I pause in my mail reading for a week, and in the interim a full-blown scrap breaks out! I should do this more often!
In response to MOB's challenge, which no-one seems to have actually noticed...
MOB began:
"The Demivierge leaned forward in her dining couch as we strutted into the
dining chamber, a lascivious leer on her face, which, off the coins,
appeared too be more voluptuous, more wanton - and far, far less serene
in the flesh. Even eyes glazen with hazia, bhung or perhaps even
plain wine (but large, dark, expressive and ringed with kohl) could not
detract from her beauty, though to my father's eyes I'm sure it would have
been the beauty of a brazen strumpet, not the mighty ruler of a powerful
trading city.
A great sigh of lust - both carnal and gustatory, I feared - went round the banquet hall as the cooks put us through our paces. How was it that I, Hermocles of Bagnot, who had come to Rhigos as spy and erstwhile assassin, ended up shaven and oiled, disguised as not a member of the mid-course dance troupe as I first thought, but the next course itself!"
I squirmed against my restraints as best I could, desperately trying just to get one hand, nay, even one finger loose, my muscles bulging against the bonds that cut cruelly into my flesh. The Demiverge looked up, her heavy eyes pouring like chilled honey over my gleaming body.
"You... Come here!" Her voice cut through the babble of gossip and
malignment like Humakt's sword itself.
I felt rough hands push me forward, my toes sinking into the plush silk carpets, now stained with food scraps and wine dregs, and I fell to my knees at her feet. The same hands held my ears, tilting my head forward, forcing my eyes to the ground. As the redness of my pain and indignity cleared from my vision all I could see was a large gleaming emerald, caught up in an intricate weave of gold and pearls, and all adorning what was indeed a most amazingly attractive foot.
The Demiverge spoke again, to the crowd in general, or so I assumed. "Who in here will deny me my right." A statement, rather than a question. It was met by stony silence. "Good... Prepare the chosen one..."
I was hauled back to my feet again, and my eyes met hers, the briefest of glances, but a meeting that spoke volumes. And it was then that I felt my bonds weaken, just as one of the guards passed, his sword within easy reach... (to be continued)...
Marion
avimort_at_aurora.cc.monash.edu.au
(tongue firmly in cheek - where else should it be?)
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