#peasantposting

[thekalpar]

My liege, behold, the field in which I grow mine fucks.

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Well, I planted fucks. It all came up wheat this year.

[basicbascinet]

OOC POST:: I don't know if any of you ever played or read the Vampire the Masquerade books, but one thing I find cool is that npcs have a set of rumors attached to them that may or may not be true. They are just things you may hear on the streets about them. Since the community is gearing up to the Bloodhaven Ball where everyone will interact more closely, I thought it would be fun to make this challenge: write down three to five rumours about your character. How many are true, if any, is up to you!

I will start with my own character:

- Bec was abandoned as a child at door of the Knight Protective Services. She grew up in the KPS and knows nothing else.

- Bec is a witch turned knight, that's why he sounds so heretical at times.

- Their liege is the KPS supervisor that never seems to show up.

- Said supervisor doesn't actually exist. Their oath of homage is to the KPS as an institution. No, that is not how that is supposed to work, but it would explain a lot.

- They only remove their armour to wash/bathe or to clean it.

[3leni]

screaming out “BAEEELOORRRRR” in the same cadence as elphaba belting “FIYYYEEEEROOOO” in the middle of no good deed 💔 this is where we’re at rn

[sherwood-fawn]

I baked honey bread for the knight ive been fawning over for the past month and was ready to confess my feelings but froze when I saw him softly staring at the princess he's sworn to protect and she laughed so freely and his smile was so gentle and genuine I ended up leaving before I could say or do anything.

Now I'm crying eating honey bread, guys how do you recover from this?

[wench-for-hire]

A curious series of events has unfolded over the past tenday.

It all began with the blackberry outbreak. Along the shores of the local hamlet, cautious mothers pepper their sons and daughters with disingenuous warnings to beware of fae mischief before setting them out with wicker baskets to fill with the plump fruit. The tangled brambles, a summer staple, seem mysteriously to have doubled and tripled their efforts to overtake the hedgegrowth lining the winding stream known as Lyewater--the phenomenon made all the more puzzling by their quite ordinary progress along the mainstem normally sporting the bulk of the growth. The berry brambles lay in a thick blanket along the edges of the water, the plumpest fruit seated right along the shallows' edge in easy reach of passers by. It takes not long for the locals to catch on and news to spread. Soon every day the water's edge fills with more and more villagers braving thornsticks to take home the season's bounty by the cartload. The sweet fruits gleam in the sun with a beauty to rival obsidian--the lush thickets seeming never to exhaust of their supply. With every foray into the brush they yield their beneficence to the determined seekers. A toll is exacted. Wither fae retribution for the plundering of their wealth, or commonplace luck, sleeves catch afoul of tangles. Skirt are muddied. Linens snagged and torn. A worthy price to pay for the fruit, most would say as they tote their prize home to become jams, pies and tarts. Yet in the following days still further misfortune befalls those who profit from the brambles' bounty. Dark syrups fall from sumptuously laden, still-steaming pastries to mar the skirts and trousers of the witless. Purple stains find their ways onto the paws of children at play, streaked into smallclothes and soiling linens. Strange as the plague of berries, stranger still how the flyers appear just as their troubles arise. They dot every post and wall up and down the stream. In the square where the bakers and merchants peddle their wares. Easily visible. And never far from the lips of the town crier. Special bargains on small tears and snags. Expert stain removal for everything from linens to silks. Act now, as the deals will only last so long. Fancy a dyeing service to spiffy your wardrobe? There's a limited time deal on purples. Only inquire after Tiernan of Shallowbend, so very nearby. Generational launderer. Professional services at a steal. And if the berries seem to grow thickest just at the path down to the stream where the baskets of laundry wait, colorful garments draped about lines like decorous banners...? Well, perhaps the fae have a sense of humor? Who can guess at their machinations?

[metaphoricalink]

Fuuuuck my liege lord just joined a pirate cult 😔

[starribyrd]

Me explaining to a medieval peasant how to make their heartburn go away: Drink from this spring, it balances your yellow bile humor. It has to do with the specific rocks that make up the underground spring the water resides in. They leech into the water and it neutralizes the excess yellow bile causing your pain.

Peasant with Bdellophobia due to the poor medical understanding of the time: I do not trust this water one bit anymore! Or you for that matter! AWAY WITH YOU FOUL PHYSICIAN!

[fealtypledger]

anyone have a cucumber i’m looking to balance my humors. serious offers only