Story of the Day: Náiyre: Frewyn Drinking Game of Shame
A longy. 5,000 words just for you. Enjoy :D
Náiyre: Frewyn Drinking Game of Shame
Náiyre, a Frewyn drinking game of some consequence, was proposed for the evening by Aiden and Adaoire, and being in an excellent humour for revelry, Sheamas agreed to the diversion. Shayne and Tomas were as well summoned to join them, and though Tomas’ abashed and quiet nature made him indisposed to inebriated jollity, he was persuaded by his intimate friends and his wife to leave the safe haven of the castle blacksmith for one evening at least. He was unfamiliar with the game of Náiyre, and during the short walk from the keep to the Wayward Traveler, Tomas was enlightened as to the regulations behind the pursuit, but though he found the rules simple, he conceived that the game itself should only result numerous heated debated and fight with those who would otherwise be friends.
The playing ground was a table of various drinks and the players always a group of intimates. If one player desired a specific drink, he must tell an embarrassing story of himself, and if he wished to remain sober must tell an embarrassing story of someone else present. The reward for the shame accorded, whether to self or other, allowed for many possible disparagements and various disagreements. If the story was deemed not quite shameful enough, no drink would be awarded. Tomas became mildly terrified as they came to the door of the tavern, for he had little embarrassments to remark of himself that were not already known and should never want to discomfit someone else even if only as a jape. He began making excuses as to his needing to be with his wife and child and turned to leave when he observed another party of intimates walking toward them.
Long had it been since Alasdair went on patrol in his captain’s uniform, and though it was hardly a disguise to most of his people at this point, he enjoyed donning it now that Carrigh had mended its fitting and used the shield of his surrounding friends to mask himself instead. He came with the commander and Den Asaan, who was shield enough, and also walked with Connors, Nerri, Mureadh and Teague. The parties of patrollers had met at the marketplace and decided to have a joint patrol for the last stint of their shift. Alasdair had joined the commander and Den Asaan while Dobhin, and once everyone became congruent, it was decided that a meal at the tavern was a necessity. They had not expected to meet the other party in so fortuitous a manner, but now that everyone was resolved to enjoy their evening at the tavern, they must do so together.
Tomas’ escape was here thwarted, and as he entered the Wayward Traveler, he seriously hoped that he would not be called upon to participate in the game. He asked to be allowed to remain silent, but both Aiden and Adaoire remonstrated against his entreaty.
“Oh, no,” Adaoire warned, giving Tomas a hearty slap on the back. “You’re goin’, lad. Everyone’s gotta go.”
Tomas grimaced in worry and sat quietly at the end of the table, planning to be occupied with a plate of cold meats while everyone must take their turn.
The drinks were ordered, sliced meats and cold chicken were conveyed to the table, and the large party was prepared to take part in the game of Náiyre. Many made assertions as to whom was to suffer the first turn: were they to go by rank, by achievements, or perhaps by those least willing to speak, but as the drinks were on the table, Aiden and Adaoire would be first.
“Sure, we got a story for you,” Adaoire gloated, taking his pipe from his front pocket.
“Aye, real embarrassin’,” Aiden agreed without seeming self-conscious.
Dobhin gave the twins eager smiles and sipped his wine while inching toward his two favourite friends. “This is going to be brilliant,” he said to himself.
Adaoire leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe with complacence. “So, you remember when Kai Linaa and her big fella came to the farm?”
“I remember you inviting her,” the commander said. “I don’t recall her ever mentioning that she had visited.”
“Well,” Aiden continued, “We showed her our land and then we took her out to the barn so she could make one of those drawin’s of us.”
“Aye, made a real nice one too,” said Adaoire.
“We took her in and closed the door while her man was in the house with Ma. But, while she was drawin’, she kept leanin’ forward and movin’ while she was scribblin’. Her breasts kept shakin’ around.”
The commander surmised what had happened and sighed into her hand.
“And after a bit, we couldn’t take it no more,” Adaoire shrugged.
“We warned her about bein’ so pretty and actin’ so nice and all. She didn’t listen.”
“Do tell me that you gloried in the hay with that beautiful woman,” Dobhin said with glee.
