Youthful Times, Elder Means: Of a debate on a matter of gear and philosophy (restart point offered) [Episode 9722]

by Thrythlind

The name "Ye Olde Tavern" brought to mind a quaint little getaway harkening back to the days of old. Sturdy, hand-built wooden form with old, large tables formed of fallen logs and smelling of pipesmoke and ale.

The truth was something else again. The Tavern sat on the edge of the desert, the only sign of civilization for miles in whichever direction one would care to travel. It did a moderate amount of business catering to the nomadic travelers that passed the crossroads upon which it was perched.

A small settlement, of perhaps three families, had grown up around the building living on what they could glean from each caravan or individual traveler. Currently they were doing quite a good trade.

Though the nature of the trade did render the humble proprietors nervous.

They were playing host to a company of nearly thirty men and women decked out in slick black, bike leather and enough steel studs, spurs, and chains to make a small mine. And there was no telling what other sort of steel...or lead...they were carrying.

In addition to this were three semis and two lone travelers that were hardly the normal sort of carter. And it was on these that all eyes were locked. As they circled each other and argued in a language only one half-way educated person could recognize as latin.

"I will not be so challenged by a pagan barbarian," the woman sniped irritably.

"Barbarian?" the man answered. "Coming from someone of your outdated thoughts? That is quite a stretch."

"Righteous thoughts will never be outdated," the woman snapped back. "To think that I should here the holy tongue be defiled by the likes of thee."

"Hey, it belonged to Jupiter before it belonged to the Son of Man," the man sniped back.

"Why you!"

Hands flashed, a spark of eldritch blue and another of shimmering white each coalesced into separate weapons. Before the second had passed, the man had a sword to his throat and a pistol aimed at his heart, while the woman had a knife to her stomach and a shotgun aimed at her head.

"You're an Errant?" the man asked.

"Indeed," the woman answered tightly. "It would seem you are as well." They grimaced but removed their weapons, each vanishing into the light that they formed of.

"Perhaps we should settle our affairs with a match of horsemanship," she suggested. After all, Latin didn't possess words to describe motor vehicles very well.

"Your hog against my cobra?" he asked, disbelieving. "Right."

And who were these people?

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(Posted Sat, 09 Nov 2002 17:28)


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