Luckymoose
The World is Mine
“Chancellor, our prince needs more time to delegate on these matters. You understand, of course?” Said the rather portly advisor; he rested, lounging, in a large goosefeather mattress on the lawn of the king’s summer palace in the south of Cyve. A gold plated bowl sat like a shell on the belly of an otter, filled to the rim with imported fruits from Acca. His loose fitting clothing left little to the imagination as it revealed the majority of his tanned and oiled body to the sunlight.
“I do, Lord Hynasf, and I will respect his majesty’s wishes to leave these matters in your… capable hands.” The much thinner and rather healthier, black haired chancellor replied with all the dignity of nobility. His fine linens imported from the far corners of the world just as Hynasf’s meal had been. Cyve was in an economic upswing, ships left her ports and sailed the world for new wares. All of those of means benefited from advancing style and taste.
“My capable hands… yes, these capable hands,” Hynasf replied lazily, dropping plump red fruits from their clustered vine directly into his mouth. Juices dripped from his smacking mouth and splattered about his exposed hairy chest. “The weather is just a pleasure this time of the year, Chancellor. Do you agree?” He queried the standing man with a wave of his hand. Both of their eyes scanned the well maintained meadows outside the archaic stone palace.
“His majesty’s house has come far from the conquering days of old. A beautiful sight, this kingdom of ours, I will agree to that at every opportunity.” His reply came as if rehearsed, with the silky smoothness of a young girl.
“A true politician, Gryn, a true politician indeed,” he laughed deeply, momentarily choking on a seed in one of the fruits. “All the joys of life, right here in my bowl, on this lawn and sprawled across this mattress. Sit, Gryn, and talk a while.” He gestured to the short grass next to him, not offering a piece of his comfortable bed for his friend. Gryn sat, smiling, and laid back into the soft grasses.
“What do you think’ll happen with those savages across the sea?” Gryn asked, breaking the playful tone.
“Which ones?” Hynasf chuckled, his bowl nearly slipping from his belly-table in his jiggling.
“Either, I guess,” Gryn smirked. It was true that all men not born on the isle were heathens. “But I must say those Evyni women put up a good tussle. Savages the men may be, but those women are animals.”
“Ha ha ha,” Hynasf rubbed his stomach in a slow circular motion. “Mmm, tell me… have you ever lain with a Satar? They ride you like a wild stallion. I tell you, Gryn, I wouldn’t mind their warlords burning the north if just to steal a few of those tan firewalkers from their fathers.”
“You’re a cruel man, you know that? What would our wives think of this talk?”
“Since when has a woman, even your wife, kept your trousers in place?” They both joined in a long laugh, only interrupted by obnoxious smacking by Hynasf on those last few fruits he cherished so.
“Would these veins run with pure Cyvian blood if I let a maiden control me?”
“Ah, Gryn, your spunk brings the fires of war back into my heart. I could use a few more women.”
“The greatest treasure we can bring home.” Gryn acknowledged with a long sigh. “Fulwarc seems distant, though, and I regret his indecision.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Hynasf sucked the juices from his fingers, licking his lips of every last drop of flavor. “For the sake of our health.”
They did enjoy a long laugh that day.
“I do, Lord Hynasf, and I will respect his majesty’s wishes to leave these matters in your… capable hands.” The much thinner and rather healthier, black haired chancellor replied with all the dignity of nobility. His fine linens imported from the far corners of the world just as Hynasf’s meal had been. Cyve was in an economic upswing, ships left her ports and sailed the world for new wares. All of those of means benefited from advancing style and taste.
“My capable hands… yes, these capable hands,” Hynasf replied lazily, dropping plump red fruits from their clustered vine directly into his mouth. Juices dripped from his smacking mouth and splattered about his exposed hairy chest. “The weather is just a pleasure this time of the year, Chancellor. Do you agree?” He queried the standing man with a wave of his hand. Both of their eyes scanned the well maintained meadows outside the archaic stone palace.
“His majesty’s house has come far from the conquering days of old. A beautiful sight, this kingdom of ours, I will agree to that at every opportunity.” His reply came as if rehearsed, with the silky smoothness of a young girl.
“A true politician, Gryn, a true politician indeed,” he laughed deeply, momentarily choking on a seed in one of the fruits. “All the joys of life, right here in my bowl, on this lawn and sprawled across this mattress. Sit, Gryn, and talk a while.” He gestured to the short grass next to him, not offering a piece of his comfortable bed for his friend. Gryn sat, smiling, and laid back into the soft grasses.
“What do you think’ll happen with those savages across the sea?” Gryn asked, breaking the playful tone.
“Which ones?” Hynasf chuckled, his bowl nearly slipping from his belly-table in his jiggling.
“Either, I guess,” Gryn smirked. It was true that all men not born on the isle were heathens. “But I must say those Evyni women put up a good tussle. Savages the men may be, but those women are animals.”
“Ha ha ha,” Hynasf rubbed his stomach in a slow circular motion. “Mmm, tell me… have you ever lain with a Satar? They ride you like a wild stallion. I tell you, Gryn, I wouldn’t mind their warlords burning the north if just to steal a few of those tan firewalkers from their fathers.”
“You’re a cruel man, you know that? What would our wives think of this talk?”
“Since when has a woman, even your wife, kept your trousers in place?” They both joined in a long laugh, only interrupted by obnoxious smacking by Hynasf on those last few fruits he cherished so.
“Would these veins run with pure Cyvian blood if I let a maiden control me?”
“Ah, Gryn, your spunk brings the fires of war back into my heart. I could use a few more women.”
“The greatest treasure we can bring home.” Gryn acknowledged with a long sigh. “Fulwarc seems distant, though, and I regret his indecision.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Hynasf sucked the juices from his fingers, licking his lips of every last drop of flavor. “For the sake of our health.”
They did enjoy a long laugh that day.