“Naw, we touched ourselves while watchin’ her,” Adaoire grinned.
“And was she aware of this?”
“Sure, she was hidin’ behind the chair to make sure we didn’t finish on her.”
Alasdair, Connors, Tomas and Mureadh blushed and turned away in indignation while Dobhin laughed and passed a drink to each of the twins.
“You horrid creatures,” the commander simpered, shaking her head. “Now I should not wonder at why she is stuck to Unghaahi’s side every time she is in your company.”
The twins made a guttural guffaw, clinked their glasses and cheered to the whole table.
“Best part of it was she could’ve left the barn anytime she wanted to,” Aiden said. “She thought we locked the door. She didn’t even try to leave.”
Sheamas held his hand to his forehead and praised the Gods in Old Frewyn that he had been born with the good sense not to entice women by leading them into a partially locked barn and relieving himself as a testament to how much he might enjoy their company.
“The two of you are hardly ashamed of your conduct,” Dobhin contended.
“Sure, we’re plenty ashamed,” Aiden argued.
“Aye, ashamed we didn’t hold her down.”
The twins guzzled their pints and Dobhin professed his adoration for their unmitigated shamelessness.
“Well,” the commander began, “As we are on the subject of men touching themselves, and as I do not want a drink, I have a story about our good king.”
|The commander and Den Asaan|
“Oh, no,” Alasdair groaned, looking away.
“Oh, yes,” said Dobhin. “Tell it. I know it must be indefensible if he is worrying already.”
The commander gave Alasdair a conscious look and smirked to herself. “Once, while we were in Tyferrim Company, after Dobhin proposed that those in his regiment should bond with one another while Commander Vyrdin was called to Diras meet with Allande, our beloved king had a little too much to drink-“
“Oh, Gods,” Alasdair muffled into his hand, immediately ashamed at the recollection of the event.
“I have little idea of whom you had in your fancy at the time, Alasdair, but I caught our king enjoying himself immensely in the corner of the Tyferrim garrison.”
“It was one time,” Alasdair shot back.
“Yes, but I’m certain it was not the only.”
“You’re a man, Brennin. Of course it wasn’t,” Dobhin exclaimed.
Alasdair gave the commander a flat look and held out his hand to accept the due remuneration for his shame. It was not the echoes of laughter at the story that disturbed him, nor was it Dobhin’s excessive mirth and heightened spirits, but Rautu’s blissful sneer was more than Alasdair could abide, and he hid his features behind the raised bottom of his glass, grumbling to himself of how his story when he had the courage to tell it should destroy them all.
Teague was then bid to take his turn but spent a few moments in silent pensiveness while conjuring the paramount narrative to tell. All of them he could invoke, however, involved Qwynlin, and to his great fortune, while he was rapt in ponderation over the history, Mureadh thought it advisable to visit the latrine while Teague seemed to be biding his time. The instant he left the table, Teague’s eyes glowed and he leaned forward to gain the attention of the table. He said, speaking low, “Qwynlin enjoys it when I whip her.”
“Hardly embarrassing at all,” the commander said, eyeing her mate.
“It is when she is unable to sit the following day.”
Adaoire sprang forward from his reclining position. “She likes that roughness and all?” he asked fervently.
Teague gave him a iniquitous look. “You have no idea.”
“Were you playin’ master and slave girl or somethin’?”
“We were. I told her to beg. She did, and the more she begged, the harder I-“ Teague stopped when he realized that every man at the table was regarding him with ravenous regard, as if he had gained the opportunity to do what most of them had only imagined doing themselves. He cleared his throat and continued, “Mureadh came to the house for dinner. Qwynlin wouldn’t sit at the table no matter how many times Mureadh told her to join us. She excused herself, said she wasn’t feeling well and went to the bedroom to lie down but when she opened the door, she knocked over my whip rack.”
|Mureadh, Connors, Teague and Nerri|
“Did he see?” Sheamas asked.
“You have a whip rack?” Aiden added.
