[piosenniel]

Lyra's post - Sammael

Sammael laughed, showing white teeth. He had noticed that this was one very effective way to catch a woman’s attention. It worked, she was watching him.
”More ale” he called to the tavern maid, flashing her a smile that often did the same job.

“Could you not just have called her? Why all this grinning like a lackwit?” Sammael glanced at Damodred. His voice sounded cranky, but that was nothing new. Sammael had worked with the old man for years, and although he might have begun with the idea that Sammael was not a warrior, he certainly knew different now.

“A smile now might lead to better things later” he said, giving an exaggerated wink. A few of the men around the rickety table laughed.
“Deal the cards, then, if you’re not scared I will take you for all you’re worth” Sammael continued, giving another wink to the maid as she brought the pewter jugs.
“Indeed, young man? There may come a day yet when you beat me, but I do not think it will be today!”

Sammael chuckled along with Damodred. It was true, he had little talent at cards, except for tricks. Still, it was fun and he had money from raiding. What else was it good for but having fun? And new weapons. Idly Sammael stroked the hilt of his new curved sword as Damodred shuffled the cards. A scimitar, the dealer had called it- from some far off land. It had a good weight, it looked good and seemed deadly. Yes, he considered, life was generally good. He could have been stuck holding up fabrics or jewels for traders, like his father.
I might never have known the sublime feeling of the fight, the victory! he thought, with an inward shudder. I might have…married. Relief filled him. Why would you want to limit yourself to one woman? That tavern maid had a pretty face, but then so did the other. And the woman sitting with her husband in the corner. Admittedly, men were not expected to be faithful, but there were obligations, responsibilities. Yes, children were nice but he had three nephews and four nieces! Who needed more? No, life was good as it was. In fact-

“Are you going to sit there mooning over a pretty face all night?”
Damodred’s prickly voice cut through his dreams. Nightmares! he corrected himself with a grimace, then picked up his hand. As usual it was terrible, as a far too expressive face told Damodred clearly. The old man shook his head.

******

“Join our quest to the Southlands. A chance to fight for the glory of the Eye and the progression of Umbar. Fight the barbarians and turn them to the true path-guard the Priestess and help her in her mission. Conquer the lands of the Heathen and gain their support or provide their destruction. The Glory of the Dark Citadel to all who follow us. Make yourself known to the guards there. Glory to the Eye”
The voice of the Guard stopped intoning the proclamation and began to roll up his scroll.

Sammael had listened consideringly, lowering his head respectfully at the mention of the Eye. The man had the light of someone who served the Eye burning in his eyes. Sammael admired him. He would have volunteered as a Guard for the Dark Citadel if they led a more exciting life. And, of course, if they had more time to spend in the inns of the city. After considered thought he had judged he was probably best doing what he knew, but he sometimes felt he wasn’t doing enough. This journey would offer a chance to serve the Eye, which he sometimes felt he neglected, but also provide the more practical adventure he loved.

He turned to Damodred. The little man was watching him, head cocked to one side like a bird.
“Well?” he asked, “This seems right up your street, Sammael. Are we in?”
Sammael nodded slowly, then broke into his trademark grin.
“Yes. We’re in. Come on, let’s go up to the Citadel”

[ June 05, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]