Marion Anderson:
>In response to MOB's challenge, which no-one seems to have actually
>noticed...
Bless you Marion: I really enjoyed your addition to this lurid tale:
"...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."
What I like about this is it's raunchy, but it's classy!
I've gone an added a part the third to follow on after Marion's bit: the tale's still short enough in its entirity to reprise, so I'll do so here...
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...
***
How did they know I wasn't a Herd Man like the rest of them? The 'dance' the cooks made us go through was simple enough to keep up with, consisting as it did of slapping buttocks and thighs, flexing muscles and showing off prime cuts and juicy haunches. I guess it must have been when the Demivierge's Vorians glided in on the massive bronzed Gravy Boat, alluringly made up as sea nymphs draped around the bathing pool-sized salver of bubbling savoury sauce. How was I to know that a Herd Man's reaction to such a bewitching sight would be nothing more than a blank stare, a shuffling of the feet, uncomprehending bleating. Tried as I could to hide my bodily discomfit - how my late father would have berated me, and sent me off to the cold baths had he seen me so! - I could not, and was noticed by the feasters reclining in front of me. "Hey, let me see, you!", tittered the aging roue to my right, pelting me with grapes. Automatically I turned round to face him, glaring, and the gig was up. "A spy, an imposter!", the jaded libertine cried, throwing the fruit into the air... moments later, I was trussed up and dragged before the Demivierge. In my shock and apprehension it took me a few moments to realise that apart from my bonds, a filigree of gold had been placed on my head: it was almost like a crown. "Congratulations, Year Son", sniggered one of the Axe Maidens, as she pushed me to the floor.
***
Slipping out of the bonds proved remarkably easy, what with all the oil and honey I had been so liberally basted with, and I lunged for the sword and got it free of the sluggish guard's scabbard. But, just as the oil had been so fortuitious in wriggling free of the restraints, so now it proved my downfall, and the blade slipped from muy fingers and clattered to the floor... ...to be continued??
Cheers
MOB
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