Sprog

[Budgie]

When the left hand wields the magic
While the right hand steals the rod,
And the right hand clasps the devil
As the left hand grips the god.
When mark meets mark in tenderness
In the making of a son,
Then the iron grip will start unraveling.
Still long, till tyranny is done.

But if mark meets mark in hate and lust
In the making of a girl,
Then the iron grip will forever tighten
Round all throats, from noble down to churl.

He stood in front of the dented, polished-steel mirror turning this way and that examining the view. A deep chested, powerful body topped by a broad, pleasant face. Hazel eyes stared back at him from under a thatch of auburn hair. The effect was marred by the yellow, purple and red ring round one of his eyes. “Pity about the black eye” he thought. “Pity about the bloody horns” he thought as he kicked the empty chamber pot across the room.

He couldn’t understand it, he had used the best ‘chat-up’ line, Uncle Bart’s favorite, the one he said never failed, the one that started with “Is it true that when you die you go stiff and hard?” He didn’t even get a chance to say anything else; her left hand didn’t even drop the tray with the drinks on it while her right fist belted him in the eye. Had he been standing of course she would never have been able to hit him, but seated, he didn’t stand a chance. All that was left to do was gulp down the remainder of his ale and slink off back to his lodgings amidst the sniggers and outright guffaws of the other patrons of the “Kicking Donkey”

Sixteen year old Sprog Stepworthy had lived quite an eventful life, unfortunately none of it had been in female company or even tiefling company and that was the main problem. Whilst his newfound hormones demanded satisfaction, his blinkered upbringing directed him towards human females. So far his experience with the fair sex comprised a black eye and prior to that, so many put-downs that he could have written a book and made a small fortune selling it to maidens who wanted to stay that way.

As far as he was aware, Uncle Bart and the other geriatric ‘ex’ fighters, rogues, burnt out wizards and other decrepit ne’r-do-wells that had been his family and mentors were dead. Before that, however, they had passed on to him the benefit of their experience of years of fighting and stealing. It was evident to Sprog that in their prime they had been experts in their respective professions. It was also evident to him that they were either completely inexperienced in their dealings with the female of the species or they weren’t letting on what they knew. He suspected the latter.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted his musing. Placing his boot behind the door to prevent it being kicked in his face he opened it a crack. Against the red sky of sunset he could make out a human sized individual, cloaked, with a deep cowl preventing any view of its face.
“Are you going to open it Sprog, or do you expect me to squeeze through?” enquired a deep voice.
“How do you know my name?” asked Sprog, then, as a movement at the bottom of the cape betrayed the others intention to kick the door open, he leapt to one side drawing his short sword.
“Come in here and you’ll have to be carried out” he warned.
“Fine, then dear, dear Uncle Bart will starve to death” grated his visitor as he slipped into the room and turning his back on Sprog, closed and bolted the door.

[muletang]

nice mate. lets have some more

[Grayle]

I like the lyric. A good prelude.

[Budgie]

In a rather bare room beneath the Temple to Etoth administration building in Varana. The room was well lit with the functional lanterns hanging from the high ceiling showing that some attempt had been made to soften the bare stone walls with religious tapastries. A blue and gold thick pile carpet covered the majority of the floor softening the effect of the well scrubbed grey flagstones that could be made out at the edge. The quality of the robes worn by the occupants of the room was at variance with the circle of plain chairs that they occupied.

High Priest Redick regarded the girl kneeling before him. Although in a subservient position, her back was straight; her head held high and her eyes met his. He frowned, the direct gaze was in no way challenging, it was, quizzical. He felt that he was being judged; there was, however, nothing in that beautiful face to give a clue as to the conclusions being drawn. He commanded her to rise and she came gracefully to her feet, adjusting her powder blue court dress with a practiced economy of movement. She stood motionless under his scrutiny, completely at ease.

