The rickety cart dropped into a pig-wallow sized hole in the narrow road, causing the pretty passenger to jar her teeth hard enough to bite her tongue. As the tired horse strained his worn out harness which hugged his prominent bones to pull the cart forward, she realized by verification of smell, that it indeed was a pig-wallow. She sucked the blood from her hurt tongue and tried in vain to get comfortable among the half-rotten potatoes the farmer, driving the cart, was hauling. He'd been heading her way... looked safe enough, so she hopped aboard after he'd given her a sleepy twice-over. It had already been a week, maybe more, since she'd been able to bathe, and her clothes stuck to her in the summer evening heat.  She wiggled against a large potato that was poking her lower back and tried to anticipate when the next huge bump would come along.

The farmer hadn't been really very talkative so far in the last couple hours they'd been traveling. At one point he'd reached back and handed her a small disk of dried meat to gnaw on, but had talked more to the elderly horse than to her. It came as a surprise when he finally asked her name in a slow drawl, which was evidence that the slow, boring pace was getting to him like it had her in the first five minutes.

"What's yer name Miss? Most folks call me Fig, but me mam, she named be Bill, Bill Figgins." The way he said it almost sounded like he kept it up on a shelf and only took it down for special occasions. Perhaps a cart ride through smelly pig-wallows was special to the gnarled oldster.


The Usher tips his hood: Welcome to Lya, the newest member of our Cast! Poor girl's gotten herself out of the pan and into the fire...
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:07, Wed 02 July 2014.

Lya sighed as she watched the countryside jiggle, jounce, and jar slowly past the wagon. Determined not to spend another minute allowing half rotten potatoes further opportunities to bruise her, Lya gave the farmer a winsome smile and answered his question, "Well Fig, my name is Lya." Letting her cheeks dimple she continued in a throaty voice, "Fig? Do you think you might allow me to sit up there next to you? I'm not all that wide. See?" Lya ran her hands down her sides to illustrate her point. Fanning the damp fabric of her blouse she said with faux anxiety, "It might be a little tight for the both of us but I wouldn't mind it if you didn't mind...me being right up next to you I mean." Watching Fig closely she tried to gauge the effect her approach has had on the farmer. Hopefully she hasn't been too forward. No point in embarrassing or antagonizing the man. "We could talk as we go along. It would help pass the time. You could tell me stories about things you've heard and I could tell you about my...about ones I've heard - though some of them may shock you."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:02, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

The look on the poor farmer's face told Lya that she already had shocked the man! He stammered and gulped and his weathered face turned crimson. He faced the dilapidated old horse and focused on the road ahead, clamming up so quickly that he might never speak again...

Then he stopped the cart.

His hands fumbled with the reins a bit and then he mutter-stammered over his shoulder. "Alright, c-come on up..." His newest gulp was audible. Enchantment can take on many forms in the world. Poor Bill Figgins had just fallen under one of them.