Eaner Pantalon Strikes Back (Saga II)

Time had passed as the season swept in to what most called Winter, and what Eaner referred to as ‘that hellish cold nonsense’. Many months were spent lamenting the evils of this horrible world…aka drinking heavily. Why, he’d gotten SO drunk one night that the extra Aces he literally kept up his sleeve actually fell on to the table during a high stakes game. That hadn’t exactly helped his bottom line, ad he’d been forced to return almost all of his ill gotten gains to avoid meeting God himself in a very short order. (Yes, I know Poker probably didn’t exist at this time. Live with it.) In fact, the only reason he wasn’t dead despite such actions was that he had convinced the people of the down that they would be struck down by the Lord the instant they laid a hand on him. Sure, the New Testament ‘kinder, gentler’ version of God sort of went against that notion, and that’s precisely why he hadn’t bothered teaching them about that pesky New Testament. Well, that and the fact that Old Testament God was just so much more epic and nearly evil.

Other occurrences around town didn’t exactly help Eaner’s mood much. Two of the idiots he found himself competing with in this dead end dust bowl had already been granted the civic rights that he had so far been denied…he supposed those would come when he was able to walk in to the Registrar’s Office with his pockets bulging with ‘spare cash’.

While he could dig up a small amount of respect at the tacit underhandedness and greed behind such a scheme, the fact that these 2 simpletons, a couple of prime examples of the existence of Satan’s manipulations upon this world if ever there was, beat him to some level of official recognition was offensive.

The only thing that Eaner HAD managed to accomplish was the doubling of the wall of idiocy he was now faced with working away in the church’s Scriptorium.

Only 168 Gold per month for Waryn to have an intellectual equal to converse with, which made for twice the amount of empty skull bobbing around down there. Sure, it was nice for Waryn to have something approaching a friend, but Eaner couldn’t stand to listen to the two of them with all their ass-like braying and the sounds of two idiots scratching their oversized brows repeatedly as though it would foster the growth of a thought between them.

Still, another person between himself and Father Bernard was always a good thing. Especially when that person was likely too stupid to realize they were being used as a patsy were it to come to that.

The debt already amassed through the discovery of the secret behind Father Eaner’s amazing success at the card tables wasn’t the only cause of economic hardship. The Bishop of the land, in all his supposed wisdom, had decided to increase the Church Levy by two percent.

“I work for the Lord, yet he repays me by taking more of my money so that dolled up twat can wear a fancier robe. Ain’t that a fine how do you do.” Eaner grumbled to himself over breakfast at the tavern.

“Bloody Hell, you talkin’ to that ale, then?” a voice asked.

“And who the Hell might you be?” Eaner snarled, looking over to see a woman whom he had never before seen sitting at the adjoining table.

“Denys Briggs would be the name.”

“Well, Ms. Has a Man’s Name, I’m Father Eaner Pantalon. And if you’d care to let me get back to my complete breakfast, maybe I won’t sic the Holy Ghost upon you.”

“Oh, Mr. High and Mighty sitting here, slurping his beer for breakfast. And you can tell that bloody Holy Ghost of yours to walk towards the damned light and get it over with.”

Eaner was astonished. Never had he met such a firebrand of a woman. In a way, she reminded him of his mother…the way she’d mock the poor soul she was robbing at dirk-point after bedding the bastard the night before. As he watched Denys walk out of the building, he couldn’t help but think that it was time to challenge some of the church’s conventions regarding what their men of the cloth were allowed to partake in on their down time…

Well…that and hoping it was only a man’s NAME that she possessed. Ugh. Such thoughts were enough to make him ignore the rest of his breakfast beer (hops, barley, malt…all part of a complete breakfast!) and head over to the church for yet another day of dealing with his idiot minions.

Had such a sight ever been as depressing as Cornelius and Waryn sitting together in those ridiculous foppish hats, trying desperately to claw an idea from their craniums and smear it down on to a piece of parchment paper?

“Father Eaner, some papers there for you.” Waryn told him as he sat at his desk.

“Wonderful…who dropped them off?” he asked, a faint lilt of hope entering his voice as he queried. Perhaps those pornographic pictorial paintings he had commissioned from that blasted back alley merchant in Wales nearly a YEAR ago had finally arrived!