“Welcome Mara” he said “Your mentor did not exaggerate in his description of your beauty”. He smiled, “I trust he has been equally accurate in his assessment of your training and your impatience to begin routing out blasphemers from our society”.
“I fear Merdack has allowed his personal prejudices and his affection for me to colour his report, Your Grace” replied Mara, “Unless a person blasphemes to my face I have not the slightest interest in how they address the gods, everyone answers to the gods eventually, even if they might have an uncomfortable time answering to a priest of Etoth first”.

A long silence during which all the small, select group within the anti-room regarded the standing girl, some with curiosity, most with shock.
“Perhaps you would like to rephrase what you have just said Mara” asked Deintry, High Priestess of Etoth from her seat beside Redick, “Or maybe qualify it”
“My lady” was the reply “Since I was placed in the care of Merdack when I was five years old, I have been tutored with one end in mind; absolute loyalty to The Emperor and the State of Varana. Should a person blaspheme, I have an interest, in as much as what is the reason for the blasphemy. Is it rage at an incident, frustration, ignorance, feeble mindedness or is it from a position of ill will to the Emperor or the State. Only if it is the later would I have reason to take notice.”

“All blasphemy is a crime against Emperor and State” came the rejoinder from the side of the room “It is your duty to deal with it”
“Selling short measure and for that matter the misuse of public latrines is also a crime” was the quiet reply “How many latrine blockers have you personally routed out sire?” “Should I personally deal with blasphemy it will completely hinder the purpose of my eleven years of training,” she continued. “And yes, Your Grace, I am extremely impatient to route out any threat, any threat whatsoever, to our beloved Imperial Family or Varana. Neither am I under any misapprehension that I will achieve any degree of success without aid from the Gods and while I do not see it as my duty at this time to punish blasphemers, please do not believe that I condone their blasphemy.”

Redick leant forward and regarded the girl with added interest “you are right of course, Mara, our plans for you are in the direction of state security rather than religious correctness, important though that is”. He nodded to the quietly fuming noble that Mara had just spoken to. “Your training as a cleric” he continued, “Is nearing completion, and we are aware that you have been schooled in the social graces. You have not had the chance so far to put any of your training to the test in the field, so as to speak. Tonight that will change. You will attend The Military Training Academy annual dance and, I imagine, break the hearts of half the cadets attending.” He smiled, “Then, in a few days time; you, Merdack and a priestess chosen by High Priestess Deintry, will travel to Cear where your duties will begin.”

After the girl had been dismissed Redick addressed the remainder of the small assembly.
“It would have been fortunate if the she had died at birth, but we must work with what we have and I see no alternative to Deintry’s plan, risky though it is. Are there any questions?”
“Can we be absolutely certain of the veracity of this ‘prophesy’” sneered the noble that Mara had slighted.
“It has been tested by our highest priests” replied Deintry. Her lips twisted with distaste “Also by various highly placed wizards and sorcerers. The Dasarian who initially promulgated the prophesy was insane by the time he finally screamed himself to death and the inquisitors were certain that they had dragged everything he knew of the matter from him. Yes, I believe it to be truly prophetic, more is the pity”

“Speaking of ‘screaming oneself to death.” Redick slammed his fist into the arm of his chair to emphasise his words. “Should anyone, anyone discuss what passes here with anyone outside this room and that will be their fate. I say this not so much as a threat but as an emphasis on the importance extremely powerful personages within the palace place on this matter. Is that clear?”
He looked round the room. It was obvious that it was exceedingly clear to all concerned.

[muletang]

another intruiging entry, theres a lot waiting to happen out there. Nicely written.

