>From what I've gathered talking to Geranna, Old Hrolf wouldn't have spent all afternoon pinned to a chair in my tavern had he not made one vital mistake. He looked away.
If you ever come down to the watering holes by the Cliff Gate you've probably seen Old Hrolf. If you believe popular myth he's killed over 100 men. As he's over 2m tall and still built like a thunderhead, despite going on 60 years of age, I'll go with popular myth on this one. He tells tall stories, but show me an old warrior that doesn't and I'll show you a deviant personality. Anyway, as I'm a tavern keeper, and when he used to come into my emporium I listened politely to them all. It's one thing you learn, never contradict a customer, especially when he has silver to liberate and is built like a Troll's shit house.
Have no doubts in your mind: Hrolf is loaded. I don't know where he got his cash from, and perhaps I don't really want to know that much, but he has no shortage of it. The official story is that he earned it all as a mercenary before the occupation. However, he seems a bit too flush for my suspicious mind. Maybe it's just a case of jealousy: I'm not brave enough to take the risks you need to take to gain that sort of fortune.
All my customers have their likes and habits. Hrolf was no exception. We followed the same ritual most Claydays. He came in just after noon and started drinking. When he'd sunk his eighth pint he'd want 4 bantams to eat. He never wanted chicken, pheasant or anything with four legs, just 4 bantams. We used to spit some extra birds on Clayday as we knew Hrolf was coming in. He always demolished the birds with gusto and threw the bones to the cat, Cat. Now, I know her name is not original, but it's only a mangy alley cat that lurks about. I run an establishment for real men, warriors, so why should I give it the sort of name a Lunar dowager would give her pet? Anyway, as she was usually referred to as "Oi, Fuck off you little shit" I rationalised that she would have been confused if I'd have called her something else as well.
Cat's handy to have around as well. A while back we had mice everywhere and couldn't get rid of them. I lured her in with a piece of meat and she stayed, becoming our efficient rodent executioner. If I were dishing out plaudits, I'd say she helped save the business. No one likes to know that the grain the beer is made from has been gnawed on and shat in by mice. There again, how do you give plaudits to a cat? I mean, she is only a cat when all's said and done. Maybe after what happened last Clayday I'll have to think again.
Hrolf usually fed Cat the remains of his birds. As all our birds are roasted, the bones are brittle and splinter easily. Cat used to crunch them up and swallow them. Occasionally though a splinter got stuck in her throat. She used to dash into the corner, hawking and gagging, trying to dislodge it. She always managed. Hrolf and the rest of the clientele used to have a good laugh at her distress. I mean, all finer human feelings aside, I have a business to run. If they wanted to have a bit of harmless fun at a well fed feline's expense, then who was I to argue?
But, sometimes, I felt a little guilty. Her eyes would lock on mine, silently accusing me of putting up with their treatment of her to further my own ends. But, I told myself, she's only a cat. I think she must have given a far more evil glare to Hrolf, judging by what happened to him.
Last Clayday Old Hrolf was about to start tucking into his bantams when an incoherent cry of fear from the door made everyone jump. I caught a quick glimpse of something powerful and lithe slide through the door. It was immediately obscured by all my patrons piling the other way, out through the door. Well, all my patrons apart from Old Hrolf. I could see him sitting at the bench at the back, his usually spot, his mouth open in fear. I couldn't imagine what it was that could have made such a tough warrior incapable of action.
Enough bodies had cleared so I could see. Sitting purposefully in front of the bench was the largest cat I have ever seen. I've seen some large (but dead) Sartarite Mountain Lynx carried through the Cliff Gate by hunters, but never have I seen a cat this big. It stared at Hrolf, who watched eyes wide with fear. Nonchalantly it extended a huge paw and batted a bantam off his plate and onto the bench, rolling the bird towards itself. As it opened its' mouth to crunch the bird whole, I swear to you it's canine teeth were a good 8cm long.
