrons. "It is. I recognize him! He's the Queen's husband!"
Muira watched from a safe distance the two as they conversed, by now she should have scampered off to get back to serving, but she believed this man's word.
The big man glared at Philippe then glanced around him, suddenly getting nervous. If he was indeed who he said he was, his own life was in danger. He looked at Muira where she was standing silently watching them, "Well get in here girl, serve the man," he turned back to Philippe," My deepest apologies," he stated smoothly, "I had no idea, and of course she’s yours for the night, as long as you like her, I'm sure we can settle on fair price for a man such as yourself."
Muira paled slightly at her bosses words, he was selling her off as a common whore, she had never agreed to that when she had taken this job and she trembled slightly at where this was going as she moved to get back to the table as she had been instructed to do.
Philippe walked up to the tavern owner. "You know we do not allow slavery or prostitution in Eldicor, don't you?" He was about to say, 'with the exception of the Queen' but he held his tongue.
"If this young lady would join me at this table, it is only of her own free will." He took out a money bag and give the Bloody Drakes owner more than twice the money he would possibly owe for the room and board and drinks. "You may go back to work now." He sheathed his rapier and made it back to his chair and sat down again.
Muira watched her boss weigh the coins before heading away and she slowly sat down once more and looked at Philippe, unsure of what to say or do at that point as she tugged lightly at the ties of her blouse.
"Je regrette, madame. I'm sorry for this minor disturbance." Perhaps 'minor' was not the right word for he had nearly killed the man. He put some silver coins in front of her. "This is just for your time and conversation, nothing more. You are under my protection."
She looked at the silver in shock, for to her that was a week's pay with overtime, "'ah canna' take your money my' lord, you just paid my boss more money then could ever be worth my time," she pointed out a bit nervously.
-=to be continued from roleplay=-
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
Philippe smiled, "There is at least one advantage of having been the Queen's Consort. Money is not a problem. Please, take it. You will not be getting other tips and it would make me happy to give this to you."
Muira looked up at him for a minute more before slowly taking the money, "Thank you," she breathed softly and the coin disappeared into her apron somewhere, her brown eyes returned to his gaze, "You said you were a pirate my Lord?" She questioned softly, not missing the gazes they were getting from those around them, or the whispers being exchanged.
He took another long sip from the bottle of whiskey that she had brought over and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He leaned in closer. "Oui, I'm a pirate,” his eyes were glassy., “but a very poor one evidently. I lost my ship and my crew is dead...they're all dead." He hung his head down. The waves of grief still had a way of washing over him.
Muira's hand automatically closed over his, her fingers curling into his, "I'm sorry to hear that," she stated softly, this man really was down on his luck from what he was telling her. "Were yea' close to your crew my Lord?"
He nodded and then looked back up at her through the long dark hair that had fallen across his face. "We were very close. Some were my friends who traveled with me from France. Others were elfin from here in Eldicor. They were all my friends." His face was pained and he closed his fingers of his left hand closed around hers, glad for her touch. He took another drink. "The last of my crew...my officers...died when we were imprisoned for three years."
She couldn't help but shudder at the thought of being so imprisoned, not for a single day let alone years. "I'm sorry my Lord, my they find rest then in the next life," she glanced at the bottle and gently nudged it away from his hand, the last thing he needed was more to drink.
He was very touched by her words and concerned. He was also a bit too drunk to notice that she moved the bottle away. "But that is not the worst that happen." He looked into her eyes. "This pirate lost his greatest treasure of all."
She watched him with all interest and no lack of pity, "My Lord? Your not referring to your Queen my Lord?"
He gave her hand a bit tighter squeeze and reached for the glass of whiskey that she hadn't drank with his right hand. He downed the drink in one long swallow. "My Queen, my wife, gave our treasure away."
She frowned at the glass and nonchalantly set his bottle on a passing tray to be taken away without a word, "My deepest sympathies my Lord, some women, even noble ones aren’t worth the flesh they are born in," she answered.
"You can say that again," he responded, surprised that this young woman understood him so well. "Can you believe it. She cheated on me. Had sex with another man." He nodded his head to accent his pronouncement.
She nodded, wishing to comfort him, but at a true loss of what to say, "It t'was not right of her to do such a thing to yea' my Lord," she answered, "One must always hold hope close to their heart," her fist touched her bosom for a second before turning to play with the ties of her blouse, "Mayhaps I can take you to your room, surely it would be a better place to speak then here where all ears are turned in your direction my Lord," she pointed out, very aware that gossip would be well spread by tomorrow night on the Queen's consort.
-=to be continued=-
Muira looked up at him for a minute more before slowly taking the money, "Thank you," she breathed softly and the coin disappeared into her apron somewhere, her brown eyes returned to his gaze, "You said you were a pirate my Lord?" She questioned softly, not missing the gazes they were getting from those around them, or the whispers being exchanged.
He took another long sip from the bottle of whiskey that she had brought over and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He leaned in closer. "Oui, I'm a pirate,” his eyes were glassy., “but a very poor one evidently. I lost my ship and my crew is dead...they're all dead." He hung his head down. The waves of grief still had a way of washing over him.
Muira's hand automatically closed over his, her fingers curling into his, "I'm sorry to hear that," she stated softly, this man really was down on his luck from what he was telling her. "Were yea' close to your crew my Lord?"
He nodded and then looked back up at her through the long dark hair that had fallen across his face. "We were very close. Some were my friends who traveled with me from France. Others were elfin from here in Eldicor. They were all my friends." His face was pained and he closed his fingers of his left hand closed around hers, glad for her touch. He took another drink. "The last of my crew...my officers...died when we were imprisoned for three years."
She couldn't help but shudder at the thought of being so imprisoned, not for a single day let alone years. "I'm sorry my Lord, my they find rest then in the next life," she glanced at the bottle and gently nudged it away from his hand, the last thing he needed was more to drink.
He was very touched by her words and concerned. He was also a bit too drunk to notice that she moved the bottle away. "But that is not the worst that happen." He looked into her eyes. "This pirate lost his greatest treasure of all."
