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An effigy smolders in Solitude tonight. A mannequin mockery of a long dead king soaks in the vengeance-filled incinerations of jubilation over his death. Poor King Olaf – the traitor who betrayed the Nords to the Dov. Were I allowed to interrupt the scorching of his damned soul, I would give him respite by relieving myself upon his still charring figure.
No. It’s to the alleyway with me, to some hidden location where I can unleash my gut-eviscerating swill into one of these empty spiced wine bottles. Sorex Vinius will not know what hit him when he takes a swig of this, swishing it around in his foul mouth like an unappreciative brat with no sense of taste. Still, I’ve had so much of Evette San’s wonderful drink flood my belly that my flowing river may, perchance, lead to his belligerent drunkenness, an indulgence of pre-filtered alcohol. I suppose that’s a win?
One bottle down, another started. The waterfall will not cease, nor shall parasitic beavers I carry from my travels damn it. I shall repay the bloke who told me there would be free meat pies and then handed me an apple pie instead. Dastardly bastard – No meat in that pie, none at all. The wolf inside me doesn’t appreciate liars, especially ones that tantalize his predator brain with salivating tales of meat-filled pastries. Think of it. The best of both worlds joined forces – pastry and flesh. The only way such a combination could be perfected would be the union of venison and sweet roll or rabbit leg and honey treat. Augh!
These thoughts bounce within my skull as a creek of spittle oozes down my chapped lips and over my scarred chin. Molten saliva. Is it my own steadfast dementedness from drink, or is it my hunger for such a concoction? I know not. Aye. The only thing I do know is that in my stupor, in my imaginative voyage to the realm of baked goods, I overfilled the second bottle and soiled my boots. Jordis the Sword-Maiden will have need to wear out her knees scrubbing tonight. Perhaps I should suggest some low-cut nightwear?
–Cornelius
Posts Tagged With: King Olaf’s Verse
Found in an Alleyway in Solitude
–
An effigy smolders in Solitude tonight. A mannequin mockery of a long dead king soaks in the vengeance-filled incinerations of jubilation over his death. Poor King Olaf – the traitor who betrayed the Nords to the Dov. Were I allowed to interrupt the scorching of his damned soul, I would give him respite by relieving myself upon his still charring figure.
No. It’s to the alleyway with me, to some hidden location where I can unleash my gut-eviscerating swill into one of these empty spiced wine bottles. Sorex Vinius will not know what hit him when he takes a swig of this, swishing it around in his foul mouth like an unappreciative brat with no sense of taste. Still, I’ve had so much of Evette San’s wonderful drink flood my belly that my flowing river may, perchance, lead to his belligerent drunkenness, an indulgence of pre-filtered alcohol. I suppose that’s a win?
One bottle down, another started. The waterfall will not cease, nor shall parasitic beavers I carry from my travels damn it. I shall repay the bloke who told me there would be free meat pies and then handed me an apple pie instead. Dastardly bastard – No meat in that pie, none at all. The wolf inside me doesn’t appreciate liars, especially ones that tantalize his predator brain with salivating tales of meat-filled pastries. Think of it. The best of both worlds joined forces – pastry and flesh. The only way such a combination could be perfected would be the union of venison and sweet roll or rabbit leg and honey treat. Augh!
These thoughts bounce within my skull as a creek of spittle oozes down my chapped lips and over my scarred chin. Molten saliva. Is it my own steadfast dementedness from drink, or is it my hunger for such a concoction? I know not. Aye. The only thing I do know is that in my stupor, in my imaginative voyage to the realm of baked goods, I overfilled the second bottle and soiled my boots. Jordis the Sword-Maiden will have need to wear out her knees scrubbing tonight. Perhaps I should suggest some low-cut nightwear?
–Cornelius
