Call Me Inktomi

Erzuli · 04-02-2007, 01:01 PM

Call me Inktomi. In my homeland I was a princess, thousands lived and died at my command. Okay, maybe not a princess, but all the same…thousands lived and died at my command. Alright, alright I wasn’t a princess, nobody lived and died at my command but I was definitely, DEFINITELY well thought of. Ok. Nobody ever heard of me. None of it is true. But one thing IS true. Where I come from, Martok City, there is an expression:

Loth Si Viveret Ad Remum Dareris…

"If Loth were alive today you would be chained to an oar." And since Loth is very much alive today, as well as the walking anthropomorphic hunk of swamp stench, Krajin, I – a lone goblin - found myself chained to an oar.

The Martok clan and the Gulgrethor clan have been at war for centuries. How did it all start? I don’t even think they know any more. The problem with orcs is they seem to like to fight. If they don’t have someone else to fight, in short order they will start fighting each other. Orcs in Kojan tend to look down at us, and I don’t mean just because of how short we are. The second biggest problem that goblins had in my old neighborhood was drunken orcs. The first biggest problem was being under one of the orcs when they fall over dead drunk Usually that is not a problem, because little else stinks worse than a drunken orc. They stink out loud and you can usually smell them coming. And since you can smell a drunken orc coming, and the same drunken orcs tend to get violent, that is why small gobo’s like me tend to try and avoid them.

I had come to the city to deliver the wooden beams my dad had carved for boat. They were going to be shipped to a boat builder in the Port of Aughos. Dad had in mind for his daughter to become a artificer like himself. He never had me in mind to become a warrior, but circumstances forced me to become one. The circumstances that set my feet on that path were that evening, after dad had made his delivery, when I was shanghaied by what I thought was a drunken Martok orc. What it was, was a very sober Gulgrethor warmonger that worked for Krajin, and Krajin works for Loth. So I now have a second expression for you:

Go to bed with dogs, wake up with fleas…go to bed in Martok, wake up on a Gulgrethor slaver.

Copyright ©2007 Juliemarie Whitefeather

Qumil · 04-03-2007, 01:40 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Erzuli

They stink out loud and you can usually smell them coming.[/i]

krassus · 04-03-2007, 02:48 PM

i take off my wizard hat and robe......... your move

Erzuli · 04-03-2007, 03:25 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by krassus

i take off my wizard hat and robe......... your move

I am not sure how to take this, except to ask you to at least put the robe back on. Any interest in reading more of the story?

Orccor · 04-04-2007, 05:07 PM

Please more........but if Krassus is going to keep taking off clothes I might have to decline.

Erzuli · 04-05-2007, 09:42 AM

Call me Inktomi - part two
Stranger in a hot land...

But my story does not begin with a goblin, nor does it begin chained to the deck of a slave ship. Oddly enough, it begins with a dwarf - a particular dwarf named Brighde Blackwolf...

"Reet! So that's 'ow it was then?" said the dwarf slamming her mug of dark ale on the wooden table, splattering suds on the table and floor in the process.

"Aye," said the second dwarf as, mug of ale in hand, she attempted to tip it's contents into a mouth that was already swaying along with the rest of her body - she missed – entirely.

The fact that the any dwarf would spill even a drop of good dwarven brew perhaps told of the stage of inebriation of the bearer of the mug. Despite that what she was drinking was, in fact, not good dwarven ale, nor anything like it, Brighde was determined not to waste any of the brew...even if it had spilled all over the table,the floor,and her armor. Brighde managed to get the brew just about everywhere except in her mouth. The dwarf wiped the suds off the front of her leather vest with her hand, followed by her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Indeed, to see any dwarf even attempting to be cautious with goblin brew told of the hard times upon which Brighde had fallen - and the hard floor upon which she was about to fall.

