IvoryValentine
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 10, 2012
- Posts
- 450
The flour dust was heavy in the air of the old mill when the sun began to set. The orange sunset pierced thru the trees outside the big open doors, casing odd shadows as the leaves danced in the fall breeze. The effect of the light on the flour dust adrift left the unnerving illusion of orange flames dancing through the air. Nisa loved the spectacle, from time to time, taking a moment from her back breaking work to glance at the doorway. As evening fast approached, the miller pushed a little hard to get just a few more bags ground.
After pausing to push a loose lock of brown hair from her face, she began to lift the bag of corn up and pour it the contents into the hopper that led to the grinding stones below. The constant sound of the two massive granite stones grinding together and the splashing of the paddle wheel outside in the creek set a perfect rhythm to sing to.
“Come all ye maidens young and fair
And you that are blooming in your prime
Always beware and keep your garden fair
Let no man steal away your thyme
For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
nlyme with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind
Once I and a bunch of thyme
i thought it never would decay
Then came a lusty sailor
Who chanced to pass my way
And stole my bunch of thyme away”
As the milled worked, pouring corn in the miller to grind then rushing down to catch her wares in large cotton sacks, other dark work took place outside. Orkta limped back to his commander who stood surrounded by 6 hobgoblins, all sent out to scout the area by their Master. The mill sat perched on the side of a hill and it’s paddle wheel and grinding stones could be heard for miles around. Isolated in the edge of the forest, miles from the closest farming village, the mill posed little threat the band of scouts still they were cautious. “Alone... only but one.” Orkta gargled sounding more like a toad than his kind.
His commander glared down at his underling and shifted his long spear from his left hand to his right. “One.... big man?” he questioned. “Millers are big men.” Commander Gorkin said recalling another such building they had attacked a few seasons before. The man who fought to keep the band out was a monster, with tree trunks for arms. Were not all flour millers the same?
Orkta grind with greenish yellow teeth, “No.... no big man..... no man at all.” Commander Gorkin leaned in, now curious, “Little woman. Fair of skin. Soft hair. Smelt so good.” The hobgoblin band began to stir excitedly. There was nothing like the feel and the taste of a human woman. Commander Gorkin brought the group under control with a glare. No one had the same hunger for what waited for them in the mill more than he but it wasn’t often such a thing lived without a man, especially so far from a village. Maybe Orkta was mistaken, to excited when he saw the female to take notice of a male.
After some consideration, Commander Gorkin turned to the group and began giving his orders. “We go in quiet. You two, through the water. You two, around the back. You tree , take the door. I watch from the road and catch what runs out. Kill da man and eat him if you want. The females for me tongue and cock first.”
Nisa continued her song as she worked. She filled the last full bag and let the tailings fall from the stones into a bag she used for herself. Pulling layers of her brown skirt out of her say, the miller crouched down and began to sew the bags of flour shut with a long, steel needle. The work had been hard since last winter when her husband died in a barroom brawl. but thinking back, the work was the only thing she missed about him.
Nisa had been in love with a young farmer a county away who had bought land close to the mill. But love does not pay a dowry, and after her young farmer found he couldn’t pay his milling bill, the Miller did some digging and found out about her. To spite the young man, the miller, Brasco Strongol, paid Nisa’s dowry to her starving father who’s belly was of greater importance than his daughter. Nisa’s young farmer hung himself the day he found out and Nisa’s heart was broke.
But that was more than ten years in the history. Nisa’s only happiness since then was when Brasco would head to town for a three or four day bender, leaving her in peace. He was a brutal man, with a short temper. He was a smart man though. He never hit her, instead, beating his young wife with insult after insult. He made no secret of how disappointed he was with her. Her beasts were not big enough for his taste, not like the butchers wife. She didn’t work as fast as the smiths wife. She did not give herself to him as regularly as the tavern owners wife. Then he began pointing out that she had yet to father him a child like half the bar maids in town had. He seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out that his little lovely wife was barren, and unlikely to give any man a child for there was nothing wrong with his seed.
No, Nisa didn’t miss her dearly departed husband besides when it came to lifting the heavy bags of grain and flour. With a smile on her lips, the miller continued her song.
“For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
nlyme with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind”
Even over the sound of the milling stones and the splashing water and wheel, Nisa’s sweet song drifted out into the evening air. As she finished the last verse, she pulled a leafer that disengaged the pulley system and the stones came to a hult. As Nisa grabbed the last bag and tied a string around its top, she noticed something out of place. The small birds that usually sang an unending song outside the mill were silent. What could cause them to stop their melody?
