Drabble Wednesday: Strange Sports

Welcome to Drabble Wednesday, the Olympic Edition! Here you find some odd events indeed... Now on to the gold!

Pointed Competition

It’s been a hard day here in the Archery Competition at the Medieval Olympics.

The favourites, Sir Pellinore and Sir Malcolm failed to make the finals, out in the third cycle.

Now, the leading competitor Sir Archibald steps up for his last round.

He takes his shot... oh my word, I think he’s done it!

What a shot! Three serfs down with one arrow! A new world record!

Wait! One of the peasants is still writhing on the ground! We will have to go the judges for a decision.

Yes, yes! It is official! Sir Archibald wins the gold medal!

~*~

Off To The Races

Welcome to the final day of equestrian dragon racing! The five competitors are ready at the start and there’s the bell! They’re off!

It’s Windworm of Berk taking an early lead, with Tharina of Alagaësia and Baroth of Pern close on her tail! The oldest participant, Fafnir of Asgard, and newcomer Lyron of Westeros are lagging well behind the pace.

They’re rounding the first turn, and it’s still—wait! Fafnir of Asgard is attacking Lyron! She’s going down! That’s immediate disqualification for Fafnir! Now he’s breathing fire on the other racers! It’s a repeat of last year! Oh, the tragedy...

~*~

Jump For Your Life

“Things have gotten very interesting at this pole vaulting competition, Sir Wendell, with the fifth consecutive contestant killed and eliminated. I thought Giles the candle maker had a chance after he cleared the deadly moat, but the hot oil chucker at the top of the wall ended his attempt.”

“Yes, Sir Percy, too bad for Giles. Let’s see how our next athlete does, shall we?”

“Oh look, it’s Bartholomew the baker. This is his first time competing.”

“Yes, he’s having a go with only twenty minutes training.”

“Oh no, it’s the water for him. Another meal for the moat monster.”

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Kings and Commoners

Today on Drabble Wednesday, we go medieval...

Warning: today’s post gets a bit icky.

Boy in the Kitchens

Turn the spit, turn the spit, turn the spit.

Alfred watched the meat sizzle, and cranked the handle round and round. Day after day, he sat, stared, and spun the roast.

“You boy! At the spit! We’ve a new job for you!”

Alfred looked up with glee, and eagerly relinquished his place to another kitchen lad. The royal butcher ushered him into a back pantry.

“Sorry boy, but the king wants special meat for his supper.”

Poor Alfred never saw the cleaver fall. 

Come supper, another boy sat watching the sizzling meat that used to be Alfred.

Turn the spit.

~*~

Vantage Point

The old room atop the temple held the perfect view of the queen’s procession route.

He watched her horse drawn, open carriage meandering its way up the street.

He took his time, lined up his bow, and let the arrow fly.

The projectile pierced the queen’s chest, and she crumpled like a doll.

The assassin patted his purse. The payment of the king's gold rattled with a beautiful sound, and he chuckled with proud satisfaction. Then he stepped over the body of the snooping priest he killed, snuck down the back stairs onto the street, and disappeared into the crowd.

~*~

King’s Decree

Arabella stared at her reflection in the mirror, tucking a stray lock of hair into place. She applied red colour to her lips and cheeks. She mustn’t appear sallow on this day. Her audience with the king.

How lives turn on the will of that man.

She appraised her appearance. She looked thinner than a few months ago, but not gaunt. That was good. The newest royal concubine best not look sickly.

Can I do this?

She closed her eyes, taking a breath.

You don’t have a choice. You lost the rebellion. You become his, or die like your husband.

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved