Call Me Inktomi

[Orccor]

You have a great creative side to you. Keep it coming.

<pours ice water over Krassus>

[krassus]

hehe =) I wish i was creative, im more of a numbers kind of guy though

[Orccor]

Yeah Krassus I hear you on that. Numbers are logical this I understand.

Hey Inktomi, maybe a Orc could cross your path. He is Tall, blue eyes, and really nice shade of green. And doesn't remove robes.......armor on the other hand!!!

[krassus]

you're quote is amazing, thats my new logic for when my GF bitches about my weekend binges

[Orccor]

Yeah I started using that about 9 years ago when I upgraded GF 1.0 to WIFE 2.0. I'm still working the bugs that I'm sure Sigil added in as an after thought. But the beer seems to help the refresh rate.

[Erzuli]

I was going to post more of the story, but it has sort of *ahem* gone off track. Would it help if I pointed out that I am a 50 year old nun?

[Erzuli]

Stranger in a hot land – call me inktomi part 3


“I’LL SPEAK ABOOT ME COUSIN ANY WAY I PLEASE!!” the drunken dwarf yelled and slammed her mug on the table – and in the process spilling most of it’s contents either on table, floor or her companion Lara.

Lara set enough gold on the table to cover both the drinks and the damage and pulled her friend over to the door of the Crooked Keel Tavern.

“Not,” she said, pushing Brighde through the door of the tavern, “when your cousin is also the Thane, and ESPECIALLY not when that same Thane is like two peas in a pod with the Flamehammer family.”

“BAH!” roared Brighde, stumbling away from the tavern and just narrowly missing a headlong tumble off the docks that fronted the tavern. She stopped, steadying herself with one hand on a nearby wall and turned back to Lara…

“Who cares aboot the Flamehammers? Ye air nothin’ but a cowaird, she said to her friend with a look that was originally mean to be a look of distain but came out looking more like someone who was trying to figure out why a multi-legged creature was crawling up her arm. The look on Brighde’s face rapidly changed from mock distain to shock as her friend whisked her off her feet and into a nearby darkened corner.

“I CARE about the Flamehammers that’s who,” said Lara.

Now she had Brighde by the color of her hauberk. Lara lowered her voice in a whispered threat just next to Brighde’s ear.

“I’ll thankee not tae speak about me king and ‘is family like that. And do NOT mistake the fact that we are childhood friends fer me willingness tae be called a coward be ye’ or anyone else. Do ye remember what happened th’ last time ye said that?”

Brighde rubbed the back of her neck where a scar still hurt her when it rained.

“Ye snuck up behind me, said Brighde in a level voice. Ye’ would never beat me in a stand up fight”

“A large smile ran across Lara’s face. Of course I would nae beat ye’ in a stand up fight. Why else would I sneak up behind ye?”

“Because yer’ a thief?”

“Well, there is that as well, said Lara patting her old friend on the back. Come lets be off tae yer room…such as it is. We need tae get ye ready fer the long trip back tae Bordinar’s Cleft. Ye nae want tae be late fer your mother’s funeral.”

“I kin nae believe she’s gone,” slurred Brighde through tears. “After all these years…God rest Mothairs dear soul.”

Brighde started off down the narrow dirt path that passed for a sidewalk and started to stumble. Lara steadied her friend and supported her under one arm.

Brighde turned to her childhood friend, and sniffed back her runny nose. The tears flowed silently and Brighde smiled a bit.

“It’s nae true what they said aboot ‘er ye’ know”

“What be that?” asked Lara

“That she drown’ in a vat of ale…” started Brighde

“…and she fought ‘em off three times afore she finally drown” they both finished at the same time. The both women roared with laughter.

“Come on’ let me help you home, or ye’ will end up fallin’ into the bay fer sure fer sure.”

Copyright ©2007 Juliemarie Whitefeather

[Erzuli]

Call me inktomi part four..."politicus creo remigis"

“Where I come from,” said Inktomi the goblin to the man sitting next to her, “We have an expression.”

The man sitting next to Inktomi let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes, having heard this sort of thing before – many times before.

“That expression,” continued Inktomi, or ‘Inky’ to her friends, among which the man sitting next to Inktomi was not counted, “ is…”

Here Inky paused for dramatic effect.

“…politicus creo remigis”

Actually, the man sitting next to Inktomi was not a man, nor could he properly be thought of as particularly sitting next to Inky. Actually he was a wood elf and, much to his utter and everlasting dismay, he was actually chained next to Inky – the both of them being chained to the same oar. And hence Inky’s comment.

“which means?” muttered the wood elf after a particularly long and deliberate pause, which was Inky’s more than obvious attempt to draw her oarmate into the conversation.

“politics makes strange oarsmates” chimed in the ever, and in this case irritatingly, cheerful goblin.

The wood elf leaned on the oar, the handle of which rose and fell with the tides against the side of the ship, now anchored for the night. He turned to Inky and hissed though clenched teeth, not daring to awaken the row master asleep in the chair at the other end of the deck.

“In the first place, the only reason you are chained next to me, is that goblins are so incredibly ugly that the slave master couldn’t tell you are a female. In the second place I am not your mate…I would rather be dead than be so.”

Undaunted, Inky smiled up at the wood elf.

“You’ll come around, she said. You may think I am ugly now, but after a few years chained to the same oar, you’ll be surprised how good I will start to look.”

There was a long pause where Inky simply returned the glower of hatred directed at her by the elf, with what passed amongst goblins as a disarming smile. Actually it looked more like a mischievous grin to the unpracticed eye, not used to goblins. But whatever it was, mischievous or disarming, the wood elf still wondered what the goblin was up to, aside from about four feet, two inches.

From the other end of the deck, the row master snored loudly, whip in hand. Water slapped up along side of the wooden hull as it rose and fell. Here and there some of the galley slaves remained awake, most were asleep after a hard day rowing. Inky turned to her wood elf companion, who was staring at the moonlight filtering down through the hatch that lead to the deck. She looked at him intently for awhile, then broke the silence.

“You could at least be civil,” she said. “it would at least help pass the time – which we appear to have in great quantities.”

Calmer now, and not taking his eyes off the moonlight, the wood elf said simply, “I guess.”

Another long pause ensued during which the wood elf stared at the moonlight and Inky got a bit irritated.

“Well?” she said in a loud whisper.

“Well what?” came the reply.

“We’re both awake, how about a little polite conversation?”

“Like?”

“I don’t know, like how you came to be chained to the same oar as a goblin strikes me as a good place to start. You could also tell me your name. It would be nice not to have to call you just ‘elf’ for a change.”

Copyright © 2007 Julie Whitefeather

[Orccor]

Nice, you know at the rate you going you will have a book in about a month.

I would buy it.

[Erzuli]

Originally Posted by Orccor

Nice, you know at the rate you going you will have a book in about a month.

I would buy it.

Thank you for the compliment. In fact, that is my hope. I write for one podcast and have been asked to submit articles for another.