She watched him with all interest and no lack of pity, "My Lord? Your not referring to your Queen my Lord?"
He gave her hand a bit tighter squeeze and reached for the glass of whiskey that she hadn't drank with his right hand. He downed the drink in one long swallow. "My Queen, my wife, gave our treasure away."
She frowned at the glass and nonchalantly set his bottle on a passing tray to be taken away without a word, "My deepest sympathies my Lord, some women, even noble ones aren’t worth the flesh they are born in," she answered.
"You can say that again," he responded, surprised that this young woman understood him so well. "Can you believe it. She cheated on me. Had sex with another man." He nodded his head to accent his pronouncement.
She nodded, wishing to comfort him, but at a true loss of what to say, "It t'was not right of her to do such a thing to yea' my Lord," she answered, "One must always hold hope close to their heart," her fist touched her bosom for a second before turning to play with the ties of her blouse, "Mayhaps I can take you to your room, surely it would be a better place to speak then here where all ears are turned in your direction my Lord," she pointed out, very aware that gossip would be well spread by tomorrow night on the Queen's consort.
-=to be continued=-
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
He nodded, grateful that at least one of them was thinking clearly. His eyes couldn't help but look at her bosom when she played with the ties of her blouse. "That, m'lady...is an exceptional idea!" He looked at her and blinked. "But I don't even know your name."
Muira grinned, that could be a good thing, if he did not know her she could slip away as soon as she had him in his room and not be found again, but too many people here knew her, "Muira," she answered as she stood and offered him a supporting arm.
He stood and took her arm for support. "Muira. Now that's a beautiful name." He tried to maintain his balance. "And you are a beautiful lady too!"
She tried hard not to roll her eyes and instead smiled softly, "Thank you," she answered graciously and moved to lead him from his table and towards the back of the tavern and out to the stairs leading to the inn rooms, helping him up the stairs and fishing out a set of keys to unlock one of the doors, letting him into the room.
All the way across the room, Philippe began to sing in his rather good voice, especially for one so drunk:
The sons of the old king were brave men and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to moan;
But the bravest by far and the most popular,
Was Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
If you wanted a man to encourage the clan,
Or harass the foe and the throne;
Storm forts or redoubt, you had only to shout,
For Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
There were villains a plenty, some well known to fame,
Who hated our brave buccaneer;
But the worst one of all was a Turk by the name,
Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.
One day this bold Turk, he shouldered his gun,
His most truculent sneer clearly shown;
He was looking for fun when he happened to run,
Upon Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
They reached the stairs, and while navigating the old steps of the tavern he continued his song:
Said Philip, "Young man, has your life been so dull,
That you now wish to end your career?
Vile infidel know, you have trod on my toe,
Oh Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.”
Said, Abdul, "My friend, your remarks in the end,
Will avail you but little, I fear;
For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive,
For I'm Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.
"So take your last look at the sea and the brook,
And send your regrets on alone;
By which I imply you are going to die,
Captain Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon."
Then this Turk with the scar drew his sharp scimitar,
With a cry of "Allah, condone!"
And with murderous intent, he ferociously went,
For Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
Then all through that night 'neath the moon did they fight,
The din it was heard till the dawn;
And multitudes came, so great was the fame,
Of Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
As Abdul's long knife tried extracting his life,
In fact, as he shouted, "You're done!"
He felt himself struck when forgetting to duck,
By Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
The Sultan rode up the disturbance to quell,
Expecting his villain to cheer;
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh,
Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.
There's a tomb risen up where the Danube doth roll,
And engraved there in characters clear;
Is "Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul,
Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer."
There are heroes a plenty, some well known to fame,
Who's courage is praised by the Throne;
But the best known of all is the man by the name,
Of our Captain, Philippe de Bouillon.
The last two verses were sung as they entered his room. "Ah..here we are! My royal chambers!"
Muira grinned, that could be a good thing, if he did not know her she could slip away as soon as she had him in his room and not be found again, but too many people here knew her, "Muira," she answered as she stood and offered him a supporting arm.
He stood and took her arm for support. "Muira. Now that's a beautiful name." He tried to maintain his balance. "And you are a beautiful lady too!"
She tried hard not to roll her eyes and instead smiled softly, "Thank you," she answered graciously and moved to lead him from his table and towards the back of the tavern and out to the stairs leading to the inn rooms, helping him up the stairs and fishing out a set of keys to unlock one of the doors, letting him into the room.
All the way across the room, Philippe began to sing in his rather good voice, especially for one so drunk:
The sons of the old king were brave men and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to moan;
But the bravest by far and the most popular,
Was Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
If you wanted a man to encourage the clan,
Or harass the foe and the throne;
Storm forts or redoubt, you had only to shout,
For Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
There were villains a plenty, some well known to fame,
Who hated our brave buccaneer;
But the worst one of all was a Turk by the name,
Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.
One day this bold Turk, he shouldered his gun,
His most truculent sneer clearly shown;
He was looking for fun when he happened to run,
Upon Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
They reached the stairs, and while navigating the old steps of the tavern he continued his song:
Said Philip, "Young man, has your life been so dull,
That you now wish to end your career?
Vile infidel know, you have trod on my toe,
Oh Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.”
Said, Abdul, "My friend, your remarks in the end,
Will avail you but little, I fear;
For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive,
For I'm Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.
"So take your last look at the sea and the brook,
And send your regrets on alone;
By which I imply you are going to die,
Captain Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon."
Then this Turk with the scar drew his sharp scimitar,
With a cry of "Allah, condone!"
And with murderous intent, he ferociously went,
For Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
Then all through that night 'neath the moon did they fight,
The din it was heard till the dawn;
And multitudes came, so great was the fame,
Of Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
As Abdul's long knife tried extracting his life,
In fact, as he shouted, "You're done!"
He felt himself struck when forgetting to duck,
By Philippe, the pirate, de Bouillon.
The Sultan rode up the disturbance to quell,
Expecting his villain to cheer;
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh,
Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer.
There's a tomb risen up where the Danube doth roll,
And engraved there in characters clear;
Is "Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul,
Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer."