[Budgie]

For a long moment they stared at each other, but as the intruder made no further threatening actions Sprog relaxed slightly. “At least let me see who I’m talking to” he said. “Push your cowl back.”
“I wear a mask” was the reply “Have you seen what flame lash does to skin?” Taking the only seat in the room the intruder leaned back and regarded the young tiefling from the depths of his cowl. “I would have thought that your first question would have been about your uncle”
“I figured that you would come to that in your own time,” replied Sprog “I don’t think that you’ve pushed your way in here just to just get a room for the night and if you’re lying about my uncle being alive you could still have a hard time leaving this room standing up.”
Again, a long silence.
“It would seem young Sprog that your problems lie with your lack of experience, your mind seems quick enough”
“Oh, thank you” simpered Sprog “Now that you’ve patted me on the head I’m putty in your hands.” There was a quick movement, a thud, and a knife newly arrived in the wooden post beside the intruders head. “Who are you, what do you want with me? And, yes, tell me about my uncle”

If he was upset by the knife a few inches from his ear he didn’t show it. “Call me Rupert” he said, “It’s as good a name as any other, and I’ve had a few.” He plucked the knife from the post and tossed it onto the cot bed. “I’m afraid I did lie as regards Bart is concerned, he is alive, safe, but not however, in any danger of starvation.” “Now that’s a foolish move” he continued as Sprog’s face twisted and he turned his head to hide the sudden tears. “Never take your eyes off a stranger.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Sprog. Without a word Rupert handed him a small parchment and on it, in Bart’s unmistakable fist was written “you jumpt up never com down brat, I’m orlrite. Rupert is a frend hoo will bring you to me”


“Bart has been living with me for the last three months, since a few weeks after your camp was destroyed. He reckoned you were dead, same as you did him. I have a lot of, erm, I suppose you could say contacts and when we heard of a randy lad matching your description showing up in the local villages, we had a good idea who it would be. You’re lucky we got to you first.” A short bark of laughter, then “How did you manage to upset so many women and what on earth happened in Fordhaven?”


Sprog went crimson and after a couple of false starts, “I was talking to this village lad in Fordhaven and I got this great idea for a chat-up line. All I had to do was to wait till a girl was in earshot, then say to the lad, ‘Do you know the quickest way to get your face slapped’ and when he said ‘No’ I would say ‘Watch’ then go up and put my arm round the girls waist”
Rupert’s hand disappeared into his cowl and he scratched his head. “To what end?” he asked.
“Well, if she smacked my face I wouldn’t look such a fool, and there was always the chance that she wouldn’t and I might score.”
Rupert groaned, “What happened?”
“Well, just then this really, really good looking girl comes on the scene and I put the plan into operation and put my arm round her”
“And”
“And she looks at me and smiles, and I reckon ‘Yesss, cracked it.’ Then she gives this horrible long drawn out scream and yells ‘assault, assault and I’m a virgin’”
By now the chair is shaking and whimpering noises are coming from the cowl.
“Well I thought ‘so am I but I’m not proud of it’ and then it seemed like the whole village appeared on the scene with something sharp in their hands. When I looked for the village lad he’d disappeared. I’m so glad you’re finding it so funny, judging by what they shouted after me, I was bloody lucky to get away with the family jewels intact.”

“When do I get to see Bart?” was Sprog’s next question. “And why didn’t he come himself”
“He’s too well known in these parts. Speaking of that, you have kept your cap on when you’ve gone out, haven’t you?”
“Of course, I’m finding it hard enough to socialize now, without advertising my race”
Rupert sighed, “It’s not that exactly, yours wasn’t the only band of outcasts in that area and your group wasn’t vicious. Yet you were the only ones attacked”
“So”
“So before and after the attack, known Varanite sympathizers have been asking after a young tiefling with a large burn scar below his left shoulder.”
“Why, what am I to the bloody Varenites, or anyone else for that matter?”
“You’ve got a history boy, but it’s not my place to fill you in on the details. It’s getting dark now, get your gear together and we’ll be off, we’ve got a long way to go. Oh! And before we do….”
” There was a quick movement, a thud, and a knife newly arrived in the door beside Sprog’s head. “Do that again and forget about using the family jewels, ever.” said Rupert.

