THE TALE OF
BARNEY BROWBUSTER
Many years ago, a man named Cale Everthorne worked as a mercenary for a semi-successful rug merchant. A proficient fighter and proven adventurer, Cale had taken the employment as a rest from his previously strenuous and highly demanding life. After just six months with the merchant, Cale had built a strong friendship with his ageing employer. More and more the old man would leave Cale with much of the work; haggling and making financial decisions with little or no consultation. Before long, Cale was single- handedly running the business due to the merchant's ever failing health. And the business flourished under his guidance. The sickly rug peddler couldn't have been more pleased with the results. But alas, one day, the merchant passed on, leaving his once small, almost struggling business in the hands of the mercenary he'd once hired to protect it; the man who'd brought his business from the brink of black despair and pushed it firmly into the light of success. He died a happy man.
Cale Everthorne was not one to mourn long, however, and so quickly took hold of the reigns of his business and determinedly built it into a thriving enterprise. His wealth grew and grew, as did his number of employees, allowing Cale to establish a home base in the town of Turondil. As a reasonably large metropolis, Turondil sported an equally large social class. And it was not long before Cale's money attracted the attention of Turondil's socialites.
At one of the weekly Balls held by the self-proclaimed Elite Social Set, Cale met with an older woman of undeniable beauty; Lady Stella Ormand. A recent widow and mother of three adult children, the Lady found Cale (and his fortune) extremely attractive, and immediately set designs upon him. And Cale saw the Lady Ormand as a radiantly alluring woman that a man of his humble background couldn't possibly deny. It was not long, therefore, before the two were married, displeasing Stella's children ("Oh pooh, mother's married a commoner!") and giving the 'Social Set something to gossip over for weeks!
But the disquiet of the children and Turondil's socialites had little effect on the happiness of Cale and Stella's marriage. Only Stella's refusal to have more children, so Cale could bring up a son, produced any conflict between the otherwise blissful couple ("I'm too old to start breeding again!"). This aside, they were happy for many years.
After seven years of marriage in the social spotlight, Cale and Stella slowly started to drift apart. The hidden pressures and rigors of an overly analysed married life started to take their toll. Stella often went to Turondil's gala occasions with her son, leaving the restless Cale at home to brood. Eventually the ex-mercenary contacted some old business friends who quickly advised him to pursue some of his own hobbies. And within two weeks, Cale bought himself a lodge five hours from Turondil; a getaway; a place were he could relax and enjoy the outdoors life once again - if only for a week or two at a time.
This worked well for a while, it allowed Cale to go off hunting, or just riding about the picturesque countryside, and leave all his worries behind him. The world seemed a much better place in which to live. But that old demon, time, came back into play. Thoughts and emotions started to drift through Cale Everthorne, making him restless and annoyed once again. His two servants at the country estate quickly learnt when to avoid their master. One such day happened to coincide with a particularly unsuccessful hunting expedition. Cale stormed into the country house, cursing and calling for ale, his temper obviously not the best. The cold winter night skulked in behind him, though reluctantly.
"Dreyfus? Dreyfus! Where are you?" he bellowed, "Bring me some ale NOW, you overweight layabout!"
Cursing vehemently, Cale burst into the kitchen on a seek and destroy mission, and sent his man-servant, Dreyfus, flying backwards, the keg he'd had in his hands tracing an arc though the air above his head. Grimacing, Cale could only watch on in horror as the keg went crashing into the shelves of crockery on the other side of the room. It then fell to the floor, making a heart rending THUD! on impact, but with it's contents miraculously secure. But before Cale could wipe the grimace from his face and replace it with his previous scowl, Dreyfus, momentarily forgotten, kept teetering backwards across the kitchen, his large bulk preventing him from regaining any form of balance.
"Holy mother of Pearl!" yelled Cale, his scowl completely forgotten as Dreyfus' course became apparent to him, "Jump, man, JUMP!" But it was to no avail. The big servant's posterior inexorably fell onto the defenceless keg, smashing it into it's component parts - and then smashing those to pieces. Cale was quickly at his servant's side, a worried look on his face. "I'm alright, Sir," Dreyfus said, "Something broke my fall."
"Its not you I'm concerned about, oaf. Look what you've done!"
