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[P] loved by numbers - Printable Version

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loved by numbers - Mads Ibsen - 11 January 2019

dating this to a few days before the ball 256

The Northman happily drank, practically inhaled, the sweet honey coloured and flavoured liquid. He'd visited the cold, dark cellar almost daily since he'd set the barrel to age just before the cold snap covered the Court in a blanket of white powder and he'd had to pry himself away from the room on every single occasion. Finally, the temptation had been too strong and he'd dipped a crudely carved cup into the cask and brought up a generous cupful of mead. Thankfully his previous patience and current hastiness had rewarded him handsomely. The taste brought him back home with such a realistic feeling that as he closed his eyes to savour the flavour, he swore he was sitting back home overlooking the Sound. The Dane was mildly disappointed that he wasn't back home when he opened his eyes, but ghostly orbs soon fell back on the open cask of mead and he was happy all over again. With a smile, he thought about how popular he was about to become when the, albeit meagre in amount, tipple hit the tables and, later, the throats of his packmates.

A flash of guilt panning across his face, he dipped his cup into the cask again and took another drink. He really shouldn't be sitting here drinking it all himself, especially since he'd already tried some and he was supposed to be saving it for a glorious occasion. The guilt flittered away fairly quickly, Mads was never one to deny himself pleasure...