“Father Bernard left them there for you a good hour ago. He asked about your whereabouts, but I told him you were meeting with a member of the flock.” Waryn might be something of a mistake of the highest order, but at least he was good at keeping that ridiculously spiritual hunk of gristle Bernard off of his back.

“Fantastic.” Eaner said, the sarcasm dripping from his mouth and pooling next to him on the floor as he did so.

“Didn’t think you liked Father Bernard that much, sir.” Cornelius piped up, missing the sarcastic leanings of Eaner’s comment the same way that he had missed being awarded anything resembling sense on his date of birth.

“Waryn…if something should ever become of Cornelius and we need to hire a replacement, please try to remind me to seek out a mute, would you?” Eaner snarled, then unrolled the scripts left behind by Captain Piety of the SS Holy and spread them out to read.

Hmmmm…perhaps this new King was an alright guy after all! Father Eaner could think of more than a few morons he’d like to feed to a roaring log fire right about now, and so much the better if he could wrap it all conveniently in to church business. Oh, he’d start with that damned Getrud Goldgier…and where in the Hell WAS that evidence he’d paid those thieving idiots to obtain against her all those long months ago? Surely someone as cursed by life as that heathenous witch couldn’t have attained a status above ‘Town Whore’ without some sort of ill doings!

“What else is here…” Eaner muttered to himself as he continued looking through the papers.

“Books…are forbidden…you have got to be joking.” Eaner blurted out. Of course, it made sense. If the citizenry learned to read, it wouldn’t take them long to read the blatherings of the Deacon and realize what a soporific bore he truly was. Cornelius arrived at his desk at just that moment…

“Excusing your pardon, sir, but you had mentioned a project you wanted me to start on?”

“Hm, what’s that?” Eaner asked, having been startled from his reverie of rage by the unexpected arrival of his minion…errrrr…assistant.

“Well, you had mentioned something about a project you had wanted started?” he asked. Blast, Eaner had nearly forgotten! He HAD brought up the idea of Cornelius helping to gather together some of Eaner’s ‘teachings’ for release as a tome. Today’s legal change sort of changed THAT idea, however. Or did it…

“Well, if you feel you’re ready to go ahead and start work on it, Cornelius, get going on it.”

“Well, what about that what you were saying about books being forbidden?” Curses! He’d overheard that utterance…this would require some quick thinking. And THAT would have been easier to do had Eaner had the chance to finish his breakfast ale to take the edge off of the blistering hangover he was suffering from.

“Cornelius…Corny! Books ARE forbidden, but this isn’t a book…it’s…it’s a manual. A manual to help people with their lives, you see. Completely legal.” Eaner told him. ‘Corny’…ugh, Eaner couldn’t believe he had actually let THAT pass his lips…seemed to let that roll around in his empty head for awhile.

“Well, if you say so, sir.” And back to the job he went. This was almost too easy…ALMOST. Now, back to this load of crap he had to read through…

I guess I should explain that AP are Action Points. Every year you get so many of those to spend on various actions.

Oh no…another one of those horrid conventions. Sure, they were in London, and it was always nice to get a chance to spend some time gallivanting about the big city, but these gatherings were always so…so…holy. All of these religious types spouting off about Jesus this and Moses that and how to express all that mumbo jumbo to the people more effectively. Still, he noticed that the ALWAYS helpful Father Bernard had noted that he felt this would be a good idea. Ah, why not…maybe that little minx still worked down at Ye Ol’ Pig n’ Whistle?

And…some sort of declaration of rank ascent, and…WHAT? It couldn’t be true!

“Joanne bloody Woodward is a DUCHESS NOW?! Has the world gone pear shaped?!” Eaner fumed. That stinking moron had apparently managed to ride her perfume hating legislation to a position of actual POWER? Was the official sanction of stink THAT popular an ideal? Eaner was in a rage, and only one thing could bring him back down now. He put quill to paper and began writing a sermon…

So, with the first 2 pieces out of the way, and a lot of things set in motion, the next instalment will probably be a bit shorter than this one…much like this one was shorter than Part 1. To avoid getting sick of the project, or just worn out doing it, I’m going to try and make these a weekly release kind of thing. Of course, that all depends on what comes to pass…right now, I have a number of tasks ‘in the works’.