Continued from here.
Ymiden 27, Arc 724
The world had changed considerably since he had last played a part in it, more than three arcs before. Some of the things that had happened during his absence – he had decided to call that period of madness an absence, because he hadn’t really been present in his own body – made his blood run cold. And some of them were just strange. He certainly hadn’t thought that he would ever have to contend with flying pigs that projectile-defecated everywhere. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of fate’s more bizarre jokes.
Whoever had come up with such … nonsense?
He looked at the dead pig he’d covered with a large piece of cloth in order to hide it from prying eyes, hands on his hips. In the past, he’d have ordered his servants or his slaves to get rid of it, but that was not an option anymore. It was up to him, but he doubted, he’d be able to drag that monstrosity more than a couple of metres. Unless he borrowed a wheelbarrow from a neighbor.
Which might just be the way to go, although he’d certainly never have thought that he’d end up playing pig-undertaker one trial when he had ascended the throne of Rynmere fourteen arcs before. He just hoped … actually, he didn’t hope that the thing had magic, but he’d very much prefer if it were worth something and that whatever had given it wings hadn’t rendered it inedible.
Or downright toxic.
“Where do you take a dead flying pig though?” he murmured as he wondered which neighbor would be most likely to own a wheelbarrow. Or a small cart. If it were a normal pig, he’d try to take it to a butcher, but he wasn’t sure if doing so when you were dealing with a winged pig would be the best course of action. It needed to be studied by a professional first.
Perhaps …
He turned to face Sage who was still busy mopping the street and shoveling manure, looking strangely calm as she did so even if it seemed to be a rather frustrating endeavor to him.
“I’m going to take the carcass to the Alchemist’s Guild”, he told her. “They might be able to tell us more about it, and maybe, they’ll even be able to use it for their craft.”
One person’s trash was another person’s treasure, after all.
“Do that, Cassander of Rynmere”, Sage said and looked up from her work for a moment. “And tell me why that manure sticks to the shovel and doesn’t react to water like it should. By any standards, water should dissolve it, but it only makes it worse.”
He considered her request. As a former king, he was not familiar with cleaning and had no idea what you could use to get rid of manure, apart from water (and truth to be told, he was glad that he had never had to concern himself with such things before). Which left him in a bit of dilemma now.
He was disinclined to admit ignorance though, so he replied, feigning more confidence than he really possessed, “It’s not a normal pig, so it stands to reason that treating its manure like normal manure won’t work. Perhaps, another liquid might lead to greater success, something that smells just as … intense.”
If he was lucky, it might actually work. It did sound logical, if he thought about it.
Ymiden 27, Arc 724
The world had changed considerably since he had last played a part in it, more than three arcs before. Some of the things that had happened during his absence – he had decided to call that period of madness an absence, because he hadn’t really been present in his own body – made his blood run cold. And some of them were just strange. He certainly hadn’t thought that he would ever have to contend with flying pigs that projectile-defecated everywhere. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of fate’s more bizarre jokes.
Whoever had come up with such … nonsense?
He looked at the dead pig he’d covered with a large piece of cloth in order to hide it from prying eyes, hands on his hips. In the past, he’d have ordered his servants or his slaves to get rid of it, but that was not an option anymore. It was up to him, but he doubted, he’d be able to drag that monstrosity more than a couple of metres. Unless he borrowed a wheelbarrow from a neighbor.
Which might just be the way to go, although he’d certainly never have thought that he’d end up playing pig-undertaker one trial when he had ascended the throne of Rynmere fourteen arcs before. He just hoped … actually, he didn’t hope that the thing had magic, but he’d very much prefer if it were worth something and that whatever had given it wings hadn’t rendered it inedible.
Or downright toxic.
“Where do you take a dead flying pig though?” he murmured as he wondered which neighbor would be most likely to own a wheelbarrow. Or a small cart. If it were a normal pig, he’d try to take it to a butcher, but he wasn’t sure if doing so when you were dealing with a winged pig would be the best course of action. It needed to be studied by a professional first.
Perhaps …
He turned to face Sage who was still busy mopping the street and shoveling manure, looking strangely calm as she did so even if it seemed to be a rather frustrating endeavor to him.
“I’m going to take the carcass to the Alchemist’s Guild”, he told her. “They might be able to tell us more about it, and maybe, they’ll even be able to use it for their craft.”
One person’s trash was another person’s treasure, after all.
“Do that, Cassander of Rynmere”, Sage said and looked up from her work for a moment. “And tell me why that manure sticks to the shovel and doesn’t react to water like it should. By any standards, water should dissolve it, but it only makes it worse.”
He considered her request. As a former king, he was not familiar with cleaning and had no idea what you could use to get rid of manure, apart from water (and truth to be told, he was glad that he had never had to concern himself with such things before). Which left him in a bit of dilemma now.
He was disinclined to admit ignorance though, so he replied, feigning more confidence than he really possessed, “It’s not a normal pig, so it stands to reason that treating its manure like normal manure won’t work. Perhaps, another liquid might lead to greater success, something that smells just as … intense.”
If he was lucky, it might actually work. It did sound logical, if he thought about it.