Teague made a terrible grin and was about to complete the history when he observed Mureadh returning to the table from the corner of his eye. He leaned back in his seat, whistled to himself, and declared, “Your turn, Mureadh,” when his friend reclaimed his seat.
“What was your story?” Mureadh asked.
“The time you saw me with my hair down.”
“That certainly was awkward. Your hair is nicer than a woman’s.”
“That’s just what I said,” Teague agreed with calm placation, smiling to the table.
“Flowing hair, while astonishing, is not shameful,” the commander insisted.
“Maybe, but the story Mureadh is about to tell will guarantee my drink.”
The party observed Mureadh with expectancy.
“I caught Teague and Qwynlin together,” he muttered.
“Whose was the shame there? Certainly not Teague’s with such a fine woman,” Dobhin said. “No, no. That drink belongs to the good captain. You have his sister for comfort. It’s only fair.”
Teague relinquished his drink to Mureadh, and while his friend was distracted with the contents of his glass, Teague promised to tell Aiden and Adaoire the end of his devious tale later.
Connors was then asked to bring a story forward. He thought of one for some time, and though he had a few involving more pleasurable exploits with his wife to match the tenor of the evening, he chose to tell one of himself. “When I was growing up in Westren, our family, my mother’s three sisters and all the cousins, were living together in one house. We didn’t have much then and all the children would help their respective mothers with the chores after coming home from lessons at Church. I was assigned to cleaning dishes, but my aunt Abherdine volunteered to wash the linens. We washed at the same time so that we could share the boiled water, but I did my work outside and my aunt did hers in the scullery.” Connors shook his head and smiled in budding mortification. “One summer evening, after supper, I went to wash the dishes. As I was washing, I noticed that there was a hole in the wall and through it I could see into the scullery where my aunt was, only instead of washing the linens, she was washing her clothing.” His cheeks reddened. “I must have watched her for at least an hour without washing one plate.”
The party laughed at Connors’ shame and a drink was readily granted.
“My mother came outside to see why I hadn’t finished yet. She didn’t see what I was looking at but she did wonder why I suddenly was so eager to do the dishes after supper every night.” He raised his glass and drank while entreating his wife to repeat her story with a slight nudge of the arm.
“The fire festival before we met,” said Nerri, gesturing to her husband, king and commander, “I had just turned sixteen, but certain things had not developed yet.” She gave a little blush and motioned toward her chest. “I was supposed to dance in front of the men of my clan to show them that I was ready for marriage. I was afraid that I would be rejected because I had nothing to look at just then. I-“ She paused, assailed by an attack of shy giggles, and then recollected herself. “I stuffed my stay with potatoes to make it seem like I . . .” She looked down and could not continue the description without succumbing to laughter. “I was forced to dance when the festival started and the potatoes fell from my clothes.”
The table cheered for her, causing her features to crimson, and she was given a drink for a most excellent and worthy embarrassment. She touched glasses with Connors beside her, and they drank together, holding their drinks with one hand while holding one another with the other.
Those who had otherwise been silent were chosen to recant their stories next, and as Tomas was conveniently occupied with his meal, Shayne was bid to say his piece instead.
“Once, when I was busy with Martje-“
The twins instantly silenced him with moans of disgust to think of poor Shayne being made to touch their quick-tempered and stout sister.
“You’ll like this story,” Shayne assured them, quieting their refutations. “She likes it when we take our time. I don’t. I let her have her way one night. It must’ve been near three hours in and I was gettin’ hungry. I knew it was gonna be one of those nights from the start so I went to Shea’s before I came home and brought some of those nice smoked red beef slices you got there.”
Sheamas exhaled and closed his eyes, doing his utmost not to think of his wares being used for more corporeal activities.
“Well, she’s on her stomach and I figure she can’t see me, so I reach over to grab a few of those slices. I had some without her knowin’ but when she got on her knees, she hit my hand and what I had in it fell on her.”
Many laughed with abashed feelings, the twins mourned over the waste of such exceptional meat, but Rautu considered the practice with thoughtfulness. There was nothing he loved so well in the world as Frewyn fare and his mate, but the combination of the two in such a manner had never occurred to him. Melted chocolate was one such trial, but beyond this, Rautu did not believe that Khopra required any more in the way of supplementary pleasure. Meat, however, added unto it could only improve an already unexceptional experience and whispered to his mate that they must recreate Shayne’s experimentation upon returning home.