There are heroes a plenty, some well known to fame,
Who's courage is praised by the Throne;
But the best known of all is the man by the name,
Of our Captain, Philippe de Bouillon.
The last two verses were sung as they entered his room. "Ah..here we are! My royal chambers!"
-
Muira MacKinley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 9
- Joined: Fri Mar 31, 2006 12:03 pm
Philippe leaned on Muira, his arm around her shoulders. "That song...it is the song my crew used to sing about me as they worked on the Lady Venture. They loved me." He had a vague notion that he was now in his room. He could see the bed and nightstand and a bath off to the right. It was a small room but sufficient for him. "Now I have no one to love me. It is a sad thing, no?"
Muira glanced side long at him and felt a twinge of sympathy for him. This man who had stumbled into her bar and was very drunk now, all because the woman he had loved had hurt him. "I'm sure you are mistaken, surely you are loved most dearly."
"On meurt deux fois, je le vois bien: Cesser d'aimer et d'être aimable C'est une mort insupportable; Cesser de vivre, ce n'est rien." (trans: We die twice, I see it well. To cease to love and be lovable is a death unbearable; to cease to live is nothing.) "The Queen, she loves me no more. I see it in her eyes, and now I see it in her actions." He looked to the bed. "Will you sit with me there?"
She was unsure of his first words, and looked at the bed a bit nervously, "Sit with you my Lord? Just sit, right?" She looked towards him, ruffling her skirt a bit nervously.
"But of course. I would not dream of dishonoring a beautiful woman such as yourself." She was indeed a beauty, and from being so close he could tell that her hair smelled delicious. In all the time he has known Teleperien, he had never been this close to another woman. He had forgotten that other women could have a fragrance that he'd find most alluring.
She glanced at him for a minute more before Muira nodded, "Alright," she moved to the bed, slipping off her apron and sitting she began the quick and easy job of folding it on her lap. "If'in I may my Lord? What happened to your vessel?" She asked her gaze flowing over him.
He turned and looked upon her, his deep blue eyes showing the pain. "It has been taken from me. It seems that all my "ladies" have been taken from me. But that one, the Lady Venture, I shall get her back. I swear that!" He smiled and gave her a wink. "That lady was always faithful to me."
She nodded sorry she had asked, not having meant to stir up more hurt. She set the apron on the bed foot beside her looking up at him as she brushed a stray hair back behind his ear. "Then I have no doubt you will find her, you seem a man who gets what he wants when he sets his mind to it."
"I used to think that also, dear lady. And now, what about you? What is it that you want in life? Are you married? Do you have some man who esteems you highly?" He smiled at her touch to his hair. It was nice to be touched that way again.
She dropped her hands to her lap and shook her head, "Nay, not I, I fear I am quiet plain, and hardly worth the notice, unless one is well into the drink," she answered, then bit her lip at what she had just said and looked at him, "Not to say that you're drunk or anything," she continued quickly.
He laughed, "I've been more drunk than this, Muira. And from what I see, it would take blindness for a man not to see that you are indeed a beautiful woman. I would think any man who had your love would be a fortunate man indeed."
Muira smiled softly, "Thank you," she answered softly and looked around the room, "You really could have afforded better with the money you spent on this room my Lord," she pointed out.
He looked around the room. Or was it that his head was still and the room was turning? He wasn't quite sure. It all seemed in slow motion. "Compared to my cell, this is a mansion. Compared to a ship's berth, it's large. Compared to the Queen's palace, it's nothing; but then, I'm not a man who needs palaces." He looked at Muira and smiled, then took her hand into his. "I thank you for looking out for me. If not for you, I'd likely be passed out on the floor beneath my table in the common room."
Muira smirked, "To tell you the truth I'm surprised you made it up the stairs," she answered and looked down at where he had taken her hand, licking her lips as she shifted where she sat to look up at him.
He leaned a little into her and grinned, "Pirates must lean to climb the mast even after they have drank too much rum." He was half teasing and half serious, for they would never know when an emergency might happen. They used to joke that life aboard a pirate ship was weeks of boredom followed by minutes of total excitement. Philippe's shoulder was resting against Muira's and he looked into her beautiful eyes, beginning to really like her company.
She smiled softly, her gaze dropping down his body for a minute before she blushed a deep shade of red and quickly looked away from him, and cleared her throat, "I'm sure it is a very interesting and hard livin'," she answered softly.
"Oui, it is. It's not for everyone. But there is also a good side - the warm ocean breezes after a hot day, the most beautiful of sunsets, the parties on board ship, the sounds of strained ropes and masts putting you to sleep at night." He really missed his ship. "Have you ever been on a ship, Muira?"
"Only once, to come here to stake out a living," she answered with a slight shrug, "T'was a very large vessel, an' I stayed below deck mostly, the captain seemed to think women belonged below deck and not on it."
"Ah...yes. I have heard of such superstitions. I do not believe such things. I would be most pleased to have you on my deck anytime, Muira." He looked down into her eyes. They were so close and she was so beautiful.
She looked up at him, bring her a even closer without meaning to and she smiled just slightly, "I would be most honored to sail with someone so well known as to have a song written for them," she teased softly.
He looked from her hair to her eyes to her lips. His hand touched her hair and his voice was soft and barely a whisper, "Perhaps someday the name Muira will be in the song. You never know."
Muira glanced side long at him and felt a twinge of sympathy for him. This man who had stumbled into her bar and was very drunk now, all because the woman he had loved had hurt him. "I'm sure you are mistaken, surely you are loved most dearly."
"On meurt deux fois, je le vois bien: Cesser d'aimer et d'être aimable C'est une mort insupportable; Cesser de vivre, ce n'est rien." (trans: We die twice, I see it well. To cease to love and be lovable is a death unbearable; to cease to live is nothing.) "The Queen, she loves me no more. I see it in her eyes, and now I see it in her actions." He looked to the bed. "Will you sit with me there?"
She was unsure of his first words, and looked at the bed a bit nervously, "Sit with you my Lord? Just sit, right?" She looked towards him, ruffling her skirt a bit nervously.