I was relatively safe behind the bar but frozen rigid in terror. Poor Old Hrolf probably had a resonating sphincter to sit on by now. As soon as the big cat demolished the bird, he whimpered and looked away, screwing his eyes up and retracting his limbs. Any second it looked as if he'd fold up into the foetal position and start wishing for the womb again.
Incidentally, anyone reading this shouldn't be too scathing about Hrolf breaking like that. Although I've never done it, it must be a far different experience to face another man in combat, armed and armoured than to face a wild animal with nothing but your shift between you.
Dimly I could hear calls outside for someone to bring spears so they could skewer the thing. As is typical in these situations, there's always an expert around whose analysis of the situation is always "Lets poke it with something sharp." I didn't fancy Hrolf's chances if some mad bunch charged in laying about them with weapons. Anyway, I know what happens in these situations: I had spent a fortune on decent pottery mugs last season and I had visions of them being shattered in the melee.
"Whoaa fellows!" I called. The cat's head snapped about and a pair of
large greeny yellow eyes transfixed me. It growled gently, presumably at
the noise. I grinned like a simpleton at the feline and gulped.
Hrolf used the opportunity to try and slide away down the bench, but the cat whirled back to him, lifted it's right front paw and extended the most fearsome set of blades you've ever seen. Then, as Hrolf welded his arse to the bench again, it began to clean itself - licking between it's splayed toes. To Hrolf and I the message was fairly clear.
I tried speaking again, a bit quieter. "Lads? Don't do anything rash, it may hurt the crock - er, it may hurt Hrolf!"
Someone stuck their head in, eyes bulging as it took in the feline bulk then disappeared as fast leaving nothing but a "Bollocks to that" hanging in the air. I could hear muttering outside as the assembled ranks of part time tacticians discussed the options. Finally I heard one of them say "Get Geranna."
Hrolf was looking up at the ceiling, murmuring to himself. The cat seemed occupied with him, so I started to edge towards the back door. The cat looked at me briefly, then turned its attention back to Hrolf. The last I saw of it as I slipped out was a massive tongue licking the side of Hrolf's face. It almost looked affectionate, but personally I reckoned it was basting him.
As I got out, there was a deluge of questions fired at me. I ignored them all, and slumped on the dirt of the street. "Leave me alone!" I begged, "It was very harrowing, the hot breath on my body..."
"Weren't you safe behind the bar?" Some wit asked. I ignored the catty
(no pun intended) comment and asked what was happening to get my tavern
back from the claws of nature.
"We've sent for Geranna!" another of the assorted mob told me.
"Who?" I asked, thinking I already knew the answer. I had a feeling she
was the crazy woman that minded the Yinkin shrine in the temple.
"She's the Yinkini Priestess," I was answered in awe struck tones. Oh
well, I thought, I'm a professional, lets defer to another one.
It took Geranna another hour to arrive. Obviously she has no idea of how much drinking gets done in an hour and how much of it wasn't going on inside my tavern. Sometimes I think Issaries could instruct those Lightbringers and others associated with them on some of the rudiments of mercantile economics. It would make our lives far easier.
Geranna is a striking woman. Not particularly attractive, but striking. She's some sort of imported yokel from the sticks judging by her accent. She was dressed much the same as any priestess of the Earth but had used some sort of green makeup on and around her eyes to give the effect of two large green eyes. Her hair was piled up in two conical structures like feline ears on the top of her head. The overall effect was, considering my tavern's current predicament, reassuring and powerful without being comical.
She cast her large made up eyes about the ground and locked on me sitting on the dirt. "This is all your fault," she accused, her voice calm, almost amused.
"Mine, madam?" I blustered. "I hardly think so! Some great cat appears
that may be savaging one of my most respected patrons and you tell me
it's my fault!"
She fixed me with the same sort of look the big cat had. I was overcome with the similarity. "You persecuted one of us, didn't you? It's always the way with bullies, when those bullied call for help you cry injustice."
My face must have lost its normal hale and hearty look for a second. She smiled: "I see you know what I mean." She paused and looked around. "If I help you, you must agree to look after one of my master's charges. In front of these good people, do you agree?"