[ChikenKannon]

Heh. Nice. That's some Orky writing, I like.

[Budgie]

“Not a very gracious way to decline an invitation” remonstrated Merdack. He and Mara rode side by side, a short way ahead rode Penelope, the Etoth priestess designated to their party by High Priestess Deintry.
“It was not a particularly subtle invitation to his bed” replied Mara, “What do you expect me to say?” She put on a little girlish voice and simpered “Oh yes please, let us go straight away so that I can spread myself for your pleasure”
“I entirely sympathise, the fellow was a bore, however, ‘I can’t make up my mind between you and a mentally defective ape suffering from the advanced stages of mange’, also leaves something to be desired in the consideration of subltlety”
Mara giggled “He really should have shaved, you could count every hair in his beard.”
“Be fair, he was even younger than you, besides, not everyone you meet is going to be suave, subtle or even pleasant. You could get in some practice at what in the dizzy heights of refined company is called ‘polite conversation’.”
Mara reached across the space between their mounts and laid her hand on his armoured forearm. “I’m sorry old friend, and I really will try, but I don’t know what comes over me. I love male company right up to the time when they get interested in me in that way, you know what I mean, when they start looking at me not as a companion but .. like .. well you know.. like that dolt did last night. Then for some reason it’s all I can do not to hit them. I want to hurt them. What in the name of all the gods is the matter with me Merdack? I’ve been taught about women that prefer women to bed but that’s not for me either.”
Merdack looked uncomfortable. “You are, as you know, subject to the prophesy, this is probably all part of it.”
“Then why not just find this Dasarian, let him rut on me and get the whole filthy business over and done with?” flared Mara. “They can take my child away, rear it how they see fit and I can get on with what hasn’t been ruined of my life, if there is any.”
Merdack appeared to be on the verge of tears, it was this that calmed Mara. She had seen her big, stoical guardian placed under stress on many occasions and his impassive demeanour had seemed as solid as steel armour. To see him like this frightened her.
“That can’t happen little flower” he said, using the pet name he had used since ever she could remember. “The prophesy, I am told, lays down very strict guidelines. Your life, and that of the Dasarian, is governed by yourselves. You have been trained by us Varanites as we deemed proper. Dasarians would have done the same with the boy, although from what I can gather all our enquiries to ascertain the location of the child failed.” He reined his steed even closer to that of Mara and spoke softly. “You have now left your childhood behind and you direct your own destiny but know this; whatever lies ahead my own priority is your happiness.”
“What are you two conspiring about?” Penelope smiled at them. “I don’t know Mara, you crush the advances of the military flower, or at least buds, of the realm and then canoodle with this worn out old bull”
Mara forced a laugh. “I don’t know, take you both away from the temple and you forget all your teaching, thank Etoth that I’m with you to keep you on the straight and narrow.”
The path broadened enough for the three companions to ride abreast and the conversation turned to their plans for when they reached the temple’s chapter house in Dasaria.

[Budgie]

Prophesy’s Naissance

It is mid-summer’s night in the year of 617, the dying fire and assorted articles littering the grass give evidence of the area having been used as a meeting place. Bowchamp Meredith stands in the forest clearing with his nephew, a tall cleric in his late thirty’s wearing the insignia of the god Etoth. Bowchamp feels the weight of his fifty eight years perhaps less keenly now that his life is to end than at any time in the last nine years since the death of his wife and daughters.