And Dreyfus could feel the ale slowly starting to soak into his clothing whilst he looked down at the wooden turmoil beneath him (a cooper in Turondil looked into the night sky, a tear tracing his cheek - he knew not why).
"I suppose you're going to tell me that what you're sitting on was the last keg in the house?"
"Um, I know where I can get another, Sir," came the weak reply, "though it may take a while."
"Well, don't just sit there like a twenty stone mop, go and get it!" bellowed Cale. Dreyfus then quickly scurried away. Before long he was astride his little donkey, Oatie, trotting away from his angry master. "How long are you going to take, Dreyfus!" came Cale's following yell, "Where are going to get this keg?" But no reply came, leaving the fuming Cale even angrier than before (not an easy thing to do) and thirstier to boot. He then stormed back into the house, violently pushing the door ahead of him and almost knocked the other servant, Rosey Blush. A young maid, the girl did in fact blush, and stammered out, "S-sir, shall I m-make your dinner n- now?"
Hesitating, Cale eventually replied, "Yes, girl, you may as well," and they both went into the house, Cale's eyes on the servant-girl, watching her swaying, braided red hair.
It was not long before Rosey brought Cale his meal, by now Cale had relaxed sufficiently (having found some spirits and liqueurs Lady Stella had brought with her on her one and only visit) while Rosey, too, had recovered. Laying the meal out before him, she then started back to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Cale's now calm voice, "Rosey, there's plenty here for both of us; join me. I think I could do with the company, right now," he asked her.
"Certainly, my lord," Rosey replied, "I was hoping you'd ask me." And she blushed, sitting next to him.
"You know, you can call me Cale, Rosey. I'm far from being a lord."
"You are to me, Cale" and she blushed again, but with a small fire in her green eyes as Cale's hand rested on hers. Their eyes locked and their hearts beat as one while Cale gently caressed Rosey's hand. "I think I've loved you since the day you hired me, three years ago," she breathed. And she didn't resist when Cale led her to the furs in front of the roaring fire, their clothes seeming to fall from their bodies as if by magic.
"Magic?" Cale absently asked, his attention elsewhere.
"Could be," Rosey soundlessly mouthed in reply.
* * *
BARNEY BROWBUSTER
Many years ago, a man named Cale Everthorne worked as a mercenary for a semi-successful rug merchant. A proficient fighter and proven adventurer, Cale had taken the employment as a rest from his previously strenuous and highly demanding life. After just six months with the merchant, Cale had built a strong friendship with his ageing employer. More and more the old man would leave Cale with much of the work; haggling and making financial decisions with little or no consultation. Before long, Cale was single- handedly running the business due to the merchant's ever failing health. And the business flourished under his guidance. The sickly rug peddler couldn't have been more pleased with the results. But alas, one day, the merchant passed on, leaving his once small, almost struggling business in the hands of the mercenary he'd once hired to protect it; the man who'd brought his business from the brink of black despair and pushed it firmly into the light of success. He died a happy man.
Cale Everthorne was not one to mourn long, however, and so quickly took hold of the reigns of his business and determinedly built it into a thriving enterprise. His wealth grew and grew, as did his number of employees, allowing Cale to establish a home base in the town of Turondil. As a reasonably large metropolis, Turondil sported an equally large social class. And it was not long before Cale's money attracted the attention of Turondil's socialites.
At one of the weekly Balls held by the self-proclaimed Elite Social Set, Cale met with an older woman of undeniable beauty; Lady Stella Ormand. A recent widow and mother of three adult children, the Lady found Cale (and his fortune) extremely attractive, and immediately set designs upon him. And Cale saw the Lady Ormand as a radiantly alluring woman that a man of his humble background couldn't possibly deny. It was not long, therefore, before the two were married, displeasing Stella's children ("Oh pooh, mother's married a commoner!") and giving the 'Social Set something to gossip over for weeks!
But the disquiet of the children and Turondil's socialites had little effect on the happiness of Cale and Stella's marriage. Only Stella's refusal to have more children, so Cale could bring up a son, produced any conflict between the otherwise blissful couple ("I'm too old to start breeding again!"). This aside, they were happy for many years.