"But of course. I would not dream of dishonoring a beautiful woman such as yourself." She was indeed a beauty, and from being so close he could tell that her hair smelled delicious. In all the time he has known Teleperien, he had never been this close to another woman. He had forgotten that other women could have a fragrance that he'd find most alluring.
She glanced at him for a minute more before Muira nodded, "Alright," she moved to the bed, slipping off her apron and sitting she began the quick and easy job of folding it on her lap. "If'in I may my Lord? What happened to your vessel?" She asked her gaze flowing over him.
He turned and looked upon her, his deep blue eyes showing the pain. "It has been taken from me. It seems that all my "ladies" have been taken from me. But that one, the Lady Venture, I shall get her back. I swear that!" He smiled and gave her a wink. "That lady was always faithful to me."
She nodded sorry she had asked, not having meant to stir up more hurt. She set the apron on the bed foot beside her looking up at him as she brushed a stray hair back behind his ear. "Then I have no doubt you will find her, you seem a man who gets what he wants when he sets his mind to it."
"I used to think that also, dear lady. And now, what about you? What is it that you want in life? Are you married? Do you have some man who esteems you highly?" He smiled at her touch to his hair. It was nice to be touched that way again.
She dropped her hands to her lap and shook her head, "Nay, not I, I fear I am quiet plain, and hardly worth the notice, unless one is well into the drink," she answered, then bit her lip at what she had just said and looked at him, "Not to say that you're drunk or anything," she continued quickly.
He laughed, "I've been more drunk than this, Muira. And from what I see, it would take blindness for a man not to see that you are indeed a beautiful woman. I would think any man who had your love would be a fortunate man indeed."
Muira smiled softly, "Thank you," she answered softly and looked around the room, "You really could have afforded better with the money you spent on this room my Lord," she pointed out.
He looked around the room. Or was it that his head was still and the room was turning? He wasn't quite sure. It all seemed in slow motion. "Compared to my cell, this is a mansion. Compared to a ship's berth, it's large. Compared to the Queen's palace, it's nothing; but then, I'm not a man who needs palaces." He looked at Muira and smiled, then took her hand into his. "I thank you for looking out for me. If not for you, I'd likely be passed out on the floor beneath my table in the common room."
Muira smirked, "To tell you the truth I'm surprised you made it up the stairs," she answered and looked down at where he had taken her hand, licking her lips as she shifted where she sat to look up at him.
He leaned a little into her and grinned, "Pirates must lean to climb the mast even after they have drank too much rum." He was half teasing and half serious, for they would never know when an emergency might happen. They used to joke that life aboard a pirate ship was weeks of boredom followed by minutes of total excitement. Philippe's shoulder was resting against Muira's and he looked into her beautiful eyes, beginning to really like her company.
She smiled softly, her gaze dropping down his body for a minute before she blushed a deep shade of red and quickly looked away from him, and cleared her throat, "I'm sure it is a very interesting and hard livin'," she answered softly.
"Oui, it is. It's not for everyone. But there is also a good side - the warm ocean breezes after a hot day, the most beautiful of sunsets, the parties on board ship, the sounds of strained ropes and masts putting you to sleep at night." He really missed his ship. "Have you ever been on a ship, Muira?"
"Only once, to come here to stake out a living," she answered with a slight shrug, "T'was a very large vessel, an' I stayed below deck mostly, the captain seemed to think women belonged below deck and not on it."
"Ah...yes. I have heard of such superstitions. I do not believe such things. I would be most pleased to have you on my deck anytime, Muira." He looked down into her eyes. They were so close and she was so beautiful.
She looked up at him, bring her a even closer without meaning to and she smiled just slightly, "I would be most honored to sail with someone so well known as to have a song written for them," she teased softly.
He looked from her hair to her eyes to her lips. His hand touched her hair and his voice was soft and barely a whisper, "Perhaps someday the name Muira will be in the song. You never know."
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
Muira smiled softly, leaning into his touch just slightly, "I doubt that highly, my Lord. I fear I do nothing so awe inspiring as all that. That’s what happens when one is confined to a city and its employ."
"Ah, but one such as you should never be confined! I sense you have the spirit of adventure in you. Am I not right?" His fingers continued to play with her hair.
She smiled softly and lowered her gaze once more, "You could say that. I know my father did not approve me leaving to come here, but staying in such a small village did not appeal to me at all," she added and smiled, "Truth is, I kind of liked the ocean journey here, but I fear I haven't the money to take such long trips."
"Ah ha! I could tell! Captain La Fontaine can look into the eyes of a person and if there is water there, I can see it; and in your eyes, Muira, is the sea itself, glorious in its depth!" His fingers moved lightly over her cheek as he admired the young lady.
Muira blinked in shock, "In its..." she trailed off feeling his touch to her cheek and she met his gaze once more, "I doubt I would be much good on the water, I'm more like a clumsy pup then any kind of lady at all."
"He let his hand drift from her face. I don't think you can be clumsy. People can do what they set their minds to do. They have but to reach out and grasp what they want in life."
Muira smiled sweetly at his words, "Very true," she answered and watched him for a minute before she moved to stand, "Perhaps I should go, let you get some sleep," she stated softly.
Out of politeness, he stood with her, but quickly had to use her shoulder for support. "My legs...they are used to a rocking ship. So when I stand on land I sometimes loose my balance. It is a strange thing." That was the excuse he used and he only hoped that Muira bought it.
She tried hard not to laugh as she moved to give him that support, suddenly very, very close to him, her lips inches from his as she smiled softly, "Of course, I could see where sea legs would be a problem on land," she lied in a soft whisper.
He had a hand upon each of her shoulders, then just pulled her to his chest and embraced her. His cheek leaned against her hair. "Thank you for being with me, Muira." He needed someone. He was so hurt and lonely.
She shifted against his hold and smiled softly as she allowed herself to return the embrace, supporting him at the same time, "It has been my pleasure, it has been the highlight of my time here, no day compares to this eve."
He smiled and lifted her chin with the tips of two fingers. "You are too kind, Muira. I'm but a drunk pirate." His eyes looked to her lips and he placed a soft, lingering kiss upon them. "Thank you for all you did tonight. I hope I get to see you tomorrow."
