Stilted
04-24-2010, 05:57 PM
Alright, mostly based off of an old, unfinished roleplay of mine, this is mainly supposed to be a “subtle” parody of a lot of the trashy romance novels I‘ve gone through. You know, the kind you buy just because of the well oiled manchest on the cover. The why lesbians? Because most of people that'll be reading this will probally be straight dudes, and it gives me a chance to poke fun at stereotypes. But granted, It probably isn’t even that good with that in mind. I do have the plot charted out, but I’m kind of skeptical about whether or not this would be a worthwhile thing to go for. But whatever, if an nybody likes the thing so far, I’ll just link to later chapters up here.
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Ch1
“A fine choice, sir. That blade was made by one of our finest smiths.”
A pale, plump man, blatantly of noble descent, though hiding it with ragged clothing, held a dagger in front of him, inspecting it closely. He began to hum, intrigued. Suddenly, he lunged forward- and halted, the tall but young shop lady had reacted unexpectedly. A concealed blade wasn’t even an inch away from his throat, though to be fair, the situation was mutual.
He stared the woman straight in eye. She had looked innocent enough; she had worn a baroque but gaudy gown, assumedly to compensate for her rickety stall: no expert, but he’d give it a week. Her face was like a statue, no even a bead of sweat, though he could see the fear in her eyes.
The man began to chuckle as the standoff subsided. “Yes, noteworthy indeed.” Not before lying down his copper did the man stalk off. She almost jumped out of her seat as its landing rocked the counter, quite a generous sum. It well was worth the risk.
“Pleasure doing business with you, sir.” the saleswoman ejaculated, still in earshot. Such enthusiasm was rare for her, but so was such danger.
The transaction was quickly recorded and taken by her assistants, older but hardy men, into their carriage. As they began gossiping to themselves about the previous incident.
It was times like that that made Lorelei Kreimhilde realize she was special. It wasn’t like she had any sort of supernatural powers, for as far as her knowledge went, only holymen could go beyond the impossible. It was her connection to such a person, or rather her father, that got her to where she was that day. One of the privileged women in her home village of Laplace, and to marry a man expected to be the next chieftain. And she had even sweet talked herself into the position as a merchant in the meantime.
Even a blind man could see that the woman was blatantly proud of her job. Weapons, pottery, tools, jewelry: the wares- livelihoods of families were on Lorelei’s shoulders, while her own share of the profits were respectable. A smirk and spark in her eye came when she saw that the crowd around the stall had grown exponentially- the earlier stir had caused some excitement.
Then, business was as usual. The next three customers were standard faire. The first was a peasant; a bargain, but nothing hurtful. The second knew how to haggle, but a scratch on the counter with her blade and a glare were the death of that. The third was a chore, with no clue what to buy, but also no clue on what amounted as a fair trade. “If this pace keeps up, the winter won’t be bad as the last for my suppliers. Don’t get cocky.” She began to mumble, eyes closed.
A little deep breathing, a cracking of the knuckles, and Lorelei composed herself. She wished for the help of her ancestors, though knowing well that they supposedly didn’t answer to women. Judging by the sun, there was only a couple hours left to go before they would pack up and crash at the inn before going back home. She had to juice anything that she could out of the eleventh hour. Every. Single. Item. Must. Go.
However, no amount of preparation would have changed Lorelei’s surprise to see her.
She walked through the market confidently, ignoring the stares that she caught on the way. It was no question as to why they did so, after all, women are not meant to walk in pants and a shirt, women are not meant to hold weapons and women are definitely not meant to have such short, boyish hair.
So, it was blatant that this visitor wasn’t just a woman, but presumably a warrior.
The thought of such thing was one of both envy and admiration. Lorelei was one of special circumstances, and even she had difficulties and prosecutions just for being a merchant. And as a merchant, knowing practicality when she saw it, could at least understand the restrictions a dress brought.
However, despite these, it came to Lorelei fast that this would be just another customer. Besides, a fighter of any sort at her stall meant that she had to be cautious.
Then, the potential costumer gazed over the daggers on display. One that immediately caught her eye. She reached over to pick it up and fingered it slowly, brushing her index finger over the intrinsic designs and durable material. tried out the blade. Unlike the case with the noble, there would be little hope of Lorelei countering a mugging attempt; neither of them were trained. She winced, but found out that there was nothing to fear.
