Talk:Reg Margin: Difference between revisions

Reg Margin was a ''[[morlock|Mohlok]]'' peasant who lived the salted fields between the ancient city of {{sal}} — more or less on the site of the modern Lehmangrad — and the Royal Forests of Bretton, backing onto the Ferrous Mountains. Being marshy badlands fed by the stinking runoffs from those darkened, misted hills, nothing much grows there and, like many of the local peasantry, Reg supplemented his meagre scratchings by poaching game from the royal hunting grounds in Bretton Woods.   

One day, when furtively checking his traps, he stumbled upon a strange intruder feasting on some stocks he had stolen from Reg’s own shorting cage — his long “longbox”.  

“Now,” said Reg, “I might be possessed of no great capacity for knowing things, nor figuring things, but I’m a dab old hand at ''believin’'' things, and ''surmisin’'' about things, and I believe an’ I surmise that, what with them dark eyes and that tousled dark hair, worn in that foreign-looking way and, added to all of that, that strange way you have of saying things, that your kind is not from these parts?”  

The captive’s eyes widened and he said, in flawless, if archaic, high ''Lanchmani'':

“But, good sir, you speak in the tongue of the [[Lanchmani]]! You must, a noble merchant be, one of the Royal City of {{sal}}! I am so very greatly honoured! As is your Lanchmani protocol, I [[Give up|give myself up]] to thee! I humbly [[novate]] myself to your service sir!”

“The name’s Paripasu. Vlad Paripasu,” he squeaked. “I am but a humble scholar from Carpathia. I have journeyed many arduous months from my mountain home in search of the wisdom of the great ''[[Lanchmani]]'', and to learn their ways.”

Now Reg wasn’t of the [[Lanchmani]] at all, but was an indentured peasant engaged on a pittance to keep the city’s engine running and royal sewerage system clean, but he figured there was no call to disabuse his captive of his sense of grandiosity.

“Well that's as may be, see, but, humble scholar or no, you be still pinching my stuff. And we can’t be having that.” And with that, taking a thick hemp rope from his sack, he bound the Carpathian trickster to a  tree.

“Ah no, no, no,” muttered the little fellow, as Reg bound him hand and foot, “I fear I am most misunderstood.”

Reg had it in his mind that the odd little fellow was scheming or plotting something. “Seeing as you seem a cunning little fellow —”

“Pinching, sir? Stealing? Oh, no, no, ''no'' Sir! But I can see why you might be confused —”

“I en’t confused — not so as no more than normal, least anyways — so how’s about you tells me why you be stealing my stocks?”

“''Borrowing'' them, sire, ''Borrowing'' them; I swear upon my father’s life I am no thief.”

 

“Business? Who has business is stealing another fellow’s stocks?”

 

 

“Have it your way: who has business borrowing another fellow’s stocks?”