A drink was given to Shayne for his troubles with the claim that the most embarrassing part of the tale was that he lost his beloved supper to an unforgiving woman, and he accepted it with a grumble of, “Martje didn’t speak to me for a week.”
“You should toss meat at her more often,” Adaoire grunted. “Well, Shea, now that you’re goods were shamed and all, let’s hear it.”
Sheamas leaned back and folded his arms just above his stomach. “You know that large dent in the wall of the shoppe near the smoke rack?” he said, half-smiling.
|Sheamas and the commander|
“One day, I’m closin’ the shoppe, and I don’t know what it is but I just can’t wait. Mar came down just as I’m lockin’ the door and I pounced her. Did it so hard I near put her through the wall.”
The twins gave their animated congratulations and pushed a drink toward their brother.
“Her knee made that dent. Never fixed it even though many folk ask about it.” Sheamas lifted his glass and paused before he drank, honouring the remembrance of his wife with a satisfied hum.
“Speaking of wives,” Dobhin chimed. “I will tell you the story of the first time I met my fat, late wife.”
“Was it in a bakery?” the commander snickered.
“It would have been pleasanter if it had been. It was at a wedding in Farriage that my father and I were invited to attend. I had done well to shirk my duties of smiling and bowing to everyone until I observed the fattest creature I had ever been so unfortunate to see. My father sought to make the acquaintance but when she neared me, I became terrified. I thought a whale was coming to devour me. I took a piece of the Galleisian fried dough from the dessert table behind me and tossed it at her hoping that she would stop and I would have enough time to make my escape. I certainly shamed myself and more importantly shamed my father, but the most astonishing bit of it was that she actually caught it and stopped to eat it.”
“You are terrible,” Alasdair said.
“I believe you mean to say that I’m kind and ingenuous. I did her the honour of throwing her one of those filled with cream.”
Alasdair scoffed in aversion, thinking more of the ignominy the High Lord wrought rather than that which he incurred upon himself.
“I wanna hear what the big fella has to say,” Adaoire demanded, pointing at Rautu. “I know he’s got a good story he’s not sayin’.”
Rautu had little to say on his side, for every history he could convey that was of disgraceful standing could not be considered amusing. Dishonour to oneself was a serious affront on the islands, and his failures at Khopra with Haanta women or the shame he suffered during the year he was made to remain on the mainland after his failed mission were discreditable accounts he would not repeat. He looked to his mate for some diverting anecdote he could relay, but when he glanced at Alasdair, he knew the story he must tell.
“By the Gods,” Alasdair swore as he marked the giant’s attention toward himself.
“Your king,” Rautu said with a leer, “once sought my brother’s counsel for Khopra.”
Alasdair knew his ability to walk away from the table with any small amount of pride had now done. He murmured something indiscernible into his hands and was resolved not to uncover his horrified countenance until the story was over.
“There ain’t nothing wrong with needed a little advice, Majesty,” Aiden said.
“Yes, there is,” Dobhin proclaimed. “A man is born knowing what to do. Go on, Den Asaan, I entreat you. I must hear this.” The High Lord leaned forward and waited for the remainder of the tale with great anticipation.
“I hate you, Dobhin,” Alasdair groaned, placing his forehead onto the edge of the table.
“You adore me, Brennin. Continue, Den Asaan. Please.”
“My brother showed your king our ritual and he showed it to his mate the following evening in the courtyard.”
“In the courtyard?” Dobhin shouted. “Brennin, you scoundrel. I never believed it possible.”
Alasdair stared at Rautu in terror. “How many others witnessed that?”
“Not me, and I wanted to see it.” Dobhin raised his glass toward the king and standing, declared, “I drink to you, Brennin: for claiming such a stunning flower in the shrubbery.”
Alasdair ignored the toast and leaned toward the commander. “Tell me you are the only two who saw us,” he begged her.
“Unghaahi, Kai Linaa, about half the royal guard, Connors, Ladrei, myself and possibly a few others witnessed this glorious event.”