The warrior-woman had asked for the price, and Lorelei hesitated, pretending to look through her records; there was something to exploit here. With men, Lorelei could use wiles to make regulars, while with other women there was the possible connection of dealing with one’s own kind. The later, she figured, was a strong possibility.
After the merchant got her nose out of her books, she adjusted herself, trying to look as strong and confident as she could. However, one could notice a small grin one her face. The price was announced loud and clear: it was actually less than what she would regularly charge for such a fine blade, but it was nonetheless satisficing.
However, before the warrior could respond, a deal sealer had to made.
“The name is Lorelei Kreimhilde, seller of the finest wares in Laplace. As long as I am the one running this shop, you’re always welcome here.” It was cold and quick. There was the harsh reality that the statement wasn’t actually as fortunate for the shopper as it seemed, but nonetheless it was genuine.
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Ch 2
Other than the encounter with the warrior woman, the rest of the workday was more or less uneventful from then on. Lorelei’s only complaint was with a city watch member she encountered before closing shop for the evening. Her reputation with the local fuzz was never great wherever she went.
The new face came by the shop with swagger; this was probably to compensate for embarrassing combination of a petite frame and ill-fitting uniform. As he passed by the stand, he halted, dashing to the woman ready to pack, a smirk on his face.
“Miss, don’t tell me ya were the salesm’n of dis stan.”
“You are new on the job, no? I am a merchant.”
“Ma’am, I don’t what parts yer from, but ya ain’t ‘lowed ta sell weapons here.”
“Just a misunderstanding, officer. I have a permit.”
“Ha! Lying wench!”
“See for yourself. Durward. The document. Now.”
The sun was setting as she called for one of her one of her assistants. The watchman tapped his foot for what seemed like an age as one of the strong working men came out with a scroll. It looked authentic, and signed by the duke, allowing her to sell and possess arms in the city.
The watchman began contemplating this before the interruption of one of his peers. “That’s the Laplacian dame I told you about earlier!” The other watchman shouted. “She gets special treatment.”
“But Da duke’s broda...” Grudgingly, the newbie decided to leave Lorelei to her own devices.
After that, Lorelei rushed the shop’s closing. She just wanted to get her room arranged at the inn. Eventually, she got into the inn, and booked a couple rooms. As always been the case in past visits, the only reason she was able to stay there without much trouble was that her three assistants were the kind of hooligans that were instantly at home in that sort of place- but they were her hooligans.
While the three were having their fun, Lorelei sat on her chosen bed, Eyes closed and chanting. It was a convincing bastardization of one of the common prayers in village.
It was a time for reflection, for meditation. It was she always did when at an inn like that on, despite the drunken chaos ensuing it. Problem was that there was a specific thing missing form her ritual. A diary. Writing the events of the day -other than business transitions- was best way for her to reflect. Her arms flailed across the bed and in her satchel. “Back in the carriage”, she told herself. “There and back; no need for an escort.”
The woman quickly held the opulent book under her arm, still alert on her trip despite her initial optimism. A small man carrying a short sword justified the suspicion as he leapt out form behind on of the neighboring stalls.
With a cry of wench, the cutthroat lunged toward Lorelei, grazing her leg and tearing off part of her dress’s fabric below the waist. Adrenaline pumping, she broke into a stride marred by her fashion, while her pursuer purposely trailed behind, throwing feints to get her excited.
The second watchman from before lethargically followed the path of the hunt. “Yep, special treatment.” He said softly.
Laplace’s smiths supplied the town’s duke with arms for his men. The village was important enough to the duke to justify a little recalcitrance and favors. A lot of the disapproving customers just tolerated it for the sake of pragmatism. But on the other hand, the watch wasn’t exactly against make things “even out, though.” Normally, this was just the taking a share of the profits, but after the morning’s incident…
“Just a little more, the inn is safe! I can see its lights from here!” She shouted in her head “let’s just hope my men aren’t too passed out yet.” Out loud was a shriek as the cutthroat drove his sword into the ground though the tail of her dress. She was pulled back, the diary flying as she hit the hilt straight on her back. Virtually hopeless, she lay slouched against the flat end.
The smaller one pulled out his blade when his friend came along. Lorelei froze, looking down her sleeve. Her tiny blade was still tied to her wrist, but it wouldn’t do any good. Never getting into that kind of situation was part of what she prayed for earlier, ironically.
She was picked up, pushed and shoved. She became a toy, but eventually they argued with how they going to play with it. One kept cutting the dress more, and the other tried more feigns, laughing at her flinches.
She looked up, eyes toward the moon. “Come on, guys.” A weak whisper went past her lips.
Impatience grew; it was already over in the woman’s mind. The first thing passed though her mind was the diary; for a last testament. But, Instead of feeling a sting, she heard a clang. The discord left her blank and staring. It had come out of nowhere.
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Ch1
“A fine choice, sir. That blade was made by one of our finest smiths.”
A pale, plump man, blatantly of noble descent, though hiding it with ragged clothing, held a dagger in front of him, inspecting it closely. He began to hum, intrigued. Suddenly, he lunged forward- and halted, the tall but young shop lady had reacted unexpectedly. A concealed blade wasn’t even an inch away from his throat, though to be fair, the situation was mutual.
He stared the woman straight in eye. She had looked innocent enough; she had worn a baroque but gaudy gown, assumedly to compensate for her rickety stall: no expert, but he’d give it a week. Her face was like a statue, no even a bead of sweat, though he could see the fear in her eyes.
The man began to chuckle as the standoff subsided. “Yes, noteworthy indeed.” Not before lying down his copper did the man stalk off. She almost jumped out of her seat as its landing rocked the counter, quite a generous sum. It well was worth the risk.
“Pleasure doing business with you, sir.” the saleswoman ejaculated, still in earshot. Such enthusiasm was rare for her, but so was such danger.
The transaction was quickly recorded and taken by her assistants, older but hardy men, into their carriage. As they began gossiping to themselves about the previous incident.
It was times like that that made Lorelei Kreimhilde realize she was special. It wasn’t like she had any sort of supernatural powers, for as far as her knowledge went, only holymen could go beyond the impossible. It was her connection to such a person, or rather her father, that got her to where she was that day. One of the privileged women in her home village of Laplace, and to marry a man expected to be the next chieftain. And she had even sweet talked herself into the position as a merchant in the meantime.
Even a blind man could see that the woman was blatantly proud of her job. Weapons, pottery, tools, jewelry: the wares- livelihoods of families were on Lorelei’s shoulders, while her own share of the profits were respectable. A smirk and spark in her eye came when she saw that the crowd around the stall had grown exponentially- the earlier stir had caused some excitement.
Then, business was as usual. The next three customers were standard faire. The first was a peasant; a bargain, but nothing hurtful. The second knew how to haggle, but a scratch on the counter with her blade and a glare were the death of that. The third was a chore, with no clue what to buy, but also no clue on what amounted as a fair trade. “If this pace keeps up, the winter won’t be bad as the last for my suppliers. Don’t get cocky.” She began to mumble, eyes closed.
A little deep breathing, a cracking of the knuckles, and Lorelei composed herself. She wished for the help of her ancestors, though knowing well that they supposedly didn’t answer to women. Judging by the sun, there was only a couple hours left to go before they would pack up and crash at the inn before going back home. She had to juice anything that she could out of the eleventh hour. Every. Single. Item. Must. Go.
However, no amount of preparation would have changed Lorelei’s surprise to see her.
She walked through the market confidently, ignoring the stares that she caught on the way. It was no question as to why they did so, after all, women are not meant to walk in pants and a shirt, women are not meant to hold weapons and women are definitely not meant to have such short, boyish hair.
So, it was blatant that this visitor wasn’t just a woman, but presumably a warrior.
The thought of such thing was one of both envy and admiration. Lorelei was one of special circumstances, and even she had difficulties and prosecutions just for being a merchant. And as a merchant, knowing practicality when she saw it, could at least understand the restrictions a dress brought.
However, despite these, it came to Lorelei fast that this would be just another customer. Besides, a fighter of any sort at her stall meant that she had to be cautious.
Then, the potential costumer gazed over the daggers on display. One that immediately caught her eye. She reached over to pick it up and fingered it slowly, brushing her index finger over the intrinsic designs and durable material. tried out the blade. Unlike the case with the noble, there would be little hope of Lorelei countering a mugging attempt; neither of them were trained. She winced, but found out that there was nothing to fear.
The warrior-woman had asked for the price, and Lorelei hesitated, pretending to look through her records; there was something to exploit here. With men, Lorelei could use wiles to make regulars, while with other women there was the possible connection of dealing with one’s own kind. The later, she figured, was a strong possibility.
After the merchant got her nose out of her books, she adjusted herself, trying to look as strong and confident as she could. However, one could notice a small grin one her face. The price was announced loud and clear: it was actually less than what she would regularly charge for such a fine blade, but it was nonetheless satisficing.
