Welcome to Three Word Thursday #51. Please join us in our weekly romp as we try to rescue lost and forgotten words from the dusty halls of antiquity. If you enjoy reading my story, leave a comment then click on the names of the other players and go see how they used these bygone words. You’ll be entertained (and possibly educated) all at once.
- uberate, v. — make plentiful or nourish
- snilch, v. — to eye someone or something
- accidie, n. sloth, tupor
- incompossible: Not capable of joint existence; incompatible; inconsistent
- thropple: strangle
- noctambule, v. sleepwalk
From episode #50:
“Real bandage!” Evaard exclaimed. “Where did you get this?”
Vernal said, “From the palace acersecomic after he blessed me as your page. He put his hands upon my head and had a vision. Afterward he handed me these bandages and told me to keep them always in my possession until you stated their need.”
“Well, well,” Cheval said, “it seems we have both woodwort and holy bandages. Fencil may be up and running by morn!”
Unexpected Ally, Unexpected Enemy
Evaard built a tiny fire with a flame barely big enough to bring a cup of water to boil. Chevall dropped several slices of the woodwort in to steep.
Evaard dug through a satchel and retrieved a cloth wrapped bundle. “Dried venison,” he said. “I wish we could risk a cooking fire. I have had enough salted meat to preserve my gut from the inside out.”
“We wouldn’t have risked even this much fire if we hadn’t needed the uberating tea for Fencil,” Chevall said.
Vernal jumped to his feet. “Are you certain?” He exclaimed.
Chevall and Evaard exchanged a look. Vernal was facing the shadows at the rear of the cave. Evaard snilched the darkness, but saw nothing remarkable. “Are we certain of what?” He asked Vernal.
Vernal pointed at the blank wall. “Threfal says that we can build a bonfire if we wish. The willow tree will defuse the smoke and the curve of the ravine will conceal any glow that might escape our thicket, plus, the nearest mage warrior is over five miles away.”
Evaard immediately added twigs to the small fire and blew gently on the flame. Chevall stared intently at the back wall of the cave. “Vernal,” he said. “You realize that Threfel isn’t really there? What you’re hearing is mind speak.”
“I am hearing mind speak,” Vernal agreed. “But Threfel is just beyond that wall. He said the entire mountain is riddled with caverns and he can travel mile upon miles without ever stepping outside.”
“And he is certain we are well hidden?” Chevall asked.
Vernal nodded. “He is certain.”
“Good,” Chevall answered. “I am going to clean Fencil’s wound. If he cries out, no one will hear him.” Chevall lifted the cup to Fencil’s lips and fed him several sips of the woodwort, then he dipped a bit of bandage in the potion and pressed it against Fenci’l’s thigh. The boy moaned but did not wake from his accidie.
Evaard continued building up the fire, and removed a packet of vegetables from the satchel. He pulled a knife from his belt and began slicing them into a pot of water. He added a handful of the dried venison as well. “In no time at all we’ll have a nice stew.”
Vernal looked at him in surprise. “Sir Evaard!” He exclaimed, “I am supposed to be cooking for you!”
“Battle situations often make assigned duties irrelevant and incompossible. I know how to make a fast trail stew, therefore I am making it. You can roll out the bedrolls. If Threfel is correct and we are alone in the ravine, then no one will have to stand watch tonight.”
Vernal went still and his face paled. He turned from the back wall and faced Evaard. “Threfel says you will still have to stand guard tonight to keep from getting throppled in your sleep by a noctambulator.”
“Fencil?” Chevall queried. “I think the drug will keep him down.”
“Not Fencil,” Vernal said. “Me.”
“You?!” Evaard exclaimed in surprise. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“We buried and burned everything at the cabin so the mage warriors wouldn’t be able to find us through a possession which contained our aura,” Vernal said.
“But they’ve found something of yours just the same?” Chevall asked.
“Worse,” Vernal said. “I gave it to them.
What!” Evaard exclaimed. “When?”
“When I killed Fronesk, he took a piece of my soul forever.”
“Yes,” Chevall said. “Taking someone else’s life always forfeits just a bit of your own. That is true.”
“According to Threfal,” Vernal explained, “Fronesk claimed my bit of soul not in his own name to prolong his own life, but in the name of his commander.”
“Ronald?” Evaard said. “But he, too, is dead.”
Vernal shook his head. “Both Ronald and Fronesk were commanded by the Mage King. He has a piece of my soul. Threfal says that when I sleep, which I must, the Mage King will be able to control my actions. You must protect yourselves from me.”
The 3WT #52 words will be:
Announced tomorrow (don’t let me forget!). Something inexplicable happened with my story. I was double checking it for errors about 2 hours ago, preparing to post, and it completely disappeared. No draft. No nothing. All my work gone. I rewrote the story, but I haven’t time to look up new words. i must go to bed.
UPDATE — The WORDS:
- gardyloo, interjection. a call used in warning; perhaps from French garde à l’eau! look out for the water!
- swoopstake, adv. in an indiscriminate manner
- wanion, n. unlucky
Got it? Good! In that case: Your story is due on: April 22nd, 2010