Muira was shocked by the tenderness of the kiss, she had seen it coming but had expected something drunker, something stronger. She smiled softly and nodded, "I work just about every night my Lord, I will be here," she answered softly.
"I would like to see you tomorrow night. I promise I'll be in better condition." He smiled and staggered back to the bed and sat down and worked at his boots.
She watched him for a minute then turned to head for the door pausing to look back at him once more, "I'll make sure one of the maids brings you breakfast in the morning, something easy on your stomach and good for your head," she stated with an amused smile.
He looked up as he removed his shirt. "Thank you, Muria. You are the kindest of all women." He gave her a wink.
She smiled again and pushed out the door trying hard not to think about how much she wanted to see more of that body as she headed for the stairs and her need to get back to work.
"Ah, but one such as you should never be confined! I sense you have the spirit of adventure in you. Am I not right?" His fingers continued to play with her hair.
She smiled softly and lowered her gaze once more, "You could say that. I know my father did not approve me leaving to come here, but staying in such a small village did not appeal to me at all," she added and smiled, "Truth is, I kind of liked the ocean journey here, but I fear I haven't the money to take such long trips."
"Ah ha! I could tell! Captain La Fontaine can look into the eyes of a person and if there is water there, I can see it; and in your eyes, Muira, is the sea itself, glorious in its depth!" His fingers moved lightly over her cheek as he admired the young lady.
Muira blinked in shock, "In its..." she trailed off feeling his touch to her cheek and she met his gaze once more, "I doubt I would be much good on the water, I'm more like a clumsy pup then any kind of lady at all."
"He let his hand drift from her face. I don't think you can be clumsy. People can do what they set their minds to do. They have but to reach out and grasp what they want in life."
Muira smiled sweetly at his words, "Very true," she answered and watched him for a minute before she moved to stand, "Perhaps I should go, let you get some sleep," she stated softly.
Out of politeness, he stood with her, but quickly had to use her shoulder for support. "My legs...they are used to a rocking ship. So when I stand on land I sometimes loose my balance. It is a strange thing." That was the excuse he used and he only hoped that Muira bought it.
She tried hard not to laugh as she moved to give him that support, suddenly very, very close to him, her lips inches from his as she smiled softly, "Of course, I could see where sea legs would be a problem on land," she lied in a soft whisper.
He had a hand upon each of her shoulders, then just pulled her to his chest and embraced her. His cheek leaned against her hair. "Thank you for being with me, Muira." He needed someone. He was so hurt and lonely.
She shifted against his hold and smiled softly as she allowed herself to return the embrace, supporting him at the same time, "It has been my pleasure, it has been the highlight of my time here, no day compares to this eve."
He smiled and lifted her chin with the tips of two fingers. "You are too kind, Muira. I'm but a drunk pirate." His eyes looked to her lips and he placed a soft, lingering kiss upon them. "Thank you for all you did tonight. I hope I get to see you tomorrow."
Muira was shocked by the tenderness of the kiss, she had seen it coming but had expected something drunker, something stronger. She smiled softly and nodded, "I work just about every night my Lord, I will be here," she answered softly.
"I would like to see you tomorrow night. I promise I'll be in better condition." He smiled and staggered back to the bed and sat down and worked at his boots.
She watched him for a minute then turned to head for the door pausing to look back at him once more, "I'll make sure one of the maids brings you breakfast in the morning, something easy on your stomach and good for your head," she stated with an amused smile.
He looked up as he removed his shirt. "Thank you, Muria. You are the kindest of all women." He gave her a wink.
She smiled again and pushed out the door trying hard not to think about how much she wanted to see more of that body as she headed for the stairs and her need to get back to work.
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
Philippe slept the first half of the night with one foot on the floor to steady his spinning head. The second half of the night was restless sleep, but he awoke feeling reasonably well.
The pirate showered, put on clean clothes, straighened his room and descended the stairs to the common room.
He may have been drunk the night before, but he remembered everything that happened. Even though Muira said she wouldn't be here in the morning, he still looked for her. He wanted to see her again.
He took a table and ordered the full "Eldicor Breakfast" that was listed on the chalk board.
He was hungry. Damn hungry.
The pirate showered, put on clean clothes, straighened his room and descended the stairs to the common room.
He may have been drunk the night before, but he remembered everything that happened. Even though Muira said she wouldn't be here in the morning, he still looked for her. He wanted to see her again.
He took a table and ordered the full "Eldicor Breakfast" that was listed on the chalk board.
He was hungry. Damn hungry.
In the Bloody Drake Inn, guests were filtering into the common room; sleep still in their face looking for cups of coffee or tea. One solitary figure was tucking into a breakfast with relish. The door opens, a small company of elves stride into the inn. Tall and imposing with their hauberks of white and gold. Gwindor entered, followed by a small, cloaked figure. The seven foot elf ignored the stares and whispers of the inhabitants. He spotted his quarry. He reached Philippe’s table in three strides. The little cloaked figure hurried behind him.
Gwindor looked down at Philippe. “Lord, you are needed at once.” He paused and said in a lower voice. “The Lady is gravely ill.”
The small figure watched from behind the elf. Together they wait for the answer of Philippe de Bouillon.
Gwindor looked down at Philippe. “Lord, you are needed at once.” He paused and said in a lower voice. “The Lady is gravely ill.”
The small figure watched from behind the elf. Together they wait for the answer of Philippe de Bouillon.
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Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
Philippe saw them coming and recognized Gwindor and each of the elves with him. He nonchalantly continued to cut his sausage and put a slice into his mouth from his fork.
“Quite an entourage you have there, Gwindor. You say you’re looking for the lord of this land, yet you come here as if you’re after a pack of criminals.”
Philippe leaned back and dabbed his lips with his napkin. “The Lady is ill? Maybe she caught what ever Jack Gray died of.”
