Orzul was a Wizard, and
lived in a small brown shack in a very remote spot of a thick and ancient
forest. His only companion was his Familiar, Benvert, who was short, and humanoid,
and we will not describe him further. (Wizards create their Familiars at a
very early point in their Wizardry, and few of them will bear detailed description.)
Orzul and Benvert
lived, very comfortable and content, in a traditional state of Wizardly
clutter and informal meals. Orzul had worked very hard to attain an advanced
state of Wizardry and now happily puttered around. And Benvert ... was a
Familiar.
One day, Orzul and
Benvert had just finished a tasty meal of toasted cheese with sauerkraut,
washed down with ale. Their plates and their mugs were empty. Orzul sat
back, belched lightly but with satisfaction, and said, "You know, if we
had a woman around here, I wouldn't have to get up for more ale."
Benvert looked at
Orzul and said, "It would also help if you had mastered that levitation
spell. Or the teleport one. Or even the bottomless mug. Or..."
Orzul gave him the
look that meant, "Remember how you became a Familiar?"
Benvert said, with
a look of light dawning, "If we had a woman around here, I wouldn't have
to wash the dishes!"
Orzul (who, at the
sight of light dawning on Benvert's face, had cast his eyes meditatively
toward the ceiling) said, "Of course, there is much more to a woman than
housekeeping. They can garden. I have heard that they can be taught to brew
ale. And a woman would also gain from being with us. She could listen to
my speculations on the Art. I would even encourage her to share her opinions
on when I had phrased my wisdom especially well."
And Benvert mused,
"I'd enjoy having someone new to chase around the woods, now that most of
the animals have moved. It's healthy for women to get lots of exercise,
I hear."
So they were resolved.
The next morning, they packed a large basket of bread and cheese, hung a
small barrel of cider on Benvert's back, and set off to the habited lands
where women dwelled.
On the first evening
they came to a small inn by the road and stayed for the night.
The barmaid was a
bit overweight and her large breasts strained the laces of her food-spotted
dress. Lanky brown hair struggled out of the knot she'd tied it back with
and straggled around her face, which was pale from indoors work and damp
from the heat of the kitchen. She gave Orzul extra bits of meat in his stew,
snuck him an additional helping of both stew and ale, and rubbed his neck
right where it always got tight. She fed Benvert choice pieces of the kitchen
discards, and rubbed him in his favorite spot behind the ears.
That night, on their
mattress of fresh new straw, under down comforters the barmaid had smuggled
from the attic, Orzul called her "a fine and comfortable woman". "Yes,"
said Benvert, scratching himself luxuriously and rolling slightly to the
side to pass an especially rich fart. "I'm sure there are neater ones available,
though."
The next night they
were invited to shelter at a castle. The lady of the manor was elegant and
graceful, in flowing and beautifully colored gowns - she did seem to be
wearing a different one every time she came back into the room. She sat
in splendid dignity at the head of the table as the servants served a very
well-designed dinner, and she analyzed the faults of the local society thoroughly,
with brilliantly biting wit.
Orzul and Benvert
walked on down the road very early the next morning.
After several weeks
of sharing company with intelligent women who had unfortunately harsh voices,
beautifully-voiced women who had unfortunately empty heads, hardworking
women with annoyingly braying laughter, comforting women who read too much
and never did housework, and far more, Orzul and Benvert talked it over
around a private campfire.
"We have not found
the ideal woman, Benvert," Orzul said.
Benvert mournfully
shook his head. Grease from the roast bird he was mouthing spattered in
the fire.
"But we have a much
better idea of what the ideal woman would be."
Benvert thought of
a lovely, dignified figure with a soft voice who would feed him delicious
scraps and know exactly where to scratch, and nodded eagerly. Grease flew
from his chin. A yowl and rapid rustling came from the undergrowth, as something
that had thought itself unnoticed was singed.
"And there is this
to say about an ideal," Orzul mused, "it hardly ever changes on you without
notice. And it doesn't talk back half as much as any live woman does."
Orzul and Benvert
looked at each other thoughtfully.
And they went back
to their hut in the far distant woods, to live alone with their ideals,
happily ever after.