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Call me Deneheard. Everyone does. You've arrived in Northumbria just in time! These dales have flocks that need tending. There's a lot of wool to shear, lambs to birth, and droppings to shovel. No need to fight for a job here; there's plenty for all! So grab some shears and a shovel and get ready to reach into some ewes...
What's that? Oh, nevermind that village by the sea. Nothing of much interest there, to tell the truth. The heathen Celts settled there some time ago and called it Ebrauc. Since, it's been called Eoforwic by the Angles and Jórvík by the Danes. But we who live around here simply call it Old York. The big city. All I know about it is that you'd best keep away. Nothing but trouble there!
First of all, they've got outlandishly dressed womenfolk who bear arms! One of them is a Burgundian by the name o' Anarane. She keeps the York Dairy - milk, cheese, eggs, and the like. You needn't bother visiting, though. If you want, I can squeeze some milk from my old mule, Edith, just after I'm done fertilising the garden.
Another abomination in the city, that has the angels and saints weeping, is the Lodge of the Sleek Pony Bed and Breakfast, under the proprietorship of Catharina Grafeldr. Atrocious that men and women lie about idly all day there. A good day spent is one of hard toil and back-breaking labour! I offer my guests a day of ploughing, harrowing, and tilling 500 acres of field. And then of course, we'll relax into the evening with a quiet game of "Unclog the Irrate, Constipated Ram". Good, wholesome country fun. The city of York offers nothing of that calibre.
Money is the world's curse! Everything I need I provide for myself. But those who dabble in the silver and gold arts amass from every corner of this evil world at York's trade centre called Grimsfirth. Exotic clothes and textiles, weapons and shields, newly minted coins, and virtually anything else that can be traded or sold can be found here. My homestead boasts the same, where I have an unlimited supply of sheep dip, cow laxatives, and fresh fertiliser.
Elenwe Yngling is yet another heathen shield-maiden of York. At her Rune Master's Tent she's making meanings and magicks with letter etchings. Why the fuss? I have earmarks on all my livestock, but you don't see people coming from far and wide to read them! I could have told her she was wasting her time. Not to mention that letter-writing and reading is a work of the Devil, so says the Bible.
Now perhaps you're fool enough to want silver possessions and not have to work, at the same time. For such fools there is Odo's Slaves and Silver Objects. While they admire useless silver idols, the city folk lie around and let their slaves do all their work for them. I tried having a slave once, but I got more work done than that good-for-nothing Irishman. I was just starting to call it a day, at 2 o'clock in the morning, and would you believe I caught him sleeping?
The Hunnish Emporium of Exotic Horses is knavery at its finest. Attila the Hun, Scourge of the West, has a York-market horsey business on the side. But the real tragedy is the acronym - HEEHAW. Do we really not know that's what donkeys say? What's wrong with NEIGH? Nice Equestrian Items...er...blah, blah, blah. At least that's what horses actually say!
Elgiva Godwinson's Shambles Inn is a shambles, in and out. The place is freshly stocked, swept, and spit-shined every evening and then promptly destroyed by its patrons later that night. The brawls that occur every night have become a featured attraction and make the Shambles a novelty. If you enjoy watching drunken men get heated and throw punches at one another, maybe this is the place for you. Or, you can watch my cousin Ull and me fight over mutton at table, for free; there will be blood!
York also features some mysterious boutiques, like Wulfrun Grafeldr's Jórvík Seiðr Shoppe. What in Hel's domain does that mean? Something dangerous and feminine, I reckon. No self-respecting man would dare enter a moon-ruled place like that where heathens go when they don't wish to die. I've told Ull: The moment I get ill, run me through with a hayfork and send me to Woden's mead hall! I'll have none of those snake skins, leeches, and bats' blood...unless of course it's being served at supper. That's good eatin'!
Almost forgot to mention that they're offering this T-shirt as a souvenir, but if you wait a minute, I've got something better. It's got ticks, but it'll keep you a lot warmer.
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Pay no mind to old Deneheard. He's just pulling your leg (er, we hope.)
Follow the arrow to take the Old York Village Tour and enjoy exploring the shops!
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Gold Fest In Germania 2008
(- threads, 51 posts)
Old York Village Tour
A huge thanks for taking the tour! (* Wulfrun Grafeldr, Nov 3, 2008 - 01:16 )
