I like the idea of raffling a wolf! I assume Max will insist on you buying lots of raffle tickets to maximize his chances of getting a pet wolf. I also suspect we're due an update on how life is at the moment, and what your Christmas travel plans are :)
So, since you wanted to hear from Zorthax (and I will say, I'm kind of saddened not to be continuing this story instead, since I had to hunt a bit to find the actual story to continue), here we go:
The shift Uruk itched. He lifted a scabrous foot and twisted his knee in a very unhuman fashion and scratched his lower back with his toenails. There was a noise like a heavy iron-bound wooden chest being dragged across rough flagstones, but at least the itching subsided a little. Then it started up in his left elbow. "Christmas," he cursed. In five years he'd not found out what the word was supposed to mean, but it still felt cathartic when he said it. Or, as in this case, spat it. Zorthax, barman at the Inn of the Shire, picked his nose with a cyanotic finger, which disappeared for a disturbingly long time into the tangle of black nose hair that straggled out of his nostrils and over his upper lip. "Wazzup?" he said, his voice sounding odd. "I think," said Uruk who was, in fact, sure, "that one of tapestries I... liberated from the tower of Duke Yggdrasia had mingeworm." Zorthax's finger poked into nose past his second knuckle and Uruk tried to hide his fascination with where the finger could have gone. "Duke Yggdrasia?" Uruk suddenly realised that the oddity in Zorthax's voice could be explained by his finger having poked through into his throat. "Died in the 9th century," said Uruk. "Had a castle over in Trithold, a mansion house in Keres City, and then there was a storage tower that sort of got lost somehow. A caravan got lost in a snowstorm a year ago and ended up ploughing through the Quagmire and saw the tower in the distance. I... went sightseeing." "Looting," said Zorthax. A second finger started questing after the first, up the other nostril. "Shifting things from where they're unavailable to the local economy to somewhere where they are," said Uruk. The words, which he'd paid a bard for, flowed mellifluously and sounded almost hypnotic in his ears. "You're a... shift-worker?" Zorthax might have sounded puzzled, except that someone who was treating their face as a bowling ball just sounded strangled. His thumb slipped into his mouth. "I right-size things," said Uruk smoothly. "Can you get me a sparkling white wine, please?" Zorthax pulled his other hand out of his pants. "Changed my mind," said Uruk smoothly, getting up and wondering where else served wine in the Shire.
2 comments:
I like the idea of raffling a wolf! I assume Max will insist on you buying lots of raffle tickets to maximize his chances of getting a pet wolf. I also suspect we're due an update on how life is at the moment, and what your Christmas travel plans are :)
So, since you wanted to hear from Zorthax (and I will say, I'm kind of saddened not to be continuing this story instead, since I had to hunt a bit to find the actual story to continue), here we go:
The shift
Uruk itched. He lifted a scabrous foot and twisted his knee in a very unhuman fashion and scratched his lower back with his toenails. There was a noise like a heavy iron-bound wooden chest being dragged across rough flagstones, but at least the itching subsided a little. Then it started up in his left elbow.
"Christmas," he cursed. In five years he'd not found out what the word was supposed to mean, but it still felt cathartic when he said it. Or, as in this case, spat it.
Zorthax, barman at the Inn of the Shire, picked his nose with a cyanotic finger, which disappeared for a disturbingly long time into the tangle of black nose hair that straggled out of his nostrils and over his upper lip.
"Wazzup?" he said, his voice sounding odd.
"I think," said Uruk who was, in fact, sure, "that one of tapestries I... liberated from the tower of Duke Yggdrasia had mingeworm."
Zorthax's finger poked into nose past his second knuckle and Uruk tried to hide his fascination with where the finger could have gone.
"Duke Yggdrasia?" Uruk suddenly realised that the oddity in Zorthax's voice could be explained by his finger having poked through into his throat.
"Died in the 9th century," said Uruk. "Had a castle over in Trithold, a mansion house in Keres City, and then there was a storage tower that sort of got lost somehow. A caravan got lost in a snowstorm a year ago and ended up ploughing through the Quagmire and saw the tower in the distance. I... went sightseeing."
"Looting," said Zorthax. A second finger started questing after the first, up the other nostril.
"Shifting things from where they're unavailable to the local economy to somewhere where they are," said Uruk. The words, which he'd paid a bard for, flowed mellifluously and sounded almost hypnotic in his ears.
"You're a... shift-worker?" Zorthax might have sounded puzzled, except that someone who was treating their face as a bowling ball just sounded strangled. His thumb slipped into his mouth.
"I right-size things," said Uruk smoothly. "Can you get me a sparkling white wine, please?"
Zorthax pulled his other hand out of his pants.
"Changed my mind," said Uruk smoothly, getting up and wondering where else served wine in the Shire.
Greg - hahaha, Zorthax is amazing. I love that bowling ball line.
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