Board Thread:Times Past/@comment-24866242-20140529220802

Story: A Familiar Name in Olden Days. Ben Stinel posted July 16, 1999 09:53 PM

Robert Mitchell led his mount through the path in the woods. Somewhere ahead in the drizzling rain his party was moving in his direction while he headed towards them. The damp drizzle had muffling affect on the air around Robert and his ostrich-like steed and the only sound that reached them with any clarity was the sound of Robert’s own footsteps. The tall yellow furred animal that walked along behind him hardly made any sound at all as it lightly stepped behind him aside from its breathing in its master’s ear. The creature rested its un-harnessed head lightly on Robert’s shoulder and he absently reached up and scratched it behind its beak. It made a sound somewhere between a cat’s purr and a bird’s trill that Robert knew was contentment and flicked a long wet tongue out to touch his cheek. Robert laughed at the tickling he had earned himself and his companion mimicked him, trying to give him a good wet lick even as he pulled away.

The sound of singing ahead in the woods stopped his laughter and he stopped. His Chocobo like steed took another two steps before it also stopped and perked its head to listen. The animal stood to its full height when it stopped, as opposed to its walking stance with its long thick neck stretched out ahead of its body. The creature’s beak/muzzle twitched with distaste three feet above Rob’s head. He smells the horses, Rob thought with amusement.

If ever two creatures hated each other with a greater passion than the Ostriches and horses Robert was glad he wasn’t there to see it. They were civil around their human masters of course, and the Ostriches were well trained to leave the horses alone. Horses were prized above any other livestock that had survived the crash though why was a question for greater men than Robert. The nobles had the corner on the horse breeding business and they owned most of the horses on New Oregon although one or two farmers had a nag hidden away in a barn here and there. Even a nag would be worth two or three of the yellow furred Ostriches. Mainly because of the status a horse brought. Ostriches were faster, stronger and more useful in a fight than any horse Rob had ever seen. And a single Ostrich could move through dense woods with a rider on his back and make hardly a sound where a horse would call the attention of every soul, human or otherwise, in a half-mile radius.

I’ll take the birds any day, Rob thought to himself. "Don’t worry, Sunbeam," he told his yellow friend. "We’ll wait for them to catch up and make our report then its on our way again."

Sunbeam hummed his assent in his low voice and continued to look warily in the direction of the oncoming group of people and animals. The singing ahead grew louder as the party grew closer and soon Rob could see the group through the damp wood. There were three horses in all, each with a rider, and there were five mounted Ostriches forming a semicircle around the trio to the sides and to the rear of the group. There were roughly ten men walking afoot, some amidst the ostriches and next to the horses and some trailing behind with the heavy Ostrich pulled wagon. Two Ostrich easily pulled what would have taken four horses but still the nobleman in the lead preferred his horse.

The equestrian in the lead was Lord Samuel Riordan. He was a young man, far younger than the Lord on one of the other horses was but in his own eyes the superior of the two. The other man might think so too for all Robert knew. These nobles had only been playing at their game for seventy or so years but from every book Robert had ever read they had certainly filled out the role. In any case, House Riordan was a strong and wealthy family and very influential. Robert had hunted with Samuel’s father before he died and the young lord had come along infrequently. He was, to say the least, insufferable. Robert only hoped it was the sort of trait that skipped a generation here and there and that the boy’s children would be halfway decent, like their grandfather had been. I’ll likely still be around to see it, Rob thought to himself.

"Ho! Robert!" One of the Ostrich riders waived to him and the animal he rode jumped easily ahead of it’s chums in long graceful strides. Robert waited the few seconds it took for the other man to reach him and Sunbeam and smiled at the other man when he swung down to stand next to him. The other man's bird was a female and was physically more impressive than Rob's relatively svelte male. The females were the war horses of the species (if you'll forgive the use of the word horse here) and were stronger and more aggressive than their male counterparts. What the ladies had over the males in sheer strength the smaller males made up in speed. Sunbeam was a scout bird to be sure and he was obviously smitten with her. He held his head lower than hers in deference and was peering up at her adoringly. She nipped him when he tried to nuzzle her under her beak and he made a soft crooning sound in the back of his throat to sooth her temper.

"I don't think he'll have much luck with her," the man said with a laugh. "She's got her eye on a little racer back home." He was a stout man with a thick brown beard that hung a good five inches past his chin. His voice was deep and had something of an accent that Rob had always found interesting. Gerald was a Cauck, like Rob, and most Cauck's didn't carry accents. The Chins did, of course. Most of them anyway. If Robert had lived in another time and place he would have known Gerald's half accent for what it was. British. But in this here and now not even Gerald knew that.