“…….they left a couple of hours ago. Thank you for joining me here” he says “I weary of these interminable patriot secret meetings, so few of the members have the intelligence to be of any use to Dasaria. Why is it that a patriot cannot see beyond killing all one’s oppressors or oppressing them in return?” asks Bowchamp rhetorically. “Can they not see that we will never completely regain our independence? Can they not see beyond the sword?”
“Don’t distress yourself uncle” replies the cleric, “According to what you have told me we should manage to infiltrate enough of the Varanite institutions to eventually ensure our control of the empire”
“True, always supposing the powers that be are prepared to wait the long years required for the plans to come to fruition and not spoil it all attempting a coup. Ah well! That is all beyond our control. We can only ensure that tonight’s work is done correctly; the girl’s mother hasn’t missed her?”
“The slut doesn’t know the child has gone, and she’ll be back on the pile of rags they call a bed by morning.”
“Are you absolutely certain you have the full trust of the hierarchy of your temple?” he asks, “We cannot afford to fail in this now.”
“All is well uncle” is the quiet reply. “Anu, and this is the last time I will use his name, Anu knows that they have tested me enough times, but your enchantments hold.”

Bowchamp lays his hand on his nephew’s arm, “Stand steady, you will feel a moment of dizziness, that is all.”
No pyrotechnics, no thunderclaps; merely the whisper of a breeze and the clearing is once again empty.

A small cell hewn out of the surrounding rock, comfortably furnished with rugs, chairs and a bed on one side. In one of the chairs sits a young man uncomfortably holding a baby boy in his arms. A dirty, shabbily dressed little girl of about two years is lying asleep in his lap, her head and back supported by the cushioned arm of the chair. He looks up, startled but not alarmed at the sudden appearance of two men in front of him.

“Are you ready Bart? Asks Bowchamp.
“Aye, let’s get on with it” says the rogue as Bowchamp relieves him of the girl. They move past the heavy hide curtain that serves in lieu of a door into a goodly sized cave lit by braziers set in a circle round a large high dais. Equally spaced round the dais, held in position by metal collars and chains are six terrified Varanite guardsmen. On the dais is an alchemist’s workbench and in the middle, a large pile of straw covered by several soft fleeces.

Bowchamp regards the chained soldiers. “Nine years ago you were members of a party that violated, tortured and murdered my wife and daughters, now you pay.” He sounds disinterested and looks at them without emotion. “What I am going to do is rather despicable, I need human sacrifice and I won’t feel so guilty using you and your friends in the chamber below.”
Ignoring the terrified pleas the three men climb up onto the dais. The children are gently laid on the fleeces and it can be seen that the boy has the little twin nubs on his forehead that will grow into the horns of a tiefling. Bart makes ready to climb down off of the dais. “I’ll just stand at the back and watch, shall I” he says nervously, “You don’t need me up ‘ere”
“Feel free” grins the cleric, “It’s just that everything in this upper cave that is not on this dais will die, humans, bats, rats, cockroaches, everything.”

Bowchamp lays one hand on the boys shoulder and the other over the girl’s. He concentrates, then removes his hands and although the children show no signs of distress, blisters form which within a minute have progressed through the stage of open burn wounds to fully healed round scars.
“’Ere guv, that’s a bit strong ain’t it?” exclaims Bart. “Maybe alright for the boy, but the gal will carry that for life.”
“By the time she grows old enough for it to matter it will be a lot smaller in proportion” Is the reply. “Now be still and quiet, I need to concentrate.”

The sorcerer picks up the luck stone from the workbench and carries it to the fleece. Seemingly without causing the children any distress he uses his knife to prick the left hand of the boy, the right hand of the girl and smears their blood onto the stone. He places the stone on the workbench alongside a rapier. He then picks up the rapier and approaches the nearest of the soldiers, he then surprisingly only pricks the cringing, terrified man with the rapier, repeating the action with the other five. The rapier is then returned to the workbench. The only sound in the cave is the whimpering and occasional plea for clemency from the tethered soldiers; even that ceases as the sorcerer raises his arms and turns and faces the children. His eyes turn up until only the whites are showing.

Suddenly the fires in the braziers die down low and the temperature drops. No-one moves and there are no sounds other than the chink of the chains. A soft light appears over the sleeping children emphasising the darkness in the rest of the cavern. This state of affairs continues for about a minute then Bowchamp drops to his knees, the light above the children fades, the fires resume their normal cheerful glow and it can be seen that the soldiers are all dead. Very dead, they resemble corpses mummified by the passage of years and as they further disintegrate into dust the chains rattle eerily settling onto the stone floor.