I nodded vigorously, after all, what did Cat eat? Not a lot and doubling the amount wouldn't hurt. "My lady of Yinkin, whatever I can do to make amends, consider it done. Your four legged brother or sister will be welcomed in my house."
"Good!" She said. "Now get up and follow me." With that I scrambled to
my feet and followed her through the door into my own tavern. She wasn't
armed or armoured but moved with the assurance of one that knows she's
not going to come to any harm.
We stopped at the back of the tavern. She wrinkled her nose up in distaste. "My, your patron appears to have soiled himself." My heart sank. Imagine if that got around, Old Hrolf shat himself in the Cliff Gate Tavern: I'd have kids around for weeks trying to see the skid marks and making jokes.
The big cat was now sprawled over Old Hrolf, looking at us, trying to size us up perhaps. I noticed the other 3 bantams were gone off Hrolf's platter. The cat had a sort of sated look on its face, as if it had eaten enough for now. I noticed that Geranna was staring straight at it, locking her eyes into the cats. Geranna started to advance slowly across the room towards the cat, still looking straight at it.
I stood there, ready to bolt if it pounced on her. It didn't though, it got very agitated and, as she reached halfway across the tavern it looked away. My jaw dropped in amazement. I could see the cat tensing as she got closer and wondered if she'd be able to get out of the way when it attacked her. But it didn't. As soon as she was within touching distance of the cat it sprang up, denting Hrolf a bit more and marched purposefully across the tables away from him and Geranna, growling low in it's throat.
Geranna turned to me pointed to Hrolf lying on the bench and jerked her thumb towards the door. I needed no second bidding, but grabbed the burly Carl and dragged him out while she kept the cat busy. As I left, I could see her sitting down, near the cat, now deliberately not looking at it, tucking her legs under her body and folding her arms. I wondered what she was up to, but the less time I spent in contact with Hrolf the Smelly the better I reasoned.
As I got outside, loads of helping hands divested me of Hrolf. Quite a crowd had gathered to see the cat. Hrolf was now sobbing, no doubt wondering if his reputation has been permanently destroyed by this incident. I haven't seen him since, but I understand he wears chainmail most places now and is never without a sword.
Before I could do anything else, Geranna called my name, summoning me back in. I felt quite important assisting a priest like this in her God's work. I held my hands up, signalling the crowd wait for answers until later and strode back into the tavern, a man back in charge of his business again, Issaries be praised.
Geranna was sitting on a bench, the large cat draped over her, she was making a purring sound and stroking it along it's huge lips and chin. The animal was totally passive and seemed to be purring as well. She gestured with her free hand for me to sit next to her. I did so, a bit gingerly as one big green yellow eye opened up and regarded me, admittedly with more curiosity than menace.
"So," she asked, "Do you recall our agreement?"
"I do madam priestess," I answered, sincerely, "Just show me the little
fellow and he or she will be the most pampered cat within the walls of
Boldhome." Issaries always teaches us to honour a bargain, and I was
glad to follow my God's teachings here.
She laughed. "My, your idea of what's little is presumably different to mine!" I looked puzzled, but then a sinking feeling washed over my stomach and she didn't have to say anymore. But still, I reminded myself, a bargain is a bargain and it wouldn't be proper to try and wriggle out of it. Orlanth teaches us that a man never cheats his own and Geranna was of my city and my word is my bond.
That was the last Clayday Hrolf came in. Hrolf brought much silver and his friends had deep pockets as well, so I was worried about being able to continue without his patronage. However, many's the new face in here the last week that's come to see the new addition to my family. She, for it is a she, has found a new place by the fire next to Cat and eats much more than any other family member. But no other member of my family earns so much for me just for being what she is.
Sometimes our eyes meet while I rest. I imagine what's going on in her mind. I wonder what it must be like for Geranna, able to touch such a magnificent beast without fear because she understands it, because she's one with it.
Tomorrow I'll visit Geranna and find out.
End of The Glorantha Digest V6 #249
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