As Yule sat drinking, Mister Jervis the Cupbearer and pilot of this marvelous carriage turned to him, looking first at his nakedness as if it might constitute a taboo among the locals—he is heavily dressed—before speaking as he held out a thick roll of green parchment notes. “Yo, Tarzan, I don’t know where you came from, but I just made an extra five hundred bucks—my, each of those notes is worth a stag-hide!—off of your tirelessly humpin’ self. You must a ate a whole bottle of Viagra, my man. Here, this is my card—I don’t know where you goin’ to put it—but we should go into business, really, Yo. I jus’ made my mortgage payment tonight.”

Yule examined the card with the crest of Mister Jervis’ house upon it and smiled. “Really, Jervis, it was the least I could do for the man who came to acknowledge my Descent.”

While Jervis hummed and twitched his nose in a puzzled fashion, Yule—or rather ‘Yo’ as they now named him—noticed a purple scarf-of-silk left by one of the wenches, obviously as an offering, probably in hopes that he would bless her with a son.

Purple, yes, the color of kings!

He wrapped the scarf around his waist, tied it off, and tucked Mister Jervis’ coat-of-arms token in it, and then asked a favor of the man he had just enriched. “Mister Jervis, might you drive me west of this great city, and let me off on the side of this marvelous road, so I might continue my journey.”

The man looked at him as if he were insane and thought better of it, and addressed him with respect, “Sure, Tarzan, how does Edmonson Village sound, just about to Catonsville?”

“Yes, Jervis, that sounds prosaic. I have a question, Jervis. Why do you name me Tarzan?”

“Cause Tarzan was this buff, naked, White dude that was king of the apes in the jungle—and you know this city is a jungle, and you sure as hell buff en naked. I just thought it fit. “

I have been gone for so long the legends of my campaigns resonate as a folk tale of some naked savage leading hordes of sub-humans? So be it. They have advanced quite a lot.

“Yes, thank you, Jervis, Tarzan sounds honorable enough, a king at least, if only of apes.”

The man gave him a number of quizzical looks as they made their way through the night-shrouded city that was alternately dazzling and haunting in appearance. Jervis eventually let him off where two roads intersected beneath four hanging canopies of tri-colored lanterns. The hour was late and few other carriages were about by now. Before he closed the door he made a goodbye promise. “Jervis, you are a fine companion. When I raise the walls and consecrate the roof-beam of my hall with a worthy sacrifice I shall call for you with your sorcerer’s token here, and you can come and serve as my cupbearer.”

Jervis all of a sudden seemed uncomfortable with such a lofty position—yes many of my cupbearers have perished by battle in ages past—and nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, Tarzan, whatever you need. As long as there ladies on the hook we ready ta roll—later, Yo.”

With that cryptic reference to the Procession of the Drunken Bride, Jervis was off in his sleek carriage and Yule, now known as ‘Yo’ and also ‘Tarzan the Ape King’ among the Young Tribes, was marching west with a kingly stride on the Great Processional Road, now largely deserted.

More should have come to greet me. I think perhaps that much piety has been lost to us Old Gods. The worshippers of that hanged prophet had been encroaching. We sacked his gaudy temples to be sure.