Gently cradling the boy, Bart moves towards the ramp which leads eventually to the open air; he is very disturbed by what he has witnessed and has said little since the beginning of the procedures.
“The kids’ll be alright yeah?”
“A damn sight better than if we hadn’t interfered in their lives” is the soft reply. “Off you go Bart, you know what’s expected of you”

As Bart leaves the other two men regard each other steadily, then, with his free arm the cleric roughly hugs his uncle. Without a word he turns away and makes for the ramp wrapping the little girl in a blanket he has brought for the purpose.

“Farewell Merdack” whispers Bowchamp.

[Budgie]

The creation of a prophet

Taking one last look around the cavern, Bowchamp makes his way to the side and round a pile of large boulders. It can be seen that there is a fissure in the cavern wall and he disappears into it, reappearing some minutes later in a rather smaller cavern at a lower level than the one he has just left. It is roughly square in shape; against one wall are six Varanite guardsmen tethered in position by chains. Against the opposite wall there are tethered another three guardsmen, two with chains and the third, an officer, by leather straps. In the middle of the cave is another alchemist’s workbench holding an intricately worked broadsword and a golden bowl filled with falcon feathers.

Disregarding the clamour that his appearance causes, the sorcerer walks over to confront the Varanite officer.
“Well Drackon, you have done quite well for yourself since you fought the Kingseekers, an officer now hmmm”
“What’s it to you? You Dasarian terd”
“Oh, I’ve followed your career and that of your friends here, with a great deal of interest. With one exception you all attended the defeat of the Kingseekers and you haven’t stopped abusing your authority since, have you? You’ve just been a little more discrete about it all.”
“You have to realise that you’re a subject people, me ‘n my men have just been helping you, educating you so as to speak. Talking of educating you, we are going to be missed and then your education is really going to start.”
“Really, is that so Drackon? Actually my education started when you and these oafs raped and killed my wife and daughters. I believe you were the principal actor in that little scene. I also feel that any education your men have obtained over the years will be of no use to them in a short while. Still, it pleases me to let you know what I have planned for you, and why.”

The officer is roughly the same age and build as Bowchamp, his features coarsened by his work and excesses. “I’ve ‘ad a good life, and part of that good life was your womenfolk, you Dasarian piss pot. First was your youngest girl, she lasted quite a long time really. By the time we got to your missus she was nearly out of her mind. Is this educational enough for you effete swine?”
If he is hoping to provoke the other into giving him a swift ending he is to be disappointed. Bauchamp’s expression is calculating, slightly distant.

“Tonight I am going to start a story that is going to eventually be believed as an obscure prophesy from way back in time and you gentlemen are going to help me. You see Drackon, after I have been preaching this heretical prophesy for a while, your Varanite masters are going to want to put me to the question, using various interesting, educational even, methods; in order to get to the veracity of it all.”
Drackon laughes “Nothing you can do to us could be as bad as what they’ll do to you. I worked with them years ago in the cellers under the Claw barracks. They’ll drag the truth out of you, they use mages too, there’s no way you’re going to make ‘em believe a lie. You might as well forget it now.”

“I’m using death magic” explains Bowchamp “To break these spells will require a liche-lord and the knowledge of the particular god who provided the power. No, once the spells are in place, they’re solid. The lives of the two men with you will give enough power to change your features to mine and hold you in place after your leather bonds break.” He waits till the chorus of curses and pleas ceases. Then:
“The other six will provide the power to destroy my body and superimpose my mind over yours, in your body. I will know everything that you know and be able to direct your movements, speech, everything. The only thing I will not be able to do is feel. You Drackon, will do that for me. I might let you have enough control back to scream and howl for the inquisitors old chap but I will be the one to talk; comments please.”