After seven years of marriage in the social spotlight, Cale and Stella slowly started to drift apart. The hidden pressures and rigors of an overly analysed married life started to take their toll. Stella often went to Turondil's gala occasions with her son, leaving the restless Cale at home to brood. Eventually the ex-mercenary contacted some old business friends who quickly advised him to pursue some of his own hobbies. And within two weeks, Cale bought himself a lodge five hours from Turondil; a getaway; a place were he could relax and enjoy the outdoors life once again - if only for a week or two at a time.
This worked well for a while, it allowed Cale to go off hunting, or just riding about the picturesque countryside, and leave all his worries behind him. The world seemed a much better place in which to live. But that old demon, time, came back into play. Thoughts and emotions started to drift through Cale Everthorne, making him restless and annoyed once again. His two servants at the country estate quickly learnt when to avoid their master. One such day happened to coincide with a particularly unsuccessful hunting expedition. Cale stormed into the country house, cursing and calling for ale, his temper obviously not the best. The cold winter night skulked in behind him, though reluctantly.
"Dreyfus? Dreyfus! Where are you?" he bellowed, "Bring me some ale NOW, you overweight layabout!"
Cursing vehemently, Cale burst into the kitchen on a seek and destroy mission, and sent his man-servant, Dreyfus, flying backwards, the keg he'd had in his hands tracing an arc though the air above his head. Grimacing, Cale could only watch on in horror as the keg went crashing into the shelves of crockery on the other side of the room. It then fell to the floor, making a heart rending THUD! on impact, but with it's contents miraculously secure. But before Cale could wipe the grimace from his face and replace it with his previous scowl, Dreyfus, momentarily forgotten, kept teetering backwards across the kitchen, his large bulk preventing him from regaining any form of balance.
"Holy mother of Pearl!" yelled Cale, his scowl completely forgotten as Dreyfus' course became apparent to him, "Jump, man, JUMP!" But it was to no avail. The big servant's posterior inexorably fell onto the defenceless keg, smashing it into it's component parts - and then smashing those to pieces. Cale was quickly at his servant's side, a worried look on his face. "I'm alright, Sir," Dreyfus said, "Something broke my fall."
"Its not you I'm concerned about, oaf. Look what you've done!"
And Dreyfus could feel the ale slowly starting to soak into his clothing whilst he looked down at the wooden turmoil beneath him (a cooper in Turondil looked into the night sky, a tear tracing his cheek - he knew not why).
"I suppose you're going to tell me that what you're sitting on was the last keg in the house?"
"Um, I know where I can get another, Sir," came the weak reply, "though it may take a while."
"Well, don't just sit there like a twenty stone mop, go and get it!" bellowed Cale. Dreyfus then quickly scurried away. Before long he was astride his little donkey, Oatie, trotting away from his angry master. "How long are you going to take, Dreyfus!" came Cale's following yell, "Where are going to get this keg?" But no reply came, leaving the fuming Cale even angrier than before (not an easy thing to do) and thirstier to boot. He then stormed back into the house, violently pushing the door ahead of him and almost knocked the other servant, Rosey Blush. A young maid, the girl did in fact blush, and stammered out, "S-sir, shall I m-make your dinner n- now?"
Hesitating, Cale eventually replied, "Yes, girl, you may as well," and they both went into the house, Cale's eyes on the servant-girl, watching her swaying, braided red hair.
It was not long before Rosey brought Cale his meal, by now Cale had relaxed sufficiently (having found some spirits and liqueurs Lady Stella had brought with her on her one and only visit) while Rosey, too, had recovered. Laying the meal out before him, she then started back to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Cale's now calm voice, "Rosey, there's plenty here for both of us; join me. I think I could do with the company, right now," he asked her.
"Certainly, my lord," Rosey replied, "I was hoping you'd ask me." And she blushed, sitting next to him.
"You know, you can call me Cale, Rosey. I'm far from being a lord."
"You are to me, Cale" and she blushed again, but with a small fire in her green eyes as Cale's hand rested on hers. Their eyes locked and their hearts beat as one while Cale gently caressed Rosey's hand. "I think I've loved you since the day you hired me, three years ago," she breathed. And she didn't resist when Cale led her to the furs in front of the roaring fire, their clothes seeming to fall from their bodies as if by magic.
"Magic?" Cale absently asked, his attention elsewhere.
"Could be," Rosey soundlessly mouthed in reply.
* * *