"Aye, said Brighde, successfully downing the remain contents of her mug. She slammed the empty mug on the table with a nod that was so violent that her twin red braids slapped on the back of her steel armor, That's 'ow the tale come down tae me from me mother's, mother's, mother..."

A somewhat puzzled look crossed the face of the first dwarf as if she were trying to remember if she had locked the door to her house. She muttered a bit to herself - counting out the "mothers" on fingers which where very lithe for a human let alone a dwarf.

"...yer mother's, mother's...then turning to her old friend Brighde she said loudly, YER GREAT GRANDMOTHER!"

"Reet," said Brighde taking another long draft of ale, "so ye knew 'er then did ye?"

"Nooo," came the reply, "I kin count is all - unlike some o' the rest o' us."

"I kin' count as well,” said Brighde in mock earnesty,"...I kin' count the two o' ye sittin' across from me!" With that she laughed hardily and tried to take another long gulp of her ale – only to find the mug empty.

"So tell me Brighde, said the first dwarf, jus' what is it that yer father was doin' havin' dealins with the goblins in the first place; him bein' the father of a fine upstandin' paladin such as yerself?"

"I kin' tell ye that was a fact that he was no proud of in the first place."
"Dealin' with the goblins?"

"Nooo, said Brighde, her speech now slurred than before, 'avin' a paladin fer a daughter. He was dead set agin it from the first."

"Let me guess - 'e asked ye 'ow ye would ever 'ave any children an' yer mother cried fer half an hour?"

"O' so ye heard already did ye?" asked Brighde.
"Noo. I 'ad the same conversation wi' me mum an' da' meself. 'Lara' '‘e says tae me one day, 'ow will ye e'er have any wee bairns if ye keep up wi' this life o' yourin?'"

"What did ye tell 'im?" asked Brighde, now barely able to hold herself upright in the chair.

"What could I say?" said Lara, "I offered tae steal 'im a few."

With this both Brighde and Lara laughed loud and long, both dwarves barely able to catch their breath. Finally the laughter settled down to a chuckle. Brighde ordered another round of the swill the goblin proprietor of the Crooked Keel Tavern passed off as ale. Both women sat drinking their ale in silence, just enjoying each others company; for that is what is said to be the measure of a true friendship - when silence can pass between two friends and not be uncomfortable.

The sound of the waves against the shore served as a background to the more present sound of laughter and clinking of glasses that was the sign of the stock and trade of every good tavern. In this case, it was not the sign of a very good tavern. It was the sign of being the ONLY tavern in the port town that was so far removed from civilization that Brighde described it as being located “out where God lost his shorts“. The air smelled of a mixture of hops, salt water and a slight odor of sweaty fur was ever present in towns such as these. It was a neutral port and the goblins that controlled the town kept it that way.

"Well I am glad tae see me ol' friend, nae matter how sad the circumstances" said Lara finally breaking the silence.

"Well it'll be good tae get back," Brighde answered, "it has been a long time."
"It is jus' a shame that it took the death o' yer mother fer the Thane tae bring ye 'ome finally."

There was a long silence. Then Lara spoke again, this time in a hushed tone so no one else around her could overhear the conversation.

"So jus' what WAS yer father doin' messin’ around wi' the dark irons?"
Leaning in Brighde also spoke in an undertone, "Well it was the bloody Thane what sent da' all that way out ‘ere in the first place...the right bloody bustard tha' 'e is."

"Shh-shh-shh," hissed Lara sounding somewhat like a drunken asthmatic snake, "Don’t let anyone 'ear ye say somethin' like that. Ye'are not the only dwarf in th’ pub…"

"Well the Thane 'as that comin' n' a lot more I kin tell ye' He be the whole reason tha' dad is dead in the first place..." said Brighde her voice raising, then trailing off a bit as she noticed some of the other patrons of the Crooked Keel Tavern glancing in their direction

Copyright ©2007 Juliemarie Whitefeather

Asasa · 04-05-2007, 10:48 AM

ya know you got something goin on here, maybe sigil could find a way to give you a link on the main page or somethin

Asasa...

krassus · 04-05-2007, 11:23 AM

i dont know but "stranger in a hot land" is making me heat up

Leaf · 04-05-2007, 11:43 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by krassus

i dont know but "stranger in a hot land" is making me heat up

Do you have to act like a 12 year old in *every* thread?

krassus · 04-05-2007, 11:45 AM

by kidding in this thread ?

keep your rubbish to the one thread you are being laughed at by everyone, leave this one and others i post on alone =(

04-02-2007, 01:01 PM	#1 (permalink)
Erzuli Junior Member Join Date: Mar 2007 Posts: 26	Call Me Inktomi Call me Inktomi. In my homeland I was a princess, thousands lived and died at my command. Okay, maybe not a princess, but all the same…thousands lived and died at my command. Alright, alright I wasn’t a princess, nobody lived and died at my command but I was definitely, DEFINITELY well thought of. Ok. Nobody ever heard of me. None of it is true. But one thing IS true. Where I come from, Martok City, there is an expression: Loth Si Viveret Ad Remum Dareris… "If Loth were alive today you would be chained to an oar." And since Loth is very much alive today, as well as the walking anthropomorphic hunk of swamp stench, Krajin, I – a lone goblin - found myself chained to an oar. The Martok clan and the Gulgrethor clan have been at war for centuries. How did it all start? I don’t even think they know any more. The problem with orcs is they seem to like to fight. If they don’t have someone else to fight, in short order they will start fighting each other. Orcs in Kojan tend to look down at us, and I don’t mean just because of how short we are. The second biggest problem that goblins had in my old neighborhood was drunken orcs. The first biggest problem was being under one of the orcs when they fall over dead drunk Usually that is not a problem, because little else stinks worse than a drunken orc. They stink out loud and you can usually smell them coming. And since you can smell a drunken orc coming, and the same drunken orcs tend to get violent, that is why small gobo’s like me tend to try and avoid them. I had come to the city to deliver the wooden beams my dad had carved for boat. They were going to be shipped to a boat builder in the Port of Aughos. Dad had in mind for his daughter to become a artificer like himself. He never had me in mind to become a warrior, but circumstances forced me to become one. The circumstances that set my feet on that path were that evening, after dad had made his delivery, when I was shanghaied by what I thought was a drunken Martok orc. What it was, was a very sober Gulgrethor warmonger that worked for Krajin, and Krajin works for Loth. So I now have a second expression for you: Go to bed with dogs, wake up with fleas…go to bed in Martok, wake up on a Gulgrethor slaver. Copyright ©2007 Juliemarie Whitefeather Last edited by Erzuli : 04-06-2007 at 01:40 PM.

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04-05-2007, 09:42 AM	#6 (permalink)
Erzuli Junior Member Join Date: Mar 2007 Posts: 26	Call me Inktomi - part two Stranger in a hot land... But my story does not begin with a goblin, nor does it begin chained to the deck of a slave ship. Oddly enough, it begins with a dwarf - a particular dwarf named Brighde Blackwolf... "Reet! So that's 'ow it was then?" said the dwarf slamming her mug of dark ale on the wooden table, splattering suds on the table and floor in the process. "Aye," said the second dwarf as, mug of ale in hand, she attempted to tip it's contents into a mouth that was already swaying along with the rest of her body - she missed – entirely. The fact that the any dwarf would spill even a drop of good dwarven brew perhaps told of the stage of inebriation of the bearer of the mug. Despite that what she was drinking was, in fact, not good dwarven ale, nor anything like it, Brighde was determined not to waste any of the brew...even if it had spilled all over the table,the floor,and her armor. Brighde managed to get the brew just about everywhere except in her mouth. The dwarf wiped the suds off the front of her leather vest with her hand, followed by her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Indeed, to see any dwarf even attempting to be cautious with goblin brew told of the hard times upon which Brighde had fallen - and the hard floor upon which she was about to fall. "Aye, said Brighde, successfully downing the remain contents of her mug. She slammed the empty mug on the table with a nod that was so violent that her twin red braids slapped on the back of her steel armor, That's 'ow the tale come down tae me from me mother's, mother's, mother..." A somewhat puzzled look crossed the face of the first dwarf as if she were trying to remember if she had locked the door to her house. She muttered a bit to herself - counting out the "mothers" on fingers which where very lithe for a human let alone a dwarf. "...yer mother's, mother's...then turning to her old friend Brighde she said loudly, YER GREAT GRANDMOTHER!" "Reet," said Brighde taking another long draft of ale, "so ye knew 'er then did ye?" "Nooo," came the reply, "I kin count is all - unlike some o' the rest o' us." "I kin' count as well,” said Brighde in mock earnesty,"...I kin' count the two o' ye sittin' across from me!" With that she laughed hardily and tried to take another long gulp of her ale – only to find the mug empty. "So tell me Brighde, said the first dwarf, jus' what is it that yer father was doin' havin' dealins with the goblins in the first place; him bein' the father of a fine upstandin' paladin such as yerself?" "I kin' tell ye that was a fact that he was no proud of in the first place." "Dealin' with the goblins?" "Nooo, said Brighde, her speech now slurred than before, 'avin' a paladin fer a daughter. He was dead set agin it from the first." "Let me guess - 'e asked ye 'ow ye would ever 'ave any children an' yer mother cried fer half an hour?" "O' so ye heard already did ye?" asked Brighde. "Noo. I 'ad the same conversation wi' me mum an' da' meself. 'Lara' '‘e says tae me one day, 'ow will ye e'er have any wee bairns if ye keep up wi' this life o' yourin?'" "What did ye tell 'im?" asked Brighde, now barely able to hold herself upright in the chair. "What could I say?" said Lara, "I offered tae steal 'im a few." With this both Brighde and Lara laughed loud and long, both dwarves barely able to catch their breath. Finally the laughter settled down to a chuckle. Brighde ordered another round of the swill the goblin proprietor of the Crooked Keel Tavern passed off as ale. Both women sat drinking their ale in silence, just enjoying each others company; for that is what is said to be the measure of a true friendship - when silence can pass between two friends and not be uncomfortable. The sound of the waves against the shore served as a background to the more present sound of laughter and clinking of glasses that was the sign of the stock and trade of every good tavern. In this case, it was not the sign of a very good tavern. It was the sign of being the ONLY tavern in the port town that was so far removed from civilization that Brighde described it as being located “out where God lost his shorts“. The air smelled of a mixture of hops, salt water and a slight odor of sweaty fur was ever present in towns such as these. It was a neutral port and the goblins that controlled the town kept it that way. "Well I am glad tae see me ol' friend, nae matter how sad the circumstances" said Lara finally breaking the silence. "Well it'll be good tae get back," Brighde answered, "it has been a long time." "It is jus' a shame that it took the death o' yer mother fer the Thane tae bring ye 'ome finally." There was a long silence. Then Lara spoke again, this time in a hushed tone so no one else around her could overhear the conversation. "So jus' what WAS yer father doin' messin’ around wi' the dark irons?" Leaning in Brighde also spoke in an undertone, "Well it was the bloody Thane what sent da' all that way out ‘ere in the first place...the right bloody bustard tha' 'e is." "Shh-shh-shh," hissed Lara sounding somewhat like a drunken asthmatic snake, "Don’t let anyone 'ear ye say somethin' like that. Ye'are not the only dwarf in th’ pub…" "Well the Thane 'as that comin' n' a lot more I kin tell ye' He be the whole reason tha' dad is dead in the first place..." said Brighde her voice raising, then trailing off a bit as she noticed some of the other patrons of the Crooked Keel Tavern glancing in their direction Copyright ©2007 Juliemarie Whitefeather