The flickering candle illuminated the humble quarters of the young squire Timmy as he sat in his chambers vigorously writing something down on grimy parchment. The scratching of his quill stopped suddenly. "No good", he thought, as he tossed his crumbled message into a growing pile of paper. He sat back in his chair and looked at the pile of straw. For once his bed looked appealing. "All I've done for my masters, and this is what I'm given? A decrepit cell above the castle kitchens?" The constantly burning fires kept his room quite warm, but the stench of the roasting cheetos drove him mad. It permeated his room, his clothes, and lately, he suspected, his mind. "I was promised a suite, servants, riches beyond my wildest imagination, and master Kesh continues to ignores my requests for audience..." Timmy still remembered the day he pledged his vassalage alongside his teutonic brethren. They too were given promises, and they too undoubtedly went through this same humiliation. "We had no choice, we did what was best for our people, our families..." Timmy's thoughts began to trail off, to his homeland.
He ran through the luminous snow fields of New Slekzh. He could feel the light snowfall upon his cheeks and took in the great forest that stretched beyond the horizon at the edge of Slekzh's borders. "Timmy? What are you doing out here so late?" Timmy turned around to a surly figure draped in layers of fur. Wesley's gruff voice had a way of melting in his ears like butter on a warm bun. Timmy suddenly wanted nothing more than to run to his lover and take him right there on the snow, to feel his warm embrace and listen to reassuring whispers. "Timmy?" Wesley uttered once more "Timmy....TIMMY!"
Timmy's eyes shot open at the sound of pounding on his door. "One moment!", Timmy shouted as he composed himself. "If this is about the serving boy, I told him repeatedly that he wasn't my type, if you could just send in a more muscular-" He stopped in his tracks as he came face to face with the seasoned pirate before him. Before Timmy could utter apologies, Matey pushed the boy aside and stepped inside. The wooden leg of the old sea dog turned royal squire seemed to hinder him more than usual. He plopped down on the chair and surveyed the room. Timmy meekly observed the man's expression, which always was in a state between annoyed and exhausted when around him. After a moment Matey bluntly uttered, "This place is a sty."
"Ven-Venerable l-l-leader" Timmy stuttered, "My apologies for the its current state, b-but the maids no longer come around, and when I went to talk to L-Lord Kesh about it I was-"
"I haven't come here to discuss such trivial matters, boy" Matey interrupted, "What of the propaganda piece on the Frisians you were conscripted to write? Our scribes are ready to copy it and distribute it all across the land."
"Y-Yes, of course, the piece is almost-"
"Almost?" Matey's tone growing more irritated.
"I-I-I mean I'm done, it's j-just that I-"
"Good, let me have it then."
Timmy scrambled over to his pile and grabbed a crumpled piece of paper and presented it to the man. Matey begrudgingly opened up the paper and began to read. After finishing, Matey let out a sigh and with a gesture towards the pile uttered, "If this...thing is the best you can come up with, it'll have to do." Timmy exhaled a sigh of relief. "T-T-Thank you lord, is there anything else?" Matey set his gaze upon Timmy, inspecting his narrow shoulders, wide hips, and untamed neckbeard. Timmy soon realized the real meaning of this visit. Their eyes met and Timmy felt like he was with Wesley once more. Of course no one could replace his lover, but Timmy could not ignore such a powerful desire. "D-does that leg come off?" Timmy saw Matey smile for the first time, revealing a decayed set of blackened teeth, and he began to unstrap the leg. Matey got up and hopped over to the door, and just as Timmy began to bend over the chair, slammed it shut.