Nisa brushed the flour from her hands as she began towards the front of the mill. As she came around the front of the stones she could see shadows moving through the dust, much larger than any customer who she might have expected.
“Hello?” she questioned then saw the shapes freeze in motion, then slowly turning her way. her heart skips a beat in fear. Unable to take a breath for fear of what monsters might have come through her door, Nisa slowly began to back towards the rear entrance of the mill. As the miller passed the stack of unground corn, she reached for a long curved knife she used to cut the twine they were tied with.
With silent steps she rushed for the back door, to make her escape when a pair of ugly, hobgoblins. She left out a scream which only brought wide smiles of the slimmy green creatures faces. One reached for her, expecting her to faint and come easily, all all human females he had encountered did. Nisa dodged his reach and, with one swift fluid motions, sliced the hobgolbin’s wrist open, spilling his life blood all over the wood floor. The scout, not expecting to face any sort of resistance, never mind being cut so deeply, let out a loud scream of pain and tried to stop the flow of blood by holding his hand over the wound. As quickly as it had entered, the now wounded hobgoblin turned and ran back out the way it had come in.
The monsters were much larger than she, but there was no way Nisa was going to give up without a fight. She slashed at the second hobgoblin and as it took a step back, she turned and began to climb up the ladder to the second level. Just before she reached the top rung, a slimmy, green hand reached up and grabbed her foot. She let out a panicked cry which seemed to entertain the monsters. There must have been more than a few for the croaking laughter was loud and came from many different directions.
With even greater fear, Nisa fought harder. She slid down one rung on the ladder and began to kick her assailant with all her might till it gave a cry of pain when she connected her heal with its eyes, squashing it like an overripe piece of fruit. When the hobgoblin let go, Nisa rushed up the ladder.
She was now trapped but not without a bit of a plan. Sitting by the ladder were large bags of corn her late husband had stored out of the sight of his customers. They were too large for her to move down to the milling stones by herself and she had planned to separate them into smaller bags that she could manage herself but Nisa was no glad she hadn’t found the time. A gotest hobgoblin, with nothing on but a loin cloth grinned up at her and stepped onto the ladder. With great effort, Nisa pushed one of the bags down the hole and it hit the hobgoblin below, hitting him on the head and crushing his neck in the process.
After pausing to push a loose lock of brown hair from her face, she began to lift the bag of corn up and pour it the contents into the hopper that led to the grinding stones below. The constant sound of the two massive granite stones grinding together and the splashing of the paddle wheel outside in the creek set a perfect rhythm to sing to.
“Come all ye maidens young and fair
And you that are blooming in your prime
Always beware and keep your garden fair
Let no man steal away your thyme
For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
nlyme with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind
Once I and a bunch of thyme
i thought it never would decay
Then came a lusty sailor
Who chanced to pass my way
And stole my bunch of thyme away”
As the milled worked, pouring corn in the miller to grind then rushing down to catch her wares in large cotton sacks, other dark work took place outside. Orkta limped back to his commander who stood surrounded by 6 hobgoblins, all sent out to scout the area by their Master. The mill sat perched on the side of a hill and it’s paddle wheel and grinding stones could be heard for miles around. Isolated in the edge of the forest, miles from the closest farming village, the mill posed little threat the band of scouts still they were cautious. “Alone... only but one.” Orkta gargled sounding more like a toad than his kind.
His commander glared down at his underling and shifted his long spear from his left hand to his right. “One.... big man?” he questioned. “Millers are big men.” Commander Gorkin said recalling another such building they had attacked a few seasons before. The man who fought to keep the band out was a monster, with tree trunks for arms. Were not all flour millers the same?
Orkta grind with greenish yellow teeth, “No.... no big man..... no man at all.” Commander Gorkin leaned in, now curious, “Little woman. Fair of skin. Soft hair. Smelt so good.” The hobgoblin band began to stir excitedly. There was nothing like the feel and the taste of a human woman. Commander Gorkin brought the group under control with a glare. No one had the same hunger for what waited for them in the mill more than he but it wasn’t often such a thing lived without a man, especially so far from a village. Maybe Orkta was mistaken, to excited when he saw the female to take notice of a male.
