Antagonist’s Anarchy: Derived from Dianthus

[Legolas]

Ydalon

The scratching of the scalp and mussing of hair.
Grit tumbling sheetward at the disruption of that night-formed eye-cake
A deafening yawn echoes through the room.

Its interior was lost to the blur of morning sight and the mental haze in its company. Who gets to sleep in true beds anymore?
And yet, no more time to linger, lest they all drift off on these gentle winds.
One splash of water, make certain it's no thunder pot, wrap it up, get dressed, sling, and away.

'Salvation is adrift'
'Chose unity or failure'

"That's twice, Aza," muttered Ydalon. "Think you were years late on the wisdom."

At this hour, haste might have caught those who slipped away. A thorough search might have found the ones left - Telryn, Jason, Tod. But at this hour, being the hour past awakening, it is customary to eat.

So it was Ydalon sat in the tavern, musing, not on the future, nor on the meal - Oh no, definitely not the meal - but on what had passed before.


***


The fire burned yet despite the ceaseless drizzle. It was not banked. The patterned tiles of the overgrown plaza brooked no fiery expansion, though the crackle and spluttering spoke plainly of its intentions.

The boy was gone, at most a pair of eyes in that tree line around her. To sides and back, the sunken shrine with its many mysterious inscriptions was hidden by shrub and tree. A haphazard hedge of nature's offspring made of this a secluded, private space known only to those who should have knowledge of it.

Three more nights had she waited, waited to greet his return. But when hunger flared and she was sat shivering before those shrinking flames, all that was left to greet was the Other. He approached now before dawn, each settling of a boot a thunderclap upon the brittle stone, piercing without effort that droning of the rain. She would gnaw her foot off and bolt.

The Other had come alone to this hidden plaza, leaving his following behind of respect for its sanctity. An observing young man would have seen the trembling waif lifted by the collar of her dress, shaken by that one muscled arm. Lips moving in demand, tears mingling with the weather. His lass cast off, sliding, rolling across the floor until bruises grew thicker than the inks on a sailor's arm. Something might have snapped.
None who came here could leave in good spirits.

[DrowArchmage]

The hammer swung and steel was forged, for Jason, focused on the task at hand, nothing was more important. He had worked almost tirelessly from the time he got to the forge, only stopping to take a drinks of water or ale and to rest once for ten minutes every hour and a half. Drinking seemed to help keep down the shakes. He thought he was over his withdrawls, apparently not.

The good Master Blacksmith had returned over an hour ago and had started working on Jason's equipment. The sooner the better, but he had to keep his mind focused on the work, on the steel, or else loose his concentration and fall into exhaustion.

Jason stopped for his break and the Blacksmith approached, sword and dagger both with him.

You work well young master. My wife extends her gratitude for your help, and i extend mine. You may have these back now, i've finished with them.

Jason took the dagger first, unsheathed it, and flipped it around a few times with his fingers, it was exquisite. He resheathed it and set it down on the bench where he had set his shirt. He brushed off his hands on the thick leather apron he wore before he touched the sword. He drew it quickly and held it in the light. Writing on the blade? A slight curve? Nothing he had ever seen before could even compare. The writing looked to be old, perhaps as old as his House. The hilt was exactly the way he wanted it, and he smiled. He returned the sword to its scabbard and hugged the big blacksmith, he smelled of the forge, it was almost like he never left the place. It reminded him of his father, and he stepped back quickly.

Thank you, you truly are a great man. I will never forget you, and my children will hear stories of your kindness. He reached into a small pouch tied onto his belt and retreived enough to pay for the sword. I must really be on my way now, i have companions to meet.

The blacksmith didn't protest, and in fact, didnt say anything. Jason returned the apron, and donned his shirt. He buckled on his sword and put the dagger in his boot. Then he left the forge and sought out the tavern where he suspected he could find something to eat,drink and maybe a bed to sleep in if not someone to sleep in it with him. He had been on the road for a long time after all.

[dplax]

The duo contined... and the skies darkened, and with a wail, they began to weep, much like a broken hearted maiden over her lost love...

Asokil screwed up his oh-so-handsome face at the latest turn of events, jibed 'mother nature' for being a 'sissy girl', and offered his arm to Nivram. "Come friend; it will be faster if we ride."

Nivram lifted the sack full of bottles and clothes to Asikol's outstretched hands. "Secure these first. It contains my supplies for the coming days." Nivram took a dramatic drink from the rice wine and winked at Asikol.

"But of course." He smirked, "One has to prioritise after all."

Nivram then followed his belongings to the top of the horse. The stallion grunted under the added weight and added a snort for good measure.

