Story for the Day: Impotency

It was difficult and hilarious explaining what performance enhancements were.

Impotency

              The boardwalk spanning the entirety of Farriage’s northern coast was strewn with a plethora of tradesmen from Marridon. As the largest nation in the Triumvirate was situated just across the thinnest span of the Dremmwel, Frewyn’s trading capital would be the very place for them to exhibit all that Marridon had to supply. The unfamiliarity of the items and the cold politeness of their purveyors, in contrast to Lucentia’s overfriendly and pompous-aired counterparts, gave a strangeness to their portion of the ports that unsettled the commander and Den Asaan as they walked by. Theirs was a walk of surveillance, not one of a market-goers slow perusal, but they were addressed regardless of how disinterested in the particular wares they seemed. Polite entreaties were hallooed across the walkway in gentle voices while products of every line were shown them. The commander treated them with mild ignorance, knowing the correct method in which to deal with intrusive merchants, but the Den Asaan, having little powers of forbearance, gave disdainful looks to every one of the traders that called to him.

                “Are they unaware of my disinterest?” Rautu scowled at his mate.

                “Of course they are,” the commander smirked. “That is why they are doing so much to gain your attention. Once you look in their direction, it is quite over for you, Iimon Ghaala. You must pretend not to hear.”

                “They are shouting at me, woman.”

                “You ignore Martje very well and she shouts at you nearly every day. Some might argue that she is only one person in comparison to numerous traders, but I know you would disagree.”

                “I would.”

                The Den Asaan continued his assertion on the insolence of being shouted at by various men of inferior quality when a certain item in one of the sellers’ hands quieted him and drew him toward the particular stall.

                The commander was certain of the item being something to do with chocolate or cake, but when she neared the seller observed that it was a very different product indeed. “No, no, Iimon Ghaala,” she laughed, tugging her mate away from the stall by the arm.  

                “You will explain what this is,” Rautu said, having been unaffected by his mate’s endeavors to pull him away.

                She regarded the bottle that warranted the stabbing of Rautu’s finger and shook her head for the ridiculous explication that must follow. “That is a Marridon contrivance not for Haanta of certain distinction,” she said, and then added, “rather, not for any Haanta at all.”

                “You have not said what it is, woman.”

                She sighed and attempted to fathom how she could explain the item and its medicinal uses without incurring his critical aspersions. Soon realizing that there was no manner in which Rautu would concede to agree to the item’s many applications, she attempted to relay its needfulness in a course he might better understand. “It’s an ethnaa pill.”

                The giant seemed bemused. “Why would any of your people wish to suffer ethnaa?”

                He had not gathered her intimation, and now she must endure all the mortification his loud chastisements could provide. “In that bottle is a concoction that is supposed to assist with a certain preparation.”  She made a slight gesture toward what was hidden beneath the confines of his kilt and watched the appalled astonishment wave over his face. 

                “Their men are not able to do that themselves?” Rautu scoffed.

                The commander tried not to laugh while standing before the purveyor and too her mate to the side to enlighten him. “Marridon men are known for being unaffectionate. Therefore, when it comes time to please and impress their ladies, they need some medicinal assistance to rouse them.” She snickered at her mate’s reaction. “You look horrified.”

                “Their men are broken,” Rautu demanded in utmost confusion.

                “I daresay they might be. You must understand, Iimon Ghaala, that not everyone is able to compare to the prowess of a Haanta. Not everyone is born standing.” She laughed and playfully touched the giant’s inner thighs to quiet his disconcertion. “There are even Frewyn men who have difficulty with arousal when they enter their elderly years, but the smallness and limpness of Marridon cannot be recommended for engagement without something to support them.”

                “And that is considered to be a remedial practice for this illness?” he said in a disgusted tone,  pointing back to the bottles in the stall.

                “It is supposed to be, although the chief of those who use it are young men wishing merely to impress and last for more than a few minutes. Do not be deceived, Iimon Ghaala. Every one of Marridon’s devices has its price. Those pills are exceedingly dangerous to take and men have died from ingesting one too many, but I daresay men will do anything to have Khopra even if only the once.”

                “Has your king considered this remedy?”

                “I didn't know that Alasdair needed help. He does have a son thanks to your encouragements but I doubt his requiring any further assistance due to Carrigh’s happy smiles every morning. Why should you think he would be in need of those? Does this have to do with his exhibition in the courtyard?”

                Rautu looked to the side. “Perhaps.”

                “Alasdair does not need that sort of assistance, I assure you,” she said laughingly. “He was probably nervous that he should lose Carrigh if his performance would have been terrible. He can manage very well by her now even if he cannot do so for a certain commander.” She winked at her mate as she recalled her one excursion with the king, reckoning that though he had been nervous during their situation in Amene, he had not failed to perform on his side. She had gleaned no satisfaction from the event, but his ability to be rouse could not be disputed even though hers was a form he did not prefer. “Dobhin, however,” she added presently, “does not need help in the way of standing. He requires assistance in a dimensional quarter. There are a few products to enhance such a feature, but I know he claims that what one does with oneself is more important than one’s size.”

                Rautu made an audible fleer.

                “He would be mistaken, however, for accomplishment is impossible when one cannot unsheathe his sword,” she smiled with a raised brow. “He is rather fortunate that Galleisian women are so used to smallness. All the men of the world cannot be born large and strapping Frewyn farmers. Elves have little difficulty when it comes to length and prowess.” Her voice raised when she had begun speaking of elves, as she perceived Teague returning to them from the end of the boardwalk. She knew that he had heard her due to the darting looks he conveyed. “No need for diffidence, Teague,” she said as he neared. “I am well aware of your gifts due to the openness you have while bathing in the barracks.”

                “Thank you, commander,” Teague murmured.

                “It’s certainly not an unpleasant sight. You inherited the preferred proportions from both of your parents.”

                Teague simpered and shrugged. “Qwynlin is happy.”

                “I believe your taste in painful sensual endeavors keeps her so. Your endowments on both accounts are merely an added feature. You’re fortunate not to have inherited another particular feature elves seem to possess,” the commander shrewdly hinted.

                “I’ve heard about that,” Teague said with a shudder.

                “The assassin does not have this problem,” Rautu affirmed.

                “You’ve inspected him numerous times, I see,” the commander laughed behind a raised hand.

                The giant, only wishing to intimate that he was privy to a certain deletion some elves seemed to possess, gave his mate a flat look.

                “No, I believe Ladrei does very well for himself there. King Reneldin, however, was known for having only one. It seems to happen to quite a few of the royals. I wonder if Lamir suffers from being unified.”

                Teague laughed and began to hope with some desperation that his brother Balthia, being full elf born, did not suffer the omission of certain indispensable contributions.  “I thought the elves inherited that from a few of the Livanons who married into the royal family ages ago.”

                “That could very well be true.” The commander appeared wry and scheming. “I shall make it true on Aldan’s account, for although I have never seen him in that way, his character merits all the dourness only having one can expatiate. Besides, Alasdair should love it if he only had one. It would be another blow from Frewyn to Livanon if a king of inferior wealth and circumstance should have more jewels than one who supposes himself to be nearly as affluent as Prince Lamir. Were Rithea alive, I should write to her directly to tell her of my new secret.”

                Teague bent over in mirth, knowing well the crone’s adoration for scandal from his visits to the Haven.

                Upon Teague’s admission of having nothing to report for his search, the three traveled away from the sellers of the boardwalk, and while the Den Asaan was filled with notions of finding something to eat, the commander was considering her old friend and wondered if Rithea had imparted the tradition of holding a sewing circle and gossip klatch every Gods Day unto Tiulaine before the old cleric had passed.