A very Sellswords Yule

This is a short scene I came up with yesterday, based on mine and my mate's ongoing Sellswords and Spellslingers campaign. SS&SS is a GM-less battle game, where the monsters are controlled by a pack of cards. Over the past 3 years we've developed the figures characters (we have 3 each). We have a laugh over a few beers, and I find sometimes there are stories just waiting for me to find they are there. This one was found when I heard Brother Christos' description of the weather, and went to see what the six of them are up to.

• * * * * * * *

It was just another inn, variations of which were found across Eura, or at least the civilised parts of Eura. It was Mid-winter’s day, or Dark Day, if you were religiously inclined– the day after the old year had finished, and before the new one would start. A time when families gathered to give thanks for it making through another year, and remember those who hadn’t. To celebrate getting half way through the bleak winter, in one last hurrah before the last of the fresh food ran out, a shout of defiance against the cold and the dark, in the knowledge that from now on the days would start getting longer, until little by little, leaf-spring crept across the lands. Like so many of his profession, the inn-keeper here opened his doors on the holiday, so everyone had a family, if only for a few hours. A fire danced in the hearth, and green boughs hung from the beams, an ancient tradition to remind nature what it was supposed to do, and to hurry up and do it.

Sir Robin gazed absentmindedly out the frosted window, looking across the street covered in snow, deep and crisp and even. His eyes unfocused as his mind wandered back, across the lands and across the years. At the table a drunken Gunnar was trying to teach Eldarondo the drinking game 'In my cod-piece'; a fruitless game to play with a First-Born, as they neither react to human alcohol, nor understand why single-entendres are funny, though the dwarf roared with every comment, as though the elf was a master of humour. Sintamo, ranger and friend to all animals, was trying to coax a small mouse into nibbling the rind of a piece of bacon. So far the fat was untouched, but the ranger had been bitten three times.

A wistful smile played across Robin’s lips, as he pictured the scene that would be playing out in the family manor right now. The servants, at least those not cooking or serving, would have been invited to share the Midwinter feast in the Great Hall, while those still sweating over ovens and stoves would be rewarded with a small flask of wine each

His brother, as their father before, and his father before that, would ceremoniously carve the first slice of goose, before handing the carving knife to a servant who would treat the bird more as food and less as mortal enemy. The children would be sat excitedly, invited into the adult world for the day. Robin’s brow furrowed, trying to recall the ages of his nephews and nieces. Young Robert must be thirteen now, that strange age when your position said you were the next Lord, but your mind still thought you were a child; trying to leave the childish fun behind, but not yet understanding the enjoyments of adulthood.

And of course Aveline, his brother’s wife. Robin signed, wondering, not for the first time, what could have been if he had been his father's eldest child, or she had not been her father's eldest.

His reverie was broken by a blast of cold air, and the inn door slamming. Brother Christos stamped his feet to shake the snow off his boots. “Teuton’s mighty weapon!” he exclaimed, “I swear it was an icicle before it hit the midden-heap.” He sat down and looked around the table. “Where’s Eddie?” Eduardo’s tankard sat alone.

A look of panic crossed Gunnar’s face. “Miss, Miss,” he called to the innkeeper’s daughter, “Where’s Eddie?”

“Who?” she asked.

“Tall skinny gonk, long red robe, giggles and talks to his sword like it was a real person,” said Sintamo.

“I. Am. Here. You. Know. I. Can. Hear. You. That. Was. Just. Rude.” came a voice from under the table.

“Hush, or you go to the smith.”

"Pah. Try. It. Star. Metal. Remember?"

The young woman’s face brightened. “Oh the fire-wizard? He’s helping Ma roast the geese.”

If a penny dropping made a sound, this one would have been a rather large bell, falling from a rather tall bell-tower. Five pairs of legs propelled five panicked people upwards, though in Gunnar’s case this didn’t make a lot of difference. Five mouths shouted in unison. “EDDIE, NO!”

Edited by Last_Hussar on Dec 26th 2020 at 2:28:32 PM

Heh, funny. What kind of feedback are you looking for?

Anything really, just wanted to see how it would sound 'off the table'.

'Funny' is good!