“It was Bevin Thatcher, a world class roofer, that raised her spirits from the floor of a gypsy wagon, on that glorious fall day. He arrived just in the nick of time, as some sort of blight from a cantankerous millworm, had caused all manner of destruction to buildings in the town. He worked like a fiend to make repairs, getting himself into the good graces of all the townspeople. But, it was Cascabela that he took a fancy to.
“After the previous incident though, she was hesitant. But, since Bevin would have no life upon the sea, thus no chance of drowning in such a manner, she eventually warmed to the idea of his affections. She found herself once again wrapped in joy as the two strode among the tree blossoms, had picnic breaks together as he repaired and improved the local houses, and even attended the Fall Festival. It was quite glorious from all accounts.
“But, roofing can be a tricky affair with danger lurking around every corner and on every flight of stairs. While visiting him on the work site, picnic basket in hand, Bevin was blinded by the sun as he worked his way down from his lofty perch. He took a misstep, slipped off his ladder, crashed through a window and fell headlong into a bucket. With said bucket completely obscuring his vision, he tumbled down multiple flights of stairs, suffered a great deal of head trauma as he smashed priceless vase after priceless vase. He then crashed through the front door, obliterating the sturdy oak right off the hinges. Finally, with savage velocity, he plowed into the local pumpkin patch, demolishing the towns prized festival gourds and destroying their sacred scarecrow. It was a stalwart scarecrow and took revenge by skewering the poor lad right through the nether regions. Bevin was horribly mangled and buried in a nearby plot. The scarecrow was mended and placed back on duty.
“A dark cloud of melancholy swept over the festival, many faces glum at the ruination of so many gourds and ill treatment of the sacred scarecrow.”
“Oh!” I cried. “Those poor pumpkins! And in the critical time of the Fall festival. They must have been devastated!”
“Not a dry eye in the house,” he commented.
“And let’s not forget, Cascabela’s man friend quite a nasty tumble. The poor dear,” I said sadly as I sipped at the ale. “Quote a stroke of bad luck all round.”
“Oh, more misfortune was in the works,” he revealed.
“Surely you jest?” I asked.
“Well, as you might expect, Cascabela, was quite a nervous wreck, watching her beau suffer from such a debilitating fall. And she vowed that day to never let her heart be taken again.
“She once again threw herself into her work. And through her sturdy determination, she and her father amassed a fair sum in coins. They eventually opened an Inn with Cascabela and her father taking the top floor as their residence.
“With the Inn as her sole focus, she developed into a first rate cook, making meals for all their guests, with Corpion Tail being a particular delicacy. Cascabela, was even known to sneak out to Wyrmsands and harvest the little rascals herself from time to time.
“One day, a young traveler came to the lodge and took a room. He was a high quality cooking oil and suet salesman, ingredients key to a fine Corpion Tail.
“Cascabela was of course interested in his wares and the two quickly struck a fine business deal. Podge Degras, as he was known, made regular visits to town to restock her supplies and would room longer with each call.
“Podge took a strong fancy to Cascabela, and despite her better judgement, for fear of him walking off a plank, falling off a roof, tripping into a mine shaft, or simply waking up dead, she reciprocated his feelings. After the catastrophes of the past, Cascabela warned him that she lived under a dark cloud and could not fully commit to her feelings.
“Podge understood her hesitancy, proved to have infinite patience, and was keen to simply enjoy her company and the Corpion Tail. It is even said, that together the created something quite new, some manner of frizzled, pan-scalded pickle, dipped in a savory batter. It was quite a sensation with the Inn patrons.
“After nearly a year of their courtship, and no hint of mishap or misfortune in sight, Cascabela finally agreed to take his hand. Podge was a whirlwind of excitement and they opted to be wed, in town, right at the Inn where they first met.
More to come…
More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia
- The Legend of The Pickled Spinster Inn – Part III
- The hunt for a bit of hot and spicy tail
- The Legend of The Pickled Spinster Inn – Part I
- Wolves and Bears living together. Chaos in the streets!
- I’ve got big gourds!
- I take a moment to pause and reflect
- I fell into a burning ring of fire
- Here there be dragons, Barry tries crafting and we try to hitch a ride to the festival
- What this place needs is a privy
- The good people of Jaanaford put Alley on trial for being a witch