Breetland Bash

It Begins...
Welcome to Cheltenham

You’ve traveled far. You are tired but not exhausted. It is a good tired. The smoke from the chimneys and cook fires rising above the trees tells you your destination is at hand: Cheltenham.

You didn’t necessarily pick Cheltenham as your destination, it just is. Dusk is on it’s way and that means night can’t be far behind and you need a place to rest. Not much has been happening anyway. This ‘adventure’ thing isn’t all that exciting so far.

As you round a bend in the road you finally see the place. It looks to be a medium size village; there’s some trade here obviously as you wonder on who’s demesne you’ve wandered. The lord is doing well; his people are hard at work.

The buildings are typical of this part of Breetland; lots of wattle and daub mixed in with some stone and the ubiquitous thatched rooftops. There are some large buildings here: what you assume to be the Guild Hall, at least one church you can see and the seemingly always present tanneries. And always on the outskirts of towns as the people don’t like the smell. Can’t say as you blame them as you past the first, the acrid odors of urine and dye accosting you. There are some out buildings and a few small farms and gardens first however. It all looks so typical.

You see several people about, doing their work and running their errands. The ones that notice you only give you the slightest cursory glance, shake their heads and get back to work. A few boys, trying so hard to look tough, are near the road leaning on a fence and cursing, arguing and gambling for coppers.

As you pass, one of them separates himself from the group and follows you a bit.

“ ‘Eer guv” you hear after a few yards.

You turn to see a boy of about 12. He’s filthy and his clothes are filthier but he’s flashing a grin like he’s never had a sad day in his life. Snot is running out of nose like the slow drip of a sick whore’s cunny.

He wipes his nose with his sleeve and still grinning says: “Old Odo lookin’ for blokes like you. Lookin’ again if I should say so proper, tha’ is. But that’s anuva story then iddin it?” A raucous cheer erupts from his gang and he quickly turns, surveys the situation back where his mates are pitching pennies and says: “Look guv, got to gi back and teach these sodding great lumps wot’s wot and sep’ rate the chumps from the champs and all that, now don’t I? Just a best be gittin to the ‘Bishop’s Finger’ and ask for ol’ Peffy. Can’t really miss a sodding great arse bandit like ‘im anyway, if ya know what I mean, eh? If he goes queer on ya just give em yer old bovver boot to the bollocks an’ he’ll calm down proper. Go on,” he says as he wipes his nose again and holds out his other hand with that same warm grin, “Tell im ol’ Charlie Wikkens sent ya’ There’s a good fellow, right, guv? Old Odo, like to have some work for your kind,…right,… eh? Crazy bastard, that one”

As you slip him a few coppers, he looks you up and down slowly, shakes his head and chuckles before he wipes his nose, turns and runs back to the game shouting “ Make room, ol’ Charlie’s back in the game boys!”

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