He reached for a slice of toast that had been buttered and jellied. “The ‘Lady’”, he accented the word, “has all the wizards and physicians she needs to make her well. The ‘Lady’ evidently doesn’t need me anymore. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”
He would much rather be seeing Muira. At least she made him feel like a man again. The Queen made him feel like nothing more than an insignificant subject, waiting about the palace until she wanted to be pleasured. Where had their love gone? Where was her faithfulness, her integrity, her morality? He didn’t know Teleperien anymore. The woman he came home to was not the woman he left. The woman who had replaced his wife was not one he could love.
He would ask for a divorce.
“Quite an entourage you have there, Gwindor. You say you’re looking for the lord of this land, yet you come here as if you’re after a pack of criminals.”
Philippe leaned back and dabbed his lips with his napkin. “The Lady is ill? Maybe she caught what ever Jack Gray died of.”
He reached for a slice of toast that had been buttered and jellied. “The ‘Lady’”, he accented the word, “has all the wizards and physicians she needs to make her well. The ‘Lady’ evidently doesn’t need me anymore. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”
He would much rather be seeing Muira. At least she made him feel like a man again. The Queen made him feel like nothing more than an insignificant subject, waiting about the palace until she wanted to be pleasured. Where had their love gone? Where was her faithfulness, her integrity, her morality? He didn’t know Teleperien anymore. The woman he came home to was not the woman he left. The woman who had replaced his wife was not one he could love.
He would ask for a divorce.
From beneath her hood Erwyn watched as Gwindor’s face grew angry. She knew why. Philippe had dared to insult the queen in front of those in the Inn who watched with stunned silence. The elf grabbed Philippe’s collar and lifted him easily from his seat, knocking his chair to the floor, feet dangling. Another elf took his pistols and rapier with lightening fast movements.
“Gwindor! NO! Let him go.” Erwyn commanded sharply. Anger welled inside her as well, but she knew bullying the pirate would not serve a purpose. She hoped a plea would soften Philippe’s resolve.
“As you wish.” Gwindor growled. He opened his hand and Philippe landed, a little off balance.
“Leave us Gwindor.”
The elf gave Philippe one last glare and the pair of elves stalked back to the others who waited. They did not return the weapons. When she was quite sure they were alone the Erwyn moved to where her back was to the elves and the rest of the patrons that clustered together with wide eyed interest. She did not wish to have this overheard by anyone. Her voice was soft and low as she spoke.
“The entourage as you call it was not only for you, Lord. It is for my protection as well.”
As she spoke she reached up and pulled her hood back, Erwyn could hear the gasps behind her.
“It’s the princess!” Someone exclaimed. The murmurs were both excited and in wonder what brought her here. Another voice said “She came into my shop with her friends a few weeks ago.”
“Aye mine as well.”
Erwyn however did not pay heed to all the exclamations. She focused on the husband of her mother. Her blue eyes were sad and face reflected fear that churned inside. She wondered to herself if she had been rash when insisting she accompany Gwindor. She decided to tell all and let the outcome on its own.
"I will not dwell on the many details, for time is precious."
Philippe gave a dismissive wave and started to turn away. Erwyn grabbed his arm. "Please.. hear me out."
Grudgingly he nodded, picked up his chair, leaned against the table, his arms crossed.
"My mother, as you may remember was taken captive not quite a year back. The tortures she endured had been beyond description. No scars are found on her body because of her own ability to heal. The instruments used however, poisoned her. Not one that brings death, but one much more fell, darker. To be under the dominion of another who controlled her thoughts and actions. The change was so gradual; none really noticed it until this last fortnight.”
Erwyn took a deep breath and plunged into dangerous waters.
“When she brought home the other (meaning Jack Grey) we knew something was terribly wrong. Her skin had changed; her person became one of anger and disregard of other’s feelings. When you returned, we had hoped this would bring her to her former self, for a short time it did.”
As she spoke, Philippe’s face showed skepticism, but he did not interrupt her. Erwyn continued, her blue eyes were starting to well with tears, but her voice remained strong.
“When you left, she changed dramatically. The change of her voice and body as well as total disregard of others alarmed everyone from scullary maid to the Steward Borin. The entire castle was in uproar. I went in search of her adviser, Xenograg. The general summoned Alatar who came at once. The wizard removed this.. evil .. from her. Though evil had been captured and removed, she remains cold and unmoving. Alatar, Xenograg as well as myself tried to reach her all this last night.
"The queen… my mother… has no will to live. Alatar sent us to seek your return. She loves you Lord.” Her eyes pleaded he believe her. “My Lord.. Philippe…she loves you heart and soul.”
At this he harrumphed.
“I cannot prove nor persuade you to believe me, that you must find for yourself.” Erwyn continued, her voice dropped even lower. The tears now spilled over and trickled down her face. “Please come and bring her back. If not for you, do it for those who still love her.”
“Gwindor! NO! Let him go.” Erwyn commanded sharply. Anger welled inside her as well, but she knew bullying the pirate would not serve a purpose. She hoped a plea would soften Philippe’s resolve.
“As you wish.” Gwindor growled. He opened his hand and Philippe landed, a little off balance.
“Leave us Gwindor.”
The elf gave Philippe one last glare and the pair of elves stalked back to the others who waited. They did not return the weapons. When she was quite sure they were alone the Erwyn moved to where her back was to the elves and the rest of the patrons that clustered together with wide eyed interest. She did not wish to have this overheard by anyone. Her voice was soft and low as she spoke.
“The entourage as you call it was not only for you, Lord. It is for my protection as well.”
As she spoke she reached up and pulled her hood back, Erwyn could hear the gasps behind her.
“It’s the princess!” Someone exclaimed. The murmurs were both excited and in wonder what brought her here. Another voice said “She came into my shop with her friends a few weeks ago.”
“Aye mine as well.”
Erwyn however did not pay heed to all the exclamations. She focused on the husband of her mother. Her blue eyes were sad and face reflected fear that churned inside. She wondered to herself if she had been rash when insisting she accompany Gwindor. She decided to tell all and let the outcome on its own.
"I will not dwell on the many details, for time is precious."
Philippe gave a dismissive wave and started to turn away. Erwyn grabbed his arm. "Please.. hear me out."
