Fantasy The Village of Clopcomb (IC)

[eldorado]

The VillageAbout seven miles' down, you can see the village atop a short hill. There's nothing but tilled fields afore it, and nothing but tilled fields and a river after. The village itself is as humble as they come, and you might spot that there's a hole or two in the roofs needing thatching. The stone wall around it is crumbling, and within you might find cracks in the cobblestones running like streams all along the village square.

The people are in high and friendly spirits this time of year. Green of a vibrant kind dresses all of nature, and the trees with blossoms, the fields with flowers. The dirt-worn path gushes with the rains of harvest time. Long tracks cut through it, like veins in a man's arm.

The village itself has something like nature's dressing. The merchants have covered the market place with their wares, foreign goods that capture the eyes of the curious, and the stables are full of lizards, their scaly smell dusting the air around, and the inn is full of strangers, jostling uncomfortably with the locals when they come to draw at the well.

The harvest brings all kinds and all trades for the coming of the new year. It is a rare time of excess for the small village, and most intend to make what they may of it, but few to the point of foolish spending.

With the festival on the morrow, you may expect one night's rest ere the day's frivolities.

 

[eldorado]

How the harvest festival tempted his blood! A fire was all about the youths, and the tankards in their hand were no quenchers!

“Ay, how’s that one?”

“She’d suit me… for a mother!”

“Come, come…” Harold James lowered his voice. “I was speakin’ of the fair maid beyond. Do you not spy her angel face?”

A breath answered him.

“She’ll be dancing with me before the night’s end.”

Oswen blew out his lips and guffawed. “What, by your silver tongue? Sure, she’ll choose you over the seven men tested in king’s courts and places too high for our kind.”

Harold James’ face turned scarlet, and his eyes promised violence, but he made no move. And Oswen knew he wouldn’t. The broken rib still ailed him, and the beating he got from Oswen’s two fists was in no way forgotten.

The boys carried on their raucous jesting, bursting out in song now and again.

The whole square was alight, the merchants calling out to the villagers, setting their prices high, playing the dance of coin. The wool traders and the sheep herders were at their usual rivalry, both sides staring each other down, both refusing the other’s price.

In the middle of the square, gypsies had taken up a melody, the women dancing, their bells jingling with the scattering of their feet. Their voices were raised in a strange language, a high and guttural tongue from an antique land.

Rurnur wristalies

 

[wristalies]

From the highest hill any and all could see the buckets of light pouring from within the village. How swollen Clopcomb looked, buzzing alive with the radiance of entertainment and exporters alike. Hylas' eyes wandered down to the small divot where the blacksmith's business was set aglow. Arlo was busy selling his finest scythes, the most decorated blades. Hylas huffed, getting up from the grass to walk back down. The general murmur raised to a roar as he was suddenly thrust into the scenery. How jubilant did even the most drearisome of sowers seem! Along his way he spotted a man with a large yellow creature perched atop his shoulder, cawwing out upon every few moments. A young child nearly knocked into his leg given all the commotion.

Within a few moments of entering his uncle's shop, it was clear his broodiness was not going to win over tonight.
"Hylas, come now. Clopcomb rejoices tonight. It is only fitting we delight in this year's successful harvest." Arlo tried to steal his nephew from the window, putting a heavy arm around him in a means of persuasion. But the young man, however wiry his frame, held steadfast to the sill.

"It is for them, not for us." He corrected.

"You think this town cares to waste its thought on you tonight?"

Hylas turned to catch the older man wearing a smirk. "You're merciless."

"And merry! To have so many eyes for my wares, I'd be a fool to waste this." He gestured toward the masses, busying themselves with coin and contraption.

"What? Will you kick me out of your shop if I don't leave?" Hylas said in mild interest.

"I'll surely lay your head upon the anvil if you don't go spend your night elsewhere." With that Arlo gave a light shove to his nephew out the door, which was more than enough to send him on his way.