"You won your wife the same way, if I remember." Rob reminded him. "And what was the name of the athlete she had her eye on?"

"True enough," Gerald conceded with a laugh, not bothering to name the athlete. They both knew it had been Robert himself. "So there's no trouble in our path I trust? If there were I'm sure we'd have heard from you before now. Or not at all I imagine."

"The path is clear of danger, I reckon." Robert said. "I brought back enough tree jumpers to make a feast. You're welcome to them. For myself I never could bring myself to eat anything with thumbs."

"A noble sentiment," a haughty voice said from behind Gerald. When Gerald turned sideways to see the source of the voice Rob was able to see past him and realized the rest of the party had finally caught up. The horse rider in the lead was the speaker, of course. Young Lord Samuel was in a fine splendor today. The height of fashion to be sure. Robert remembered the boy's father saying something to him about how shocked he was that fashion had caught on again so quickly after the crash.

"Thank you, Lord Riordan," Rob said, "for the kind words, but my motivation is not as noble as you might think. I simply don't like the flavor of the little beasts." This prompted a giggle from one of Riordan's companions. The other two horse riders kept their horses abreast of one another and several paces back from their young leader. One of them, the giggler that was, was a girl aged about eleven years. Her red hair hung around her shoulders and was pushed behind her ears except for one lock that had escaped and danced around her right eye when she turned her head. She was watching the Ostriches with great interest when Riordan glanced over his shoulder at her, not showing the slightest indication that she had uttered the smallest sound. When Riordan turned around to face Rob again she stuck her tongue out at the Lord and stuck her thumbs in her ears while she wiggled her fingers. Rob had a hard time masking his shock when nearly every one of Riordan's men around her followed her lead! Gerald didn't show any outward sign of noticing this at all although the entire scene was in his full view. He did cast a wink at the girl though when Riordan had returned his full attention on Rob.

"Ahh," Riordan said, "but nobility is all about having good taste you know..."

The third horse rider, a noble in his mid forties without a touch of gray to his unruly brown hair, was the girl's father. He had struggled and failed to hide his broad smile at his daughter's antics, settling instead for covering his mouth with one hand and giving her an obligatory "You're pushing it" look. Rob doubted the man would follow through on it if pressed. The man's clothes, while not as fine as his benefactor's, were infinitely more suited to the rain and woods. Robert, not usually one to make snap judgments about people, changed his opinion about the man right then and there. The man was very fit for his age and Robert guessed he was used to spending most of his time out of doors. "...wouldn't you say so, Dennis?"

Robert realized abruptly that he hadn't heard half of what his master had said. Neither had the girls father apparently because he blinked when he heard his name. "I guess you know best about that sort of thing, Sam."

Riordan let a moment of distaste flash across his face at the informal use of his name, although he had invited it by calling his companion Dennis to begin with. "You'll have to excuse the Lord Stinel," he told Robert, almost as if he were an equal. "His interests don't extend themselves much beyond the gates of his vineyards and the happiness of his daughter. He does make the best wine anywhere to be had though."

Ben Stinel posted July 26, 2000 11:16 PM

Rob was starting to wonder to himself if the spitted Tree Hoppers might not be better tasting after all. The stew he was making himself was made out of the not so fresh vegetables and dried rule-ox flesh he’d gotten out of the back of the wagon. He was so occupied by trying to season it just right that he didn’t notice the girl sit down next to him on his log.

She looked at his stew and then glanced up at him. “Can I have some?” she asked.

The pot was big enough for two but Rob was pretty hungry. He glanced at her red headed, freckled face and the hopeful expression that lingered there and tried to think of a way to keep it for himself. The longer he looked at her the harder it got so he looked back at the stew and stirred.

“It’s got wine in it sweetheart. You’re a little young, aren’t you?”

She gave a little laugh and a smile at his naivete and moved her hand as if to brush his comment aside. “I live in a vineyard, remember?” She leaned in and smelled the stew before drawing back a moment and thinking. “Smells like the Merlot to me. Five year old vintage.”

“That’s pretty good.” Rob admitted.

“Well,” she smiled at him, “it’s all we brought.”

“So why don’t you want the Tree Hoppers the others are eating?” he asked.

She didn’t answer outright. Instead she held up her arms, crossed them at the wrists and wiggled her thumbs.

“Ahh…” he said. “I take your meaning.” It was, after all, the same reason he had given for not wanting to consume the little beasts. “Get a bowl. I think it’s just about done.”

She grinned and jumped up to run over to the wagon. Just as she started rummaging through the supplies for a wooden bowl and spoon her father sat down next to Robert on his log. 