Battledale_PRC8/_module/uti/fr_playerbook006.uti.json

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      "0": "-by Alicia Divine-\n\nOnce on a time dwelling in Brighthaven, a wealthy merchant took in lodgers to board, his craft dear guests was a mere carpenter. And with him there lodged a young scholarly chap, who'd learn'd of the arts, but all his fantasy dealt with astrology, of certain theorems he was versed, of droughts and floods, to name but some, but also skilled with divination. So that many would come to ask their fate, or what should befall them as time grew late.\n\nThis carpenter fellow had of late married a wife, whom he cherished deeply, and loved more than life. He guarded this woman of only eighteen years of age, and kept her close, locked as if in cage, for she was young, and he was old, and he oft did worry that she'd cuckold. For oft do youth and age debate, but he'd endure as was his fate. \n\nNow this here scholar did see this wife, and fell in love to toy and play, for while her husband dealt down pilgrims way, he did naught but grab her by the rump and say'd \"Indeed unless i have my will, this secret love for you sure would spill\" He held her hard about her hips, and say'd \"O darling, love me, love me now. Or i shall die, and pray you my god might save!\" She lept like colt doth in the trave, and with her head twist'd fast away, and say'd \"I shall not kiss you, by my fay, let go!\" she cried \"or i shalt call for help some more, let go forsooth, my dear, my fair Victor\"\n\nNow come next morn she fetch'd off to Church, in waukeens grace she carry out her work. Now in this church was a parish clerk, who's name was, as folk did tell Absalom. Curled t'was his hair, and shining like gold, his cheeks were red, and eyes grey and cold. He stood resplendant in red hose, and covered full well in coat of blue, and as folk knew, he was a merry lad, or so was said. And none better at drawing deed or citation, and he played also the mandolin, a pretty Jig, or merry limerick would oft spring in his wake, and in the tavern popular did him make.\n\nThis Absalom, so light, so gay, went with censer on a holy day, to censer the wives like enthusiast, and upon many a loving look he cast, but particular dues did he pay to the carpenters wife that day. Later that night his guitar he did take, and went with intent to wake our lovely Catherine. He took up stance beneath a cill, and sang \"Dear lady, if your will to be, i pray you have some ruth on me. I seek a kiss, no more but this, a kiss is all, I ask for this.\" Our lady rose, to near the cill, but in thinking to jape, yet cause no ill she made a jest, and called to Absolom to rest, just a moment she asked him for. Then she stuck her rump out through the door. Now Absolom, who could see but naught, for darkness still its shadow brought, reached up his lips, to bring a kiss, and what did he kiss, i heare you ask? Naught other than our Catherines arse.\n\nNow Absalom to not be outdone went in righteous fury back to his home, and sat and plotted for a while, and till a plan made with all his guile, did take him till near midnight make. And he set off again once more in haste, to beneath that cill to music make, and sang again a merry tune \"dear Catherine, but one kiss was not enough, i need another to my love sedate, and heal the pains that in my heart do grate\". Now on this night did Catherine with victor sleep, and wanting as he was to be a part of this jape. Opened the window in great haste and stuck out his whole bum, and thereto said this clerk, this Absolom,\"speak sweet bird, i know not where though art\", and Victor answered, letting out a fart.\n\nAs loud as if it had been a thunderclap, nigh blinding Absolom, poor chap. But he was ready with his Iron hot, stolen from the blacksmith was how he got. And swung in forward in one quick pass, and hit poor Victor in his arse. Off burnt the skin a hand breadths round, the coulter burning his bottom browned. That for this pain poor Victor thought he should Die, and at once began like mad to cry \"Water, Water, for gods dear heart!\" \n\nand the Cleric cried\n\n\"Let this be motto, to all who at a cleric fart, or in adultery take any part, lest like poor victor you might find, a holy fire on your behind\""
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