A fine layer of dust coated the discarded helmet lying in the tall grass a couple dozen feet off the road. Rust and rain had already eaten holes into the weak metal, but the greatest damage had come from the blow that had most likely killed the wearer of the helmet. A strike from a club or a morningstar had made a large dent. No dead body was around and from the look of the helmet it had been lying there unforgotten for quite a few years. But it's rest was to be disturbed...
A hand reached down, gently grasping a rust-free spot and lifted the battle-worn item out of its resting place.
"Do you think this would go well with this wig?" Nivram asked, suddenly turning towards Asikol and showing him the helmet.
Asokil considered for a moment, then sat up straight in his saddle and gestured grandly (somehow he was back on his horse),
“That way, my good fellow! Ontowards the next town! In search of a plume!” Catching the helm, he juggled it absently, - quite the feat for one so seemingly drunk -
“It shall suit your pink lace and cotton dress.” He proclaimed, as if it would be done. He ignored the comment about its last owner.
“A quest has been named, and by all that is alcohol, a quest we shall answer! Forwards!”
And then he nudged his steed forwards a few steps.
As Asikol moved past Nivram all he saw was a flash of steel as Nivram's knife descended.
The horse's tail was cut just about an inch from the base, terrorising the poor beast.
As the horse tried bolting, Nivram triumphantly held the tail hair up. "Nice plume, eh?"
Asokil gave Nivram a disgusted look,
“You defiled my horse. For that - you shall pay! And pay dearly, you shall!” Without another word, he set his heels to the horse's flanks and charged off into the night.
Nivram withdrew the half-finished bottle of potato liquor he had somehow saved from his pack and sat down next to the helmet, which Asikol had dropped while galloping away.
"So, John...you do allow me to call you John, do you? Cheers," he said, taking a swig from the bottle and swallowing the disgusting liquid. "What's your story?"
"Me? Bah...I'm not interesting. Just a drunkard with more problems than I'd ever want. I'd bet that foolish girl...Isi...Isu...whatever her name was als needs my help. Why do I bother...I'll end up being drunk and talking to inanimate objects anyway."
He stood up and delivered a kick to the helmet...or at least tried to, but completely missed and lost his balance.
Unfortunately...or maybe fortunately the bottle shattered when hitting the helmet. The brownish liquid added another layer of history to the piece of metal.
A couple of hours later, Asokil returned. He was wearing a particularly wicked expression and strapped to his steed were two small casks, each holding several litres at least. Attached to both of them was a flexible tube - straws leading straight to his mouth. Stopping outside of Nivram's range, he was far more mobile than the drunkard, and proceeded to watch the other.
“The finest,” Asokil said coldly,
“in this entire forsaken region.”
And Nivram wasn't having a single drop.
Nivram, despite seemingly awake, was actually deep asleep, having exhausted himself during pointless arguments with "John". He made no reply.
Asokil pulled a pebble from his pocket (who knew why he kept them there?) or possibly a copper, and hurled it at Nivram's head. It struck him squarely.
Nivram scratched at the point of impact and then made a waving motion, as if to shoo away a fly.
Asokil hurled another and also struck him square in the forehead. Asokil seemed to have remarkably
Nivram grumbled and turned in his sleep. "Sod off..." he mumbled.
“Get up, drunkard,” Asokil called,
“You've slept enough. We're off to find the fair maiden, or I'm off. Your call.”
"We're going to a whorehouse?" Nivram asked, slowly sitting up, hoping that the nausea would go away.
“Yes, use your two coppers to buy yourself a whore. Or did you forget the reason why we journey together?” Asokil rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Reason...there is always a bloody reason." Nivram stood up. "Seen my horse? I seem to have misplaced it..."
“You lost it.” The other man's face said it all.
“Now come on.”
"A horse ain't like a lucky coin...it doesn't just get lost. It has to be somewhere around here..."
“You never had a horse.” Asokil touched his steed's flanks,
“I'm off to find Isokla. You can stay here or come. I've wasted enough time.”
"All right...lead the way, my eager fellow."
Asokil paused, suddenly aware that he did not know which way to go.
“...That way!” He pointed back the way they came. Maybe if they took a right at the stream, and dawn approached sometime since it seemed to be night. It was night, wasn't it?
"Let's go then. Moderate your horse, I'm on foot." Curse this headache...bad alcohol...bad headache...
And so, the intrepid duo journeyed on. And on. And took a right at the stream, left across the bridge, and kept on going and going and...
...and walked straight into town, sometime around when the party was thinking of setting off. Jason, Telryn and Ydalon were standing nearby.
Asokil was still mounted on his steed, but the two casks had long since been drained and forsaken. On another, incidental note, Nivram and Asokil passed a pillar of smoke across the steam which wasn't from the first town...
---
(and for those who forget; Asokil/Asikol’s appearance is first noted
here – or for those who do not care to look at the link:
Once clean-shaven, it was clear he had discarded it for several days. A horsetail emerged from the back of his head, flowing down in a single plait. The rest of his hair was bound up, or cut off. Across his back was slung a long spear, and at his side, a slightly curved longsword. The cut of his clothes was belied by his cloak; the latter seemed common enough, but the former was silk, and held a simple, yet elegant design. Funnily enough, his piercing eyes were a brilliant 'opal' blue, his skin almost as pale as the fairest maiden, and his hair was black. His horse however, was a sleek, silver creature and for some reason, everyone avoided it. )
Written with Dplax.