Alasdair’s features blanched and he stared at the table unknowing of what to say or do in defense of his behaviour. The courtyard had been emptied, he had heard no one about, had seen no candlelight in the windows of the surrounding quarters, and yet there were at least ten in his acquaintance, and perhaps more, who would know of how he had basked in his wife’s splendidness. If they had seen them, how many others had witnessed their act, and moreover, from where had they seen him.
“One can see much from the battlements, Alasdair,” the commander whispered.
“What were you doing on the battlements?” he rejoined in a panicked hush.
“Watching you, apparently,” said Dobhin.
The commander touched Alasdair’s arm to assure him there was no offense on her side. “We are allowed to enjoy the evening air just as you are allowed to enjoy your wife outside.”
“The next time you decide to please her majesty in public, please do invite me,” Dobhin begged. “I will make a stall and sell souvenirs for the event.”
To remove the attention from Alasdair, the commander drew the attention of the table toward the most silent of them all. “Tomas, you meek creature,” she called out. “You cannot possibly have a story about yourself. Or do you have an discomforting story about one of us?”
“I might,” Tomas said softly, averting his eyes. “I don’t know if I want to tell it.”
Everyone implored him to tell it, and the more Tomas refused, the more ardently he was beseeched.
“Well,” he said, his sweet countenance flushing with colour. “It’s about ye, commander.”
“Me? Now I am intrigued.”
The table was silent and everyone listened with perfect attention as Tomas spoke his quiet words.
“I was comin’ from the smit’ to the yard wit’ the weapons that needed sharpenin’. I put ‘um on the rack and was about to leave but I thought I heard someone singin’. I turned the corner of the partition and realized it was you.”
“And there is my great shame,” the commander exhaled. “Very well.” She held up her hand to grasp the drink that was being tendered when she realized, “How could you have heard me? I only sing when I bathe.” There was a pause and then, “. . . Ah.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see ye. Curtain in the corner of the barracks was open.”
“You got to see Shea’s sister naked?” Adaoire said with desperate eyes. “You lucky bastard. I’d give anythin’ to see those-“ He made the gesture with his hands to delineate the commander’s substantial chest but did not finish his words, as the vicious glares of Sheamas and Rautu had silenced him.
“I believe you’re more embarrassed than I am, Tomas,” she said smilingly
“I am, aye, bheann.”
“Then this drink belongs to you.” She passed the drink to him and was given cheer for treating his disclosure with civility and kindness.
“Well, Brennin,” Dobhin grinned, pushing the last glass toward the king. “That just leaves you. Tell us this masterfully uncomfortable story if yours.”
Alasdair decided that since Rautu’s offense had been greater than Dobhin’s, he would attempt to shame the giant however little at such a task he might succeed. “I once saw you with your mate on the parapets,” he intimated.
The Den Asaan folded his arms and lifted his chin in triumph. “And?”
“And in the barracks.”
“And touching one another in certain places while in court.”
Rautu glanced to the side and waited for more but none came. “ . . . And?”
The giant was impenetrable and Alasdair’s reputation for the evening could not be salvaged. “. . . Give me the drink,” he resigned with wilting shoulders. His countenance was further lost when he remembered that he had consumed three drinks and had eaten no food to bolster them. Within a few minutes of finishing his last round, his speech began to slur, his movements became unrestrained, and all possible hope of returning to the castle without assistance was unfounded.
Once all the delicacies of the table had been finished, everyone agreed that it was time to return to their respective homes. Dobhin leapt to pay for everything in honour of a most delightful evening and when he returned, assisted Alasdair to his feet and carried him toward the door.
“You will sing more often, Traala,” Rautu quietly ordered his mate as they were removing from the table.
“I should be less naked in the barracks, although I know you would have me naked everywhere.”
“Perhaps we should have Khopra in the courtyard to honour the leisure of our king. You should terrify everyone with your breaking me in half.”
He growled in her ear and soon heard others who would be eager for such a pleasing event.
“If you’re gonna touch each other and all, we’re watchin’,” Adaoire shouted from his place.
