As of this posting, I have three primary groups of Realmgard characters. Kat & Dunstana (and various hangers-on) and the Lyte Brigade are based in Porthaven. The third group, on the other hand, is based in Middlesbrooke – which I’ve envisioned as
Hence, I’ve come to call them the Three Ladies of Middlesbrooke. Though, admittedly, Roland and Alda are also central characters ot the Middlesbrooke stories and not counted in that “three”…
The Tower of Brorvonius
At this point, Lucia feels like they’ve tried everything to get this stupid door open. Apolline has tried spells and counter-spells of her own. She even tried magical passwords in no fewer than eight languages. Lucia tried to pick the lock. Petra tried to smash it open. Roland tried to melt the lock with acid, then blow it up with a highly-flammable alchemical concoction. Petra tried to smash it open again.
Fabulous Freenbird
“So.Why are they called Freenbirds?”
Right on cue, the bird flutters up to the little perch hanging in the cage and looks right at them.
“Freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!”
Lucia shudders at the piercing, high-pitched whine and resolves more than ever to just eat the thing.
“That sound.”
*As with many things Realmgard, it’s one big Pro Wrestling reference…
The Chevauchée of Middlesbrooke
“Duke Charles wants you to stop burning down the Duchy,” Lucia says, stepping forward to confront him
“It’s called a chevauchée. And it’s a perfectly legitimate military tactic.”
“Tactic? You’re beating up defenceless farmers and burning down their houses!”
“And their goats!”
Whining & Dining, Part 1
“Having mice for dinner is gross and mean.”
“What? I’m a cat.”
“An excellent choice, Miss. It’s a well-established culinary fact that the smallest, cutest animals taste best. I believe their inability to defend themselves makes them especially tender.”
“I. am. a. cat!”
Whining & Dining, Part 2
“Now, we first acquire the buntings in question via our industrious team of orphans,” he explains. “It has to be the orphans, you see. They’re the only ones small enough to fit into the nooks and crannies the buntings nest in. And, of course, any orphan who fails to meet their daily quota of buntings is shipped right off to the mines.”
“That’s horrible!”
“Ah, I see I’ve piqued the young lady’s interest with my woeful tale of human tragedy.”
“That is not what’s happening, at all!”
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