Stamping its foot, it decided the current arrangement was a bad thing, but yielded under its master's boot. After all, being nudged in the side wasn't pleasant. Of course, Asokil did not seem to deem spending long in the rain when there was booze to be had a good thing... and so, his wee ickle horsey set off at a trot. A rather quick one.

And then the inevitable happened. Alcohol and abrupt, unpleasant stomach movements induced by horse riding never mixed well. Luckily Nivram was able to direct the stream of half-digested food to the side and none of it ended up on his riding partner.

The road however, was not so fortunate, and with the rain, it became a trail; streams of vomit washing downwards... indeed, anyone traversing the path would have to make a quick leap out of the way or be covered with the running rivers of refuse.

Asokil's solution, however, was simply to hand Nivram another bottle of rice wine.

Nivram gratefully took the bottle and to wash the unpleasant smell from his mouth took a big swallow. The rest of the ride passed rather uneventfully. The rain and the sound of horse hooves made any talk rather hard. Drunken singing became the order of the day. What a sight the two of them must have made to anyone seeing them pass. Two heavily-laden riders on a horse singing drunken songs as loud as they could.

"For once I knew a maiden fair; a maiden knew my name;
We spent the night together in bed,
Sheltering from the rain;
But lo! Upon a cloud we saw,
Saw fit to shed its' tears;
And lo! Alas, poor maiden dear,
Her dress was o'er clear;
'Oh no,' I cried, upon the sight,
My blessed eyes beheld;
'Thou art a little wet my dear,
'Shelter must be found!'
But shelter none was about the place,
Except upon one tree...
So cower did the two of us,
And made sweet-"

At this point, the song degenerated further and the village they had just reached found the younger village folk with their ears aflame and looking oddly curious. It was possible to do that with a...?

Nivram grinned back at them and added a specific verse for exactly what you could do. Mothers were seen quickly hiding children.

And in a full crescendo, the first finished,

"For upon that clouded, darkened night, beneath the midnight skies,
My love so fair and innocent,
I now beheld her [bare!
And long my conquests were that night,
Under that oaken stout,
And joyous both we were and filled,
With apple's cider’s clout!
Aloud she cried, delirious,
Breathing passion's flame,
My kiss and hers did meet again,
And love bore her sweet name."

Asokil drew in a deep breath, "My heart cries out for mine maiden fair, my sweetest, sweetest love; why hast thou forsaken me; flight taken as a dove?"

Taking a long, long swig of his own rice wine, he looked around, "Where'd everyone go?"

Nivram immediately continued, singing at the top of his lungs,

"And then came nine months later
Came this little skinny pink bay-beh
His father was long gone
He had simply moved on
To find more oaken stouts
Listening to fair maiden's doubts!"

Asokil gave him an odd look, "Fathered many such children, have thou art, companion drinking mine?"

"How should I know? I wasn't there," Nivram added with a grin.

"Nor I." Asokil laughed, then looked around the village, "Look at this! The slightest drop of rain and they all turn tail and flee. Fie I say! We should move onto the next one."

"Aye. Maybe there they shall greet drenched travellers more openly."

[Dron_Cah]

The old man continued on the path, following the two drinking companions. As the day wore on, however, he had more and more difficulty keeping up the pace. By the time the two had hopped upon the horse and the rain began, the old man was some 50 yards behind. He donned the hood of his cloak to keep the most of the rain off his wizened head, and allowed his concealment spell down to better conserve his energy. He would soon be glad he had fallen behind as he side-stepped the puddle of sick left behind by one of the drunks, and now running down the hill in the rain. I will certainly be stopping in the next town, whether these fools do or not! I'm sure to catch my death of cold out here!!

[DrowArchmage]

The rain started to come down, and Jason grimanced. Rain was rain, it sometimes signaled a new begining, sometimes a sad end, and sometimes it just came down without any particular meaning at all. He walked through the rain at a steady pace, not quite at a fast walk, but still able to get to the tavern without getting drenched.

It started coming down harder as he picked up his pace toward the tavern. Jason pushed through the door and shook himself a little to get some of the water off of his hair.

Jason headed toward a table against the wall, in a dim corner, and made sure he was facing the door and everyone else in the room. When the waitress came over to inquire what he would like to drink, he ordered a red wine that he particulary liked and also paid for Ydalon to have another round on him.

He leaned back in his chair and watched as the waitress turned to go to take care of his order, he had been in a very bad buissiness for far too long indeed.

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

The tavern that greeted them was not the finest of establishments; rather, it was rough, crudely constructed with unfinished timbers and roofed with thatch that looked to have been slung on year after year without due care or concern. The stable wasn't much better; the straw had been piled over the dirty and if it was ever cleaned, it wasn't recent.