Grudgingly he nodded, picked up his chair, leaned against the table, his arms crossed.
"My mother, as you may remember was taken captive not quite a year back. The tortures she endured had been beyond description. No scars are found on her body because of her own ability to heal. The instruments used however, poisoned her. Not one that brings death, but one much more fell, darker. To be under the dominion of another who controlled her thoughts and actions. The change was so gradual; none really noticed it until this last fortnight.”
Erwyn took a deep breath and plunged into dangerous waters.
“When she brought home the other (meaning Jack Grey) we knew something was terribly wrong. Her skin had changed; her person became one of anger and disregard of other’s feelings. When you returned, we had hoped this would bring her to her former self, for a short time it did.”
As she spoke, Philippe’s face showed skepticism, but he did not interrupt her. Erwyn continued, her blue eyes were starting to well with tears, but her voice remained strong.
“When you left, she changed dramatically. The change of her voice and body as well as total disregard of others alarmed everyone from scullary maid to the Steward Borin. The entire castle was in uproar. I went in search of her adviser, Xenograg. The general summoned Alatar who came at once. The wizard removed this.. evil .. from her. Though evil had been captured and removed, she remains cold and unmoving. Alatar, Xenograg as well as myself tried to reach her all this last night.
"The queen… my mother… has no will to live. Alatar sent us to seek your return. She loves you Lord.” Her eyes pleaded he believe her. “My Lord.. Philippe…she loves you heart and soul.”
At this he harrumphed.
“I cannot prove nor persuade you to believe me, that you must find for yourself.” Erwyn continued, her voice dropped even lower. The tears now spilled over and trickled down her face. “Please come and bring her back. If not for you, do it for those who still love her.”
-
Philippe de Bouillon
- Adventurer
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Jan 06, 2006 7:13 pm
- Location: Kindgom of Eldicor, Rhydin
Philippe de Bouillon didn’t know what had come over him. It was almost as if it wasn’t himself controlling his actions and thoughts. That seemed to be a common thing in Eldicor these days.
He looked at Erwyn and smiled. He loved the princess as if she were his own, and would never want to see her hurting. “If I had seen you behind Gwindor, I’d have acted differently. I’ve never stopped loving your mother, Erwyn. It was she who stopped loving me. I’ve been hurt and have had to do some deep soul-searching, but my love for your mother has been as constant as the navigation stars.”
He put his hand upon her shoulder and smiled, “Come, let us go see your mother; and if there is any way that I can help, I shall do all that I can.”
He led the way toward the door, but as soon as he was next to Gwindor, Philippe attacked with lightning speed, knocking the elf over a table and to the floor. In an instant Philippe had pulled from his boot a knife that the elves had missed in their confiscation, and had the razor-sharp blade at Gwindor’s throat.
The pirate sat upon him, his left hand grasping the elf’s hair and holding his head back, the right hand holding the blade at the throat.
“You piece of elfin scum,” Philippe spit out the words, the look in his eyes deadly. “You would dare to lay your filthy hands on me? I still out-rank you in this kingdom and I have every right to take your head from your pitiful shoulders. The other elves stood there with their halberd’s and swords pointing at Philippe, unsure how to intervene without sacrificing Gwindor’s life.
“You kill me and you’re dead in an instant,” Gwindor said with a smirk, looking up at Philippe.
The pirate laughed. “Let me spell it out for you really clearly, you f***ing piece of elf garbage. My crew is dead….my friends are dead….my ship is lost…and the one woman I have loved in all my life has slept with another and no longer loves me. Do you really think that I care one f***ing bit if I live or die? Can you really be that stupid? That makes me the most dangerous person in this room.”
The razor-sharp edge of the knife began to draw blood, and it trickled down Gwindor’s neck. Philippe could now see the fear in the elf lord’s eyes. One push on the blade and the elf’s head would be rolling on the floor.
“I will not be led back to the castle like some f***ing prisoner of yours, so this is now what I command you to do, Gwindor. Tell your prissy little elves to give me back my weapons.
“NOW!”
Gwindor looked to the elves and nodded. Hesitantly they laid Philippe’s pistols and rapier by his side.
“Very good. You’re learning your place.” More blood trickled down Gwindor’s neck. “Now, as Erwyn and I walk to the palace, you and your entourage, as I call it, will follow us in double file, twenty-five paces back. Is that clear?”
Gwindor nodded.
“Good. And if you ever lay your f***ing hands on me again, so help me I’ll cut you in such small pieces that even minnows will complain about the portion size.”
Philippe stood, put his pistols in his belt, his rapier in its scabbard, and his knife back into his boot. He looked to the innkeeper, “This elf will pay for that most excellent breakfast. I'll be back.”
He turned to Erwyn and smiled, “Let’s go see if we can get your mother well.”
The journey back to the castle was exactly as Philippe commanded. He and Erwyn walked twenty-five paces in front of the elvin entourage, and conversed about many things.
He looked at Erwyn and smiled. He loved the princess as if she were his own, and would never want to see her hurting. “If I had seen you behind Gwindor, I’d have acted differently. I’ve never stopped loving your mother, Erwyn. It was she who stopped loving me. I’ve been hurt and have had to do some deep soul-searching, but my love for your mother has been as constant as the navigation stars.”
He put his hand upon her shoulder and smiled, “Come, let us go see your mother; and if there is any way that I can help, I shall do all that I can.”
He led the way toward the door, but as soon as he was next to Gwindor, Philippe attacked with lightning speed, knocking the elf over a table and to the floor. In an instant Philippe had pulled from his boot a knife that the elves had missed in their confiscation, and had the razor-sharp blade at Gwindor’s throat.
The pirate sat upon him, his left hand grasping the elf’s hair and holding his head back, the right hand holding the blade at the throat.
“You piece of elfin scum,” Philippe spit out the words, the look in his eyes deadly. “You would dare to lay your filthy hands on me? I still out-rank you in this kingdom and I have every right to take your head from your pitiful shoulders. The other elves stood there with their halberd’s and swords pointing at Philippe, unsure how to intervene without sacrificing Gwindor’s life.