After some consideration, Commander Gorkin turned to the group and began giving his orders. “We go in quiet. You two, through the water. You two, around the back. You tree , take the door. I watch from the road and catch what runs out. Kill da man and eat him if you want. The females for me tongue and cock first.”
Nisa continued her song as she worked. She filled the last full bag and let the tailings fall from the stones into a bag she used for herself. Pulling layers of her brown skirt out of her say, the miller crouched down and began to sew the bags of flour shut with a long, steel needle. The work had been hard since last winter when her husband died in a barroom brawl. but thinking back, the work was the only thing she missed about him.
Nisa had been in love with a young farmer a county away who had bought land close to the mill. But love does not pay a dowry, and after her young farmer found he couldn’t pay his milling bill, the Miller did some digging and found out about her. To spite the young man, the miller, Brasco Strongol, paid Nisa’s dowry to her starving father who’s belly was of greater importance than his daughter. Nisa’s young farmer hung himself the day he found out and Nisa’s heart was broke.
But that was more than ten years in the history. Nisa’s only happiness since then was when Brasco would head to town for a three or four day bender, leaving her in peace. He was a brutal man, with a short temper. He was a smart man though. He never hit her, instead, beating his young wife with insult after insult. He made no secret of how disappointed he was with her. Her beasts were not big enough for his taste, not like the butchers wife. She didn’t work as fast as the smiths wife. She did not give herself to him as regularly as the tavern owners wife. Then he began pointing out that she had yet to father him a child like half the bar maids in town had. He seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out that his little lovely wife was barren, and unlikely to give any man a child for there was nothing wrong with his seed.
No, Nisa didn’t miss her dearly departed husband besides when it came to lifting the heavy bags of grain and flour. With a smile on her lips, the miller continued her song.
“For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
nlyme with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind”
Even over the sound of the milling stones and the splashing water and wheel, Nisa’s sweet song drifted out into the evening air. As she finished the last verse, she pulled a leafer that disengaged the pulley system and the stones came to a hult. As Nisa grabbed the last bag and tied a string around its top, she noticed something out of place. The small birds that usually sang an unending song outside the mill were silent. What could cause them to stop their melody?
Nisa brushed the flour from her hands as she began towards the front of the mill. As she came around the front of the stones she could see shadows moving through the dust, much larger than any customer who she might have expected.
“Hello?” she questioned then saw the shapes freeze in motion, then slowly turning her way. her heart skips a beat in fear. Unable to take a breath for fear of what monsters might have come through her door, Nisa slowly began to back towards the rear entrance of the mill. As the miller passed the stack of unground corn, she reached for a long curved knife she used to cut the twine they were tied with.
With silent steps she rushed for the back door, to make her escape when a pair of ugly, hobgoblins. She left out a scream which only brought wide smiles of the slimmy green creatures faces. One reached for her, expecting her to faint and come easily, all all human females he had encountered did. Nisa dodged his reach and, with one swift fluid motions, sliced the hobgolbin’s wrist open, spilling his life blood all over the wood floor. The scout, not expecting to face any sort of resistance, never mind being cut so deeply, let out a loud scream of pain and tried to stop the flow of blood by holding his hand over the wound. As quickly as it had entered, the now wounded hobgoblin turned and ran back out the way it had come in.
The monsters were much larger than she, but there was no way Nisa was going to give up without a fight. She slashed at the second hobgoblin and as it took a step back, she turned and began to climb up the ladder to the second level. Just before she reached the top rung, a slimmy, green hand reached up and grabbed her foot. She let out a panicked cry which seemed to entertain the monsters. There must have been more than a few for the croaking laughter was loud and came from many different directions.
With even greater fear, Nisa fought harder. She slid down one rung on the ladder and began to kick her assailant with all her might till it gave a cry of pain when she connected her heal with its eyes, squashing it like an overripe piece of fruit. When the hobgoblin let go, Nisa rushed up the ladder.
She was now trapped but not without a bit of a plan. Sitting by the ladder were large bags of corn her late husband had stored out of the sight of his customers. They were too large for her to move down to the milling stones by herself and she had planned to separate them into smaller bags that she could manage herself but Nisa was no glad she hadn’t found the time. A gotest hobgoblin, with nothing on but a loin cloth grinned up at her and stepped onto the ladder. With great effort, Nisa pushed one of the bags down the hole and it hit the hobgoblin below, hitting him on the head and crushing his neck in the process.