“I daresay you won’t,” the commander simpered. “Although my mate should very much delight in showing you how he claims me, I prefer to be broken beneath him behind the door of the commons.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t be invited to watch,” Aiden shrugged.
The party thanked the proprietors of the Wayward Traveler, blessing them for their forbearance in the way of clamor and accommodation, and continued their evening gaiety outside. The twins declared the evening hardly over and would continue their revelry at Sheamas’ residence. They walked toward the residential quarter with Mureadh and Teague, who were traveling to Qwynlin’s, and after they said their parting farewells to the remainder of the company, Mureadh sidled Teague and drew him away from the others.
“You didn’t tell the story about your hair, did you?” he surmised.
Teague gave Mureadh a quick glance. “No.”
“Can I ask what you did say?”
“You can ask and I’ll tell you but I know you don’t want to hear it.”
Mureadh grimaced and was content to be ignorant of his friend’s decidedly less reputable pursuits with his sister.
The twins, however, were not so easily appeased, and their curiosities were alight with mischief when they recalled Teague’s promise to tell them the end of the story. They used Sheamas as a distraction for Mureadh and stood on either side of Teague as they walked toward their destination.
“So, what happened with the whip rack?” Aiden eagerly said.
Teague looked over his shoulder to see Sheamas speaking with Mureadh behind him, and then he whispered, “He saw it and asked what it was for.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that the whips were for contrition.”
“You mean like that self-torment the Brothers do in the Church and all?”
“The Farhaydens are a devout family. I’m only conforming with their beliefs.”
The twins patted Teague on the back and begged him to join them for another drink at Sheamas’ to honour his cunning and praise Mureadh’s naivety.
Connors and Nerri retired to their residence while Dobhin, the commander and Rautu saw Alasdair safely to the door his quarters.
Carrigh came to greet them, and when she observed Alasdair’s state, she could be under no mistake as to what had passed. “Oh, Alasdair,” she laughed, placing her palms onto his warm cheeks.
“He had more than his constitution would allow, Majesty,” said Dobhin with a bow. “Water and rest will be his cure.”
“No,” Alasdair shouted. He stood somewhat unsteadily and slurred, “Carrigh, my love, we are going to the training yard.”
“To do what, sire?” Carrigh said, suppressing a laugh.
“To outdo this beast and his woman.” Alasdair held to Carrigh and pointed at the Den Asaan’s scowling expression. “They’ve seen us. Did you know that?”
Carrigh shook her head and made a quiet apology to the commander.
“No, no. We will not apologize. Come, we are going to the yard where everyone will see us so they can tell all their friends and acquaintances how the king and his queen make love.”
“Of course, Alasdair,” Carrigh said in a conciliating tone while leading him into their room by the hand. “We can do that in the morning after you’ve had some rest. You wouldn’t want your performance to suffer with all those people watching.”
“That is a fair point.” Alasdair pondered for a moment and then turned to his caretakers with a foolish grin. “Very well. Tomorrow. And then, we will see who breaks whose woman beneath him.” He stabbed a finger at Rautu’s nose and humphed before he was led to his bed where he would enjoy all the comforts of his wife in the seclusion of their chambers.
“I do hope he doesn’t vomit on that delicate beauty,” Dobhin observed.
“If he does, it shall only be another story to regale during out next outing,” the commander said with a fiendish glint in her eye.
“We should have Brennin drunk more often. He’s so much handsomer when inebriated. Almost prettier than his wife.”
“You are fortunate I chose not to tell the story of how you said you would please Alasdair if only to see the look on his face when he should awaken in the same bed as you.”
“And if you had, I would have gloried in every word of it. The shame it would have brought to Brennin’s little face. Oh, you should have told it.”
“He would never speak to you again if I had done.”
“I enjoy hard to get, especially when it is with overly conscious kings.”
“I am aware that you were not drunk when you had made that proposal.”
Dobhin glanced at Rautu. “And?” he said in a familiar, rumbling voice.
The Den Asaan expelled a short huff and considered attending such an outing again if only to listen to the fullness of that story retold and to see Alasdair recoil in terror when he should hear it.