Asokil was not impressed, but sighed and muttered about “Their ale had better be good...” and left his horse in a stall. Spying a stablehand, he instructed the boy not to go near the “beast lest he be bit and bit he would be.” The boy didn't seem to believe him, but after they had entered the tavern proper, there was a great deal of cursing from the way they'd come...

The interior was worse than the exterior; it seemed that the earth had simply been shifted, a few crates and barrels slung inside and the 'bar' was simply a long treetrunk with one edge shoddily sawn off. The patrons were simple, rural folk and most of them gave the newcomers dirty, suspicious looks, or ignored them entirely. The barkeep was an average, nondescript sort of fellow and had no defining features. Indeed, his most defining feature was that he was utterly average. The very definition...

“Wha' can I get ye?” He grunted, wiping his hands on a filthy apron.

“Ale.” Asokil looked over the counter at the casks, “That all ye have?”

“Nay. Tha' be more below.”

“I'll take a cask.”

“A... whole cask? We don't usual-”

“Here's five silver; now, fetch your best ale and make sure it's a whole cask. The rain look to be setting in an' I've a thirst ta quench.”

“Aye... ale it be. No trouble now.”

Asokil's look might have frozen rivers; the other patrons chose (wisely) to ignore him and studied the bottoms of their flagons instead.

Asokil paused, “An' bring another cask for me friend.” He turned to Nivram with a wry grin.

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Nivram took another sip from his almost empty flagon of ale. Given the cheapness of the atrociously bad ale in the tavern the flasks of rice wine had been put aside for the evening.

Jokes about the pitiful taste and alcohol content of the beer had been already well exhausted and even though the beer was weak the quantity was starting to show on both of the weary travellers.

"I need a piss," Nivram said, sending the bar stool crashing to the ground as he came off it. Unceremoniously he stepped outside, unbuttoning his pants while he was still in the tavern. Not seeing any readily available spot, his target became the wall of the tavern. From the look of things he wasn't the first to choose the spot.

Asikol shook his head, and continued to nurse his flagon - which is to say, barrel.

Nivram returned from his quest to relieve himself, totally forgetting about rebuttoning his pants and righting his bar stool on the third attempt sat back on it.

"It's been a long time since I've gotten drunk without really thinking about the reason I had for drinking," he said, his voice soft despite the alcohol rushing through his veins. "It is good to occasionally let go." He sighed and emptied the remainder of his flagon, sadly watching the last drops from it disappear.

"I agree," Asikol murmured his agreement, then cleared his throat, "However, if one is not so far gone, perhaps one would be best served by... attending to one's wardrobe functions too, lest the denizens of ye olde establishment be less than pleased." His accent had changed, sounding vaguely familiar. Who else did Nivram know who spoke in a similar fashion?

"I think we need another drink," Nivram added after a long pause, apparently not noticing that Asikol's 'barrel' was still more than half full. "Barkeep! Barkeep!" The man did not seem to notice. "Hey, whatever your name is!" That seemed to catch the man's attention and in short order he was pouring two more flagons of the piss they called beer. Nivram almost remarked on the bad quality of the stuff but then did not think the remark worthwile.

"So, my dear friend. How the heck did you ever end up in this unhospitable corner of the world?"

"That, my friend, is an excellent question. One to which I lack an answer of substance, for I have, upon many nights such as this, pondered it myself. Ah, but my quest for the damsal continues, leading me onwards and forwards, to glory and..." He drained his flagon, almost in disgust.


"And yes, that's it." He rose to his feet, and struck a dramatic pose, "I am off to rescue my maiden fair from the clutches of an evil cult, led by a vile, vile sect of men, and my father was a dragon! Three cheers for the lady of the -" He frowned, "Moonriver, in your tongue. Silvermoonriver. Oh dash it all. She is the maiden of the mists, of the twilight stars, and the silver rivers below. Her name is that of a blue flower, the fairest of them all."

Asikol sat down again.

Nivram put his hand on Asikol's shoulder.

"You'd better sit down my dear drunkard friend. I can see you're barely able to stand. Nurse that flagon instead. And now tell me of this river. I've never heard of it."

He withdrew his hand, placing it on his own drink.

"Well, it is the river than runs through my father's estates." His eyes darkened, as if he had set aside his jesting for once. "From the loney peaks of the snow-clad mountains, it runs down, through the vales and fertile plains that make up the steppes of my home. It is named the 'silver river' because of the grains of silver-ore she brings. There is a legend that once the moon gazed upon her, and saw her own reflection staring back, and so, fell in love with her. Yes, our tale tells of a feminine moon falling for a feminine river. Strange, no? Once, the tale says, the two engaged in an act of forbidden love, and I forget the rest. It's folly anyway; how can a river be a she, or a mountain a him?"

"Well it is said that a ship is a she, because it can be such a bitch that only women can be so bad. Maybe the story is somewhat along the same lines. A she-