“You kill me and you’re dead in an instant,” Gwindor said with a smirk, looking up at Philippe.
The pirate laughed. “Let me spell it out for you really clearly, you f***ing piece of elf garbage. My crew is dead….my friends are dead….my ship is lost…and the one woman I have loved in all my life has slept with another and no longer loves me. Do you really think that I care one f***ing bit if I live or die? Can you really be that stupid? That makes me the most dangerous person in this room.”
The razor-sharp edge of the knife began to draw blood, and it trickled down Gwindor’s neck. Philippe could now see the fear in the elf lord’s eyes. One push on the blade and the elf’s head would be rolling on the floor.
“I will not be led back to the castle like some f***ing prisoner of yours, so this is now what I command you to do, Gwindor. Tell your prissy little elves to give me back my weapons.
“NOW!”
Gwindor looked to the elves and nodded. Hesitantly they laid Philippe’s pistols and rapier by his side.
“Very good. You’re learning your place.” More blood trickled down Gwindor’s neck. “Now, as Erwyn and I walk to the palace, you and your entourage, as I call it, will follow us in double file, twenty-five paces back. Is that clear?”
Gwindor nodded.
“Good. And if you ever lay your f***ing hands on me again, so help me I’ll cut you in such small pieces that even minnows will complain about the portion size.”
Philippe stood, put his pistols in his belt, his rapier in its scabbard, and his knife back into his boot. He looked to the innkeeper, “This elf will pay for that most excellent breakfast. I'll be back.”
He turned to Erwyn and smiled, “Let’s go see if we can get your mother well.”
The journey back to the castle was exactly as Philippe commanded. He and Erwyn walked twenty-five paces in front of the elvin entourage, and conversed about many things.
“Now, as Erwyn and I walk to the palace, you and your entourage, as I call it, will follow us in double file, twenty-five paces back. Is that clear?”
After receiving a warning glance from Erwyn, Gwindor nodded. It was much more important to see Philippe to the castle than to protect his pride. Gwindor, much seasoned in battle both in Middle Earth and Eldicor, could have killed Philippe without effort.
“Good. And if you ever lay your f***ing hands on me again, so help me I’ll cut you in such small pieces that even minnows will complain about the portion size.”
Philippe looked to the innkeeper, “This elf will pay for that most excellent breakfast. I'll be back.”
He turned to Erwyn and smiled, “Let’s go see if we can get your mother well.”
Gwindor tossed a small bag of gold to the keeper and followed the required 25 steps behind the arrogant pirate. He dared to insult the queen, to downgrade her to the role of a prostitue in front of the entire inn. This was not done yet.
After receiving a warning glance from Erwyn, Gwindor nodded. It was much more important to see Philippe to the castle than to protect his pride. Gwindor, much seasoned in battle both in Middle Earth and Eldicor, could have killed Philippe without effort.
“Good. And if you ever lay your f***ing hands on me again, so help me I’ll cut you in such small pieces that even minnows will complain about the portion size.”
Philippe looked to the innkeeper, “This elf will pay for that most excellent breakfast. I'll be back.”
He turned to Erwyn and smiled, “Let’s go see if we can get your mother well.”
Gwindor tossed a small bag of gold to the keeper and followed the required 25 steps behind the arrogant pirate. He dared to insult the queen, to downgrade her to the role of a prostitue in front of the entire inn. This was not done yet.
Watching the attack on Gwindor shook Erwyn. She did not approve of his treatment of the pirate, but the vehemence of Philippe’s reaction frightened her. After throwing Gwindor a warning look as if to say, “Don’t.” The elf agreed to the terms. Philippe waited for her to go ahead of him and fell into step with Erwyn.
Philippe started to speak to her. As grateful as she was that he agreed to go with her, Erwyn could not keep a good conversation. She responded correctly and politely but her mind was in the bedchambers where her mother lay. They arrived at the gate and it swung open. Borin stood there awaiting them. His face was inscrutable. Looking at the lagging elven guard, his baritone voice was both sad and tired.
“Gwindor, I thank ye. I wi’ take it frum here.” He looked at Erwyn and Philippe, lingering longer on Philippe’s face. A flicker of disappointment flashed in his eyes. He turned and lead the way to Teleperien’s bedchamber without speaking.
At the door, Borin knocked. A voice called, “Come in Borin.”
Erwyn noticed that Xenograg was gone. Probably returned to his home for some rest. Also the room was tidied, and the bed was smoother. Alatar rose to his feet and to Erwyn said, “Child, you must leave. Do not come back until we call for you.”
First the young princess hurried to her mother’s side and kissed her cold forehead and whispered, “Philippe is here.” She took Tele’s limp hand and held it to her cheek. Laying it back down gently she turned and looked up at Philippe then left without a word.
She ran to the library, weeping as she went. Once in the library she laid on the sofa and cried herself to sleep.
Philippe started to speak to her. As grateful as she was that he agreed to go with her, Erwyn could not keep a good conversation. She responded correctly and politely but her mind was in the bedchambers where her mother lay. They arrived at the gate and it swung open. Borin stood there awaiting them. His face was inscrutable. Looking at the lagging elven guard, his baritone voice was both sad and tired.
“Gwindor, I thank ye. I wi’ take it frum here.” He looked at Erwyn and Philippe, lingering longer on Philippe’s face. A flicker of disappointment flashed in his eyes. He turned and lead the way to Teleperien’s bedchamber without speaking.
At the door, Borin knocked. A voice called, “Come in Borin.”
Erwyn noticed that Xenograg was gone. Probably returned to his home for some rest. Also the room was tidied, and the bed was smoother. Alatar rose to his feet and to Erwyn said, “Child, you must leave. Do not come back until we call for you.”
First the young princess hurried to her mother’s side and kissed her cold forehead and whispered, “Philippe is here.” She took Tele’s limp hand and held it to her cheek. Laying it back down gently she turned and looked up at Philippe then left without a word.
She ran to the library, weeping as she went. Once in the library she laid on the sofa and cried herself to sleep.
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