| abstract
| - Gilbert was one of the first Cherry Wood Knights who came, limping, in his case, to the edge of the encampment to visit them, face all aglow with joy at knowing that his comrades had successfully managed to get back alive from their trip to Fafner. "How's everything going, Gilbert?" inquired Hobenrûd, looking at the camp. "Not bad, Hoben! In fact, I think we're already ready to begin marching. A local village offered us quite a bit of gold in exchange for 'enlisting' our support in eradicating all those made-up 'witches' that prowled this place. So. Ready to tackle Pulti?" Hobenrûd smirked and said "Hollen gave us more troops than you can possibly imagine. I think it's my charm, myself;" Anita also got down from her mier and came forward, she glanced at Gilbert's bad leg, glanced at the camp, and seemed disappointed: "So this is your base of operations?" Hobenrûd rolled his eyes. "Or maybe he just wanted to bother me. Gilbert, meet Anita. We got another girl in the team...and I don't mean it in the good way. And Anita, yes, this is our base. We didn't have money for a fancy palace. So you'll have to get used to it." Gilbert turned to face her. "Well...we don't have much time to waste, but I believe your men are tired. We were planning to have a commemoration when you came...but I think we don't have beer for so many people." Anita grinned and said: "Oh, don't worry. I don't drink." That evening, Marin was walking around the camp. Not thinking about becoming queen, or about her father, or about gaining Hobenrûd's trust for the first time in days. Because, at that time, her mind was busy with more immediate worries like: "It's awfully crowded in here. And it's so noisy! It's a wonder my father's army doesn't hear us and burn our camp." Torches were lit to provide more illumination, and open kegs of beer were scattered throughout the field, so that anyone could just dip a cup in them and drink. The moon and various stars could be seen, brightly helping with the illumination themselves. Bards were singing happily and playing merry songs in their instruments, some of the more academic sang classical works like "Ode to Faghorn" and "The yellow rabbit;" while village bards sang improvised songs with varying degrees of success. All the songs and voices and lyrics and yells combined together to form a wild cacophony of joy that could not be understood, and yet described perfectly how the people were feeling. While walking, Marin stumbled on Jarek, somewhat drunk, carrying a lute strapped to himself. He was singing in abandon while playing strange harmonies: "\And he shlashed the shlob's gut!\...while...yelling for him to shtay put!\ ...and his noblesh...pardnesh came\...Oh, hey Prish...shilla. Sorry 'bout tha'...I sink...I think I'm kinda drunk," he said, laughing. Marin sipped from her cup, and told him: "Yeah. You look kinda drunk." He laughed again at this, louder. "Oh but it'sh not a party 'till shomen...shomeone getsh drunk! ...Hmm...Nishe idea for a shong! \Tish not a party, I thunk.\ 'Till shomeone got drunk!\" Marin decided to walk on, leaving Jarek behind, singing the song that later would be known as the "Ode to the yellow miers." She went to the central wooden pavilion, that seemed to be less crowded than the rest of the camp. Upon entering the pavilion, she noticed Anita, in a corner, speaking with some tall man. "Hey Marin! How are you doing? This is Yuri, one of my lieutenants. He was telling me that this party idea was really good. And I concur, this way our tired soldiers can rest for the march to Pulti, and since it'll take more than a day until we actually reach there, the side-effects of the beer won't pose trouble." she said. Marin was looking at the other corner, where Hobenrûd talked with two women about his feats in the travel. A second or two later she looked back to Anita. "Uh? Oh, yes...Gilbert knows how to handle this kind of thing. He was a strategist in the king's army, or something." She took another sip from her cup. Hobenrûd noticed them and walked closer. "Priss! Hey! I thought you were going to just walk around the camp. Really, the best of party is here anyway. And Anita, Gilbert said it would be a good idea if we divided ourselves from the main army and went to Jyptia without Drindell, since you're a wizard and all tha..." "I'm not a wizard." she interrupted. Hobenrûd rolled his eyes, and told her "Yeah, a wizardress or whatever." This time it was Anita that rolled her eyes. "No, I mean that I am not a witch. I am a sorceress." "Oh, then I'll pretend I understand everything now." said Hobenrûd impatiently, looking at the two girls he left behind. "A wizard is a mage that knows how to use everyday materials and rituals to make magic. A sorcerer is a mage that knows how to craft and use magical artifacts, there is an enormous difference. The Jyptians don't accept sorcerers there, they only allow wizards. Something about the ancient laws of the earth." "Oh that's just great. I'll get around to tell that to Gilbert somehow. And Priss, lookin' good tonight, huh? Or maybe it's just the lack of dirt." he said, leaving. Anita looked back to Marin, and told her "I can't understand that man. And I specially can't understand how you stand him, Priscilla. He's rude, arrogant, crude and...well, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer." Marin glanced at him again and answered: "That's not really him. He just acts like that to look heroic or something. He really cares about what he's doing, and about those around him... he just doesn't want to get really connected to those people," she took another sip of her cup. "I know what you mean. Arrogance is but a shield, a wise man once said. But since I first met him, I have never seen him act any different. So... are you sure that isn't just what you want to believe in?" Anita asked worriedly. Marin remembered the night before they departed from Fafner and said, "Yeah...I'm pretty sure." Anita simply shrugged and told her "Well, then loosen up a little bit. This is a party!" Anita started to drag Marin away, as the princess gulped what remained of the beer and threw the cup on the ground.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)