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Medieval HOA: SVU - Snivelling Vassals Unit Responses
A nobleman, a physician, and other sundries.
[ Welcome, friends, to the second entry in the Medieval HOA, a series I’m co-writing with of . If you missed the first installment, it’s here.
We hope you guys will take part in the polls and we pledge to write the next installment according to the public’s wishes.
Thanks for reading. —Jim ]
Dearest Lord Talbotshire,
Please accept my heartfelt congratulations on your rise to Hovel Owner’s Association President. As you know, I myself pursued the post in an extremely undignified and craven way. I offered bribes – monetary, physical, and martial – that would shock the danglies off a charging bull.
The fact that you were selected indicates the depths of your pockets, your cunning, and your depravity. I stand in awe. Game doth recognize game.
Regardless, we must address the question of the bakery as noted in your finely worded decree:
“And the bakery on Whorehouse Street makes the best bagels.”
Please accept my apologies for not keeping thy lordship apprised. It appears he is not aware that the bakery on Whorehouse street does not, to wit, bake. It serves as a pretense for those wishing to canoodle with the nudely doodlers. People merely say the bagels are good because they’ve recently ejorglemated themselves nigh-on inside out.
Of course thy lordship would not know this, as, thanks to his well-deserved stature in all sense of the word, the hump-n-bump soirée seek him out, not the other way round.
In your next letter, can you please disparage the bagels as having become, as an example, “shitty?” It would ease a burden upon some very fine sexual workers who have had to hastily learn how to bake and are thus no longer available to do befiddleytimes with my bobbleyknob.
Yours in carnal hope,
Received your instructions regarding the witch in 13A. Traveled by night to next village. Spoke with the detestable so-called “wyzard” Randywine. He confirms that she is too powerful to approach and will not take the job.
But I saw a woodcut that looked like her near his alchemy table. Perhaps he is in love with her?
When he saw me looking at it he made hasty excuses and dashed off a curse at me. Now one of my toes is a leech.
Will ask if witch can be paid to un-leech my toe. Progress slow when one of one’s toes keeps endeavoring to eat the others.
Yours in service,
Forgive my need for secrecy and allow me to introduce my organization, the Maidens’ Interested Lyre Faction.
While we recognize that some of the lyrists might have been known to pluck a note or two after the towns bells have indicated quiet hours, they are, as you noted, lovestruck youth. Some, God be praised, lack the brains God gave an oak burl.
Nevertheless, we do love them so, particularly when they are good at the lyre and at crooning and occasionally taking a bath. We wonder if there is some compromise that could be struck between your good self, the general love of music and the arts, and a sack of coin that might or might not plop and jingle into your courtyard?
Thank you for your letter on behalf of the town and your newly-formed Hovel Owner’s Association. I understand there was a public inquiry.
As your physician I assure you that I am doing my utmost to address the problem of the plague. This includes blood letting from the arm, from the other arm, from the buttock or… My apoligies, m’lord. I’ll spare you the technical jargon.
Blood has a way of getting out of just about any cut especially if one digs and twists enough. By the grace of God, I dig and twist like a rooting stoat.
I am proud to say I have perfected methods of removing just enough blood to cause loss of consciousness without death. I then put on my leather bird garb, revive the patient, and have a good laugh at their reaction.
I have laughed more in the years of the plague than any before. This much I warrant.
I have also noted that the public would like to move body disposal day to Tuesday. This suits me perfectly. I will let the corpse dragging boy know.
Talbotshire you floating clump in a festering midden,
I have warned you to leave me be. How dare you send your bunch-backed toad Hentch Mann? You are very well aware of what I can do and how little I indulge regret.
If you dare bend one hair on Margarethya’s head with one of your curled claws you will regret it in two ways. Those being: completely and briefly.
Have you not noticed there is one more dragon o’er your head than usual? Perhaps one more than is controlled by the landed gentry? Perhaps one with extremely healthy bowels and good aim?
Look heavenward and see thy doom being excreted.
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