 

[Rurnur]

CRACK. The goblin grit his teeth as his hammer slammed into the meat slab over and over, the table underneath barely holding on as the cracks in the wood expanded with each smack. "Dammit, you cretin! Enough with that!" The butcher reached out and grabbed the hammer in Snaeb's hand, attempting to wrench it out of the goblin's grip for an uncomfortable amount of time, before finally Snaeb relinquished it. "Eh.. but meat still needs beatin'!" He complained, furrowing his brow. "You're beating the hell out of it, and the damn table too! Would you just go and take it out? We gotta keep the food coming while the festivals on! Got it?" He ordered the goblin before continuing with the food preparation. Snaeb snarled quietly and began slapping several slabs of meat onto a pair of wooden plates, before he carried the giant stacks outside.

Partly due to the weight imbalance from his bulbous meat-whacking arm, and partly due to his natural clumsiness, Snaeb wobbled dangerously over to the group of men carrying two precariously stacked piles of meat. "More meats! Eat!" He shouted up at the men in his raspy tone, one of the piles teetered slightly too close to Oswen, threatening to spill all over him if the situation wasn't taken care of post haste. As the men began grabbing hunks of meat from the plates, the goblin licked his lips, only now realizing his hunger upon seeing others fulfilled. Leaning his head over to one of the piles, he snatched a slab of meat between his sharp teeth and pulled it away, an action that almost sent the small goblin spinning away from the group.

 

[eldorado]

“Oh, when I've got a lady
--A woman with… grey eyes!
Oh, when she's smilin’ at me
--The woman with… red lips!
I know I've got a lady
--A woman with… sharp wit!
When I've got her smile.”

The chorus wound to a close, the boys still swaying over their tankards. William hummed, his softer voice carrying pleasant.

“Hey, it's Snaeb!”

Harold James threw back his head and roared, “SNAAAEB!”

As the goblin drew nearer and the village congregated around the meat, throwing sizzling mounds of it onto their plates, the boys called out to the little creature, with all the fond affection by which one cries out to a deformed dog.

Oswen stayed back, his nostrils flaring in disgust. He took an angry swig of his ale. How could anyone eat anything that vile pest had touched? After all the goblin necks he'd wrung for thieving his fields, the sight of one of the worms turned his stomach. For this very cause, he stayed far and away from the butcher's store, like there was some curse over it.

He stepped back to dodge the falling tower of meat, hissing through his teeth as they splattered to the ground. “You little rat..!” As soon as the pest had thieved a bite of meat, Oswen snatched it up by the neck and throttled.

“Aw, Oswen, leave ‘im alone!” William protested. “He took only a piece.”

“Bah!” Oswen threw the pest down. With a finger pointed at the little cretin's face, he growled, “You’d best be watchin’ yourself around me, pest.”

 

[Rurnur]

His red eyes bulging, Snaeb chewed ravenously, bloody flecks of meat flying out onto Oswen's face from in between the goblin's jagged teeth. As he swallowed the entire chunk, the creature began to squirm and attempt to bite the boy's hands before he found himself back down in the dirt. His eyes glazing over, Snaeb lunged forward and just barely missed biting off the finger being offered up to him. Just before the goblin snarled and launched himself into the air in a blur of speed, wrapping himself around Oswen's head in a blind rage. "Nyaaah!!" He screeched and began throwing his fist into the back of the boy's head. His twisted claws and nails now tangled up in locks of hair, the goblin would refuse to let go like a parasite, despite whatever pain may be inflicted upon him.

Immediately recognizing the inhuman sounds from outside, the butcher; Gregor, kicked open the back door and rushed out. Sighing heavily at the sight before him, he called out to the green crab-like beast that unfortunately was the closest thing he had to a son. "SNAEB, enough of that! We have work to do!" And like clockwork, the goblin blinked a couple times before coming back to his senses, which there weren't many of in the first place. "Nyeh.." Snaeb complained as he dropped off of Oswen's head, and scurried off to the butcher's side.

 

[eldorado]

His legs gave way. In a heap to the ground he fell. A groan escaped him. He rose, stumbled, and found his feet.

"You... you pest, come back here..." He grumbled. With a shake of the head, his eyes focused better. "Hey! ...Hey, butcher! You seen what your crazy creep of a pet did?"

"Aw, it was half your fault, Oswen!" William said.

Harold James shrugged. "I'd say it was all his."

Teeth on edge, Oswen crossed the distance to the butcher and said, "Now listen. I've been killing goblins since I was a boy. Got a whole nest of 'em once. Now you best teach yours to behave aright or I'll be adding his ears to my trophies." He spat at the goblin.