Conway sat at his desk in the cellar of the Eye Watering Liquor Supplies, premier drinks merchant of Tir na Nog. The battered wooden desk was totally surrounded by the beer and liquor barrels, and covered by piles of the bills he was working on. His head was bent over a parchment so his long fair hair brushed it and smeared the still wet ink. He was sucking the end of his quill pen as he carefully added up, and tried to ignore the string of complaints coming from behind him.
“I mean,” said his cousin Morolt, from his perch on a beer barrel, “is there anything more boring in life than being a tailor. Sew, sew, sew…” He stabbed a vindictive needle into something that bore almost no resemblance to a cloth glove. “Oh bugger!” He stopped, and looked at the glove.
“Six hundred and ninety one, “muttered Conway and looked up. “What?”
“I’ve stitched up the end,” complained Morolt. “No-one can wear this now.”
Conway looked at the mangled object. “I don’t think anyone would want to. What is it anyway?”
“It’s a glove!” Morolt hurled the offending object into the far corner, and slid gracefully down from the barrel. “It was a glove. I’m giving up being a tailor. We are elves, not mortals. I could be sewing gloves for centuries!” He frowned. “And don’t you dare to tell me it will take me that long to learn to make them properly!”
“I never said a word.” Conway looked down at the parchment. “What number did I say?”
“No idea.” Morolt wandered across to the desk. “You’ve got your hair in the ink again. It’ll be blue like mine soon. You should tie it back in a pony tail.”
“I like my hair loose,” Conway brushed his hair back behind his elven ears. “Now hush, I’m adding up the bill for the Temperance Guild and it’s complicated.
“But it hasn’t many members, and this place only sells alcohol. I thought the Temperance Guild wasn’t supposed to drink.” The ex tailor looked over his cousin’s shoulder to read the parchment.
“Size of guild doesn’t actually relate directly to how much they drink. And the Temperance Guild changed a lot with their new guild leader. They keep talking about making a new guild and calling it Dead Drunk, but they can’t get eight of them sober long enough to do it.” Conway sighed and started adding up again.
The cellar door opened and a dark haired celt entered and slammed the door behind him. “I need a drink!”
Morolt gestured at the barrels. “You came to the right place then Benen.”
Benen ignored him and waved his arms dramatically. “Take me to the nearest tavern and help me drown my sorrows. My heart is broken.”
“Again?” Morolt grinned. “Who is it this time?”
The celt glared at him. “It’s not funny. I saw her and I fell in love for the last and final time.”
Conway put down the quill pen and buried his face in his hands. He had carefully put his desk in the far corner of the cellar in the hope of getting some peace, but some people just couldn’t take a hint.
“So what went wrong?” Morolt asked.
“The most beautiful lurikeen girl in Hibernia… I went up, knelt before her, and told her my heart was at her feet. She told me to go away and called her husband!” Benen sat on the desk. “I’m doomed.”
Conway decided the Temperance Guild bill was certainly doomed, since Benen was sitting on it. “I can’t see the appeal in lurikeen girls. I don’t want a girl friend who is down at knee level.”
Benen and Morolt looked at him in disbelief and chorused in unison. “But they are cute!”
“All right!” Conway put down the quill pen and stood up. “I give up, let’s find a tavern. If we can get through the door,” he added. The Taverns have all been packed since the rift in the veil and those finliaths showed up telling us we are doomed.”
“I mean,” said his cousin Morolt, from his perch on a beer barrel, “is there anything more boring in life than being a tailor. Sew, sew, sew…” He stabbed a vindictive needle into something that bore almost no resemblance to a cloth glove. “Oh bugger!” He stopped, and looked at the glove.
“Six hundred and ninety one, “muttered Conway and looked up. “What?”
“I’ve stitched up the end,” complained Morolt. “No-one can wear this now.”
Conway looked at the mangled object. “I don’t think anyone would want to. What is it anyway?”
“It’s a glove!” Morolt hurled the offending object into the far corner, and slid gracefully down from the barrel. “It was a glove. I’m giving up being a tailor. We are elves, not mortals. I could be sewing gloves for centuries!” He frowned. “And don’t you dare to tell me it will take me that long to learn to make them properly!”
“I never said a word.” Conway looked down at the parchment. “What number did I say?”
“No idea.” Morolt wandered across to the desk. “You’ve got your hair in the ink again. It’ll be blue like mine soon. You should tie it back in a pony tail.”
“I like my hair loose,” Conway brushed his hair back behind his elven ears. “Now hush, I’m adding up the bill for the Temperance Guild and it’s complicated.
“But it hasn’t many members, and this place only sells alcohol. I thought the Temperance Guild wasn’t supposed to drink.” The ex tailor looked over his cousin’s shoulder to read the parchment.
“Size of guild doesn’t actually relate directly to how much they drink. And the Temperance Guild changed a lot with their new guild leader. They keep talking about making a new guild and calling it Dead Drunk, but they can’t get eight of them sober long enough to do it.” Conway sighed and started adding up again.
The cellar door opened and a dark haired celt entered and slammed the door behind him. “I need a drink!”
Morolt gestured at the barrels. “You came to the right place then Benen.”
Benen ignored him and waved his arms dramatically. “Take me to the nearest tavern and help me drown my sorrows. My heart is broken.”
“Again?” Morolt grinned. “Who is it this time?”
The celt glared at him. “It’s not funny. I saw her and I fell in love for the last and final time.”
Conway put down the quill pen and buried his face in his hands. He had carefully put his desk in the far corner of the cellar in the hope of getting some peace, but some people just couldn’t take a hint.
“So what went wrong?” Morolt asked.
“The most beautiful lurikeen girl in Hibernia… I went up, knelt before her, and told her my heart was at her feet. She told me to go away and called her husband!” Benen sat on the desk. “I’m doomed.”
Conway decided the Temperance Guild bill was certainly doomed, since Benen was sitting on it. “I can’t see the appeal in lurikeen girls. I don’t want a girl friend who is down at knee level.”
Benen and Morolt looked at him in disbelief and chorused in unison. “But they are cute!”
“All right!” Conway put down the quill pen and stood up. “I give up, let’s find a tavern. If we can get through the door,” he added. The Taverns have all been packed since the rift in the veil and those finliaths showed up telling us we are doomed.”