However, before the warrior could respond, a deal sealer had to made.
“The name is Lorelei Kreimhilde, seller of the finest wares in Laplace. As long as I am the one running this shop, you’re always welcome here.” It was cold and quick. There was the harsh reality that the statement wasn’t actually as fortunate for the shopper as it seemed, but nonetheless it was genuine.
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Ch 2
Other than the encounter with the warrior woman, the rest of the workday was more or less uneventful from then on. Lorelei’s only complaint was with a city watch member she encountered before closing shop for the evening. Her reputation with the local fuzz was never great wherever she went.
The new face came by the shop with swagger; this was probably to compensate for embarrassing combination of a petite frame and ill-fitting uniform. As he passed by the stand, he halted, dashing to the woman ready to pack, a smirk on his face.
“Miss, don’t tell me ya were the salesm’n of dis stan.”
“You are new on the job, no? I am a merchant.”
“Ma’am, I don’t what parts yer from, but ya ain’t ‘lowed ta sell weapons here.”
“Just a misunderstanding, officer. I have a permit.”
“Ha! Lying wench!”
“See for yourself. Durward. The document. Now.”
The sun was setting as she called for one of her one of her assistants. The watchman tapped his foot for what seemed like an age as one of the strong working men came out with a scroll. It looked authentic, and signed by the duke, allowing her to sell and possess arms in the city.
The watchman began contemplating this before the interruption of one of his peers. “That’s the Laplacian dame I told you about earlier!” The other watchman shouted. “She gets special treatment.”
“But Da duke’s broda...” Grudgingly, the newbie decided to leave Lorelei to her own devices.
After that, Lorelei rushed the shop’s closing. She just wanted to get her room arranged at the inn. Eventually, she got into the inn, and booked a couple rooms. As always been the case in past visits, the only reason she was able to stay there without much trouble was that her three assistants were the kind of hooligans that were instantly at home in that sort of place- but they were her hooligans.
While the three were having their fun, Lorelei sat on her chosen bed, Eyes closed and chanting. It was a convincing bastardization of one of the common prayers in village.
It was a time for reflection, for meditation. It was she always did when at an inn like that on, despite the drunken chaos ensuing it. Problem was that there was a specific thing missing form her ritual. A diary. Writing the events of the day -other than business transitions- was best way for her to reflect. Her arms flailed across the bed and in her satchel. “Back in the carriage”, she told herself. “There and back; no need for an escort.”
The woman quickly held the opulent book under her arm, still alert on her trip despite her initial optimism. A small man carrying a short sword justified the suspicion as he leapt out form behind on of the neighboring stalls.
With a cry of wench, the cutthroat lunged toward Lorelei, grazing her leg and tearing off part of her dress’s fabric below the waist. Adrenaline pumping, she broke into a stride marred by her fashion, while her pursuer purposely trailed behind, throwing feints to get her excited.
The second watchman from before lethargically followed the path of the hunt. “Yep, special treatment.” He said softly.
Laplace’s smiths supplied the town’s duke with arms for his men. The village was important enough to the duke to justify a little recalcitrance and favors. A lot of the disapproving customers just tolerated it for the sake of pragmatism. But on the other hand, the watch wasn’t exactly against make things “even out, though.” Normally, this was just the taking a share of the profits, but after the morning’s incident…
“Just a little more, the inn is safe! I can see its lights from here!” She shouted in her head “let’s just hope my men aren’t too passed out yet.” Out loud was a shriek as the cutthroat drove his sword into the ground though the tail of her dress. She was pulled back, the diary flying as she hit the hilt straight on her back. Virtually hopeless, she lay slouched against the flat end.
The smaller one pulled out his blade when his friend came along. Lorelei froze, looking down her sleeve. Her tiny blade was still tied to her wrist, but it wouldn’t do any good. Never getting into that kind of situation was part of what she prayed for earlier, ironically.
She was picked up, pushed and shoved. She became a toy, but eventually they argued with how they going to play with it. One kept cutting the dress more, and the other tried more feigns, laughing at her flinches.
She looked up, eyes toward the moon. “Come on, guys.” A weak whisper went past her lips.
Impatience grew; it was already over in the woman’s mind. The first thing passed though her mind was the diary; for a last testament. But, Instead of feeling a sting, she heard a clang. The discord left her blank and staring. It had come out of nowhere.