A stunned silence meets his words.

“Oh and as for the rest of you, you aren’t really getting off light. The agony you will experience will be so extreme that you will not be able to scream even. It will last for only a short while but it will be an age for you. The shock of it will turn your bodies to dust.”
“I only joined this lot last week” says one of the younger men amidst the clamour from them all “I didn’t know all this.”
Bowchamp regards him for a moment, then, a movement of his hand and the man is unconscious on the stone floor.

Tears run down Drackon’s face, he shakes his head.
“Please Bowchamp, I got a lot of stuff stashed away. I can take you to it.”
“Oh you will my friend” is the reply “In a little while we’ll go together”

Not long later a man wearing the rough clothes of a labourer leaves the cave entrance. He turns and raises his arms. He walks away and as the dust settles there is no sign that a cave has ever existed in that place.

[muletang]

*queue dramatic music* dun dun daaarrr.
nicely dark. interesting to see where it leads

[Grayle]

Diabolic. Another great villain in the making.

[Budgie]

Sprog had plenty of time to get to know Rupert on their way back to the foot hills of the Telkhmar. Rupert proved to be a resourceful and skilled traveler. He was also an entertaining companion and for the company starved young tiefling, a source of diversion and education. Because of their isolation, the little group of malcontents that had been Sprog’s family had not been able to give him any real insight into the world of normal society. Except for a very occasional visit, everyday life in hamlets through to cities was something that he knew of in theory only. He had been finding his way by touch, so as to speak, and it was a miracle that he had managed to survive.

“………and you didn’t resort to stealing” said Rupert, “You’ve been trained by the best rogues in the business.”
“Yes, I know, but I don’t like the idea of doing it for real” was the sheepish reply. “Those folks don’t have much to start with, I didn’t want to make it worse for them”
“So where did you get the coin for food and lodging then”
“Oh that was easy, the first little village I went to after we were attacked, I heard them talking about the tax collectors. They said that they were the biggest thieves on the face of the earth.”
“Oh, by the Good God’s Gonads! Tell me you didn’t”
“What, what! It was easy, I just waited till they were asleep and then helped myself.”
“You’re joking, they have guards that’d slit your throat for fun and they’re well trained”
“Rupert, I’ve lived in the forest my whole life, and I didn’t take it all, just enough for me, they might not even have found out about it for a few days.”

Some time later. “………….when your coin ran out, what then?”
“Ah, I got a really good idea to rake in the coin. I got it from the way all the village girls wouldn’t let me get past the first few words when I tried to talk to them”
“Go on”
“Yeah, well, I thought that it would be nice if someone could go and do my talking for me”
“You wanted to hire someone to talk to girls for you?”
Sprog laughed. “That would have been nice, but no, it just got me thinking. Then I got this idea. Why not write something nice on a card and give that to the girl. And there’s lots of girls and lots of fellers. So I got some card and made these, what I call ‘lovers messages’, you know, something like what Uncle Bart says young fellers carve on trees.”
“You mean you’ve made them already?” asked Rupert.
“Yep, I even sold one.”
“Can I see one then”
Sprog rummaged in his pack and handed Rupert a piece of card about a hand’s length square, it had been folded in half. On the front was drawn a red heart pierced with a rather crooked arrow, blood dripped from the heart into a large pool of blood drawn at the bottom. On opening the card was to be seen a verse:

Yor buttoks ar a blokes delite
Yor nokers ar to kry for
The chans to kis yor rooby lips
Is sumthin wot id dy for

Rupert’s hand trembled a little.
“You say you sold one of these?”
“Yep, I sold one for a few coppers to that lad I was talking to in Fordhaven, before he ran off. He couldn’t read but I told him the verse was by Sam U’Rai, the famous romantic warrior poet.”
“Well, if he gave it to a village girl” said Rupert, “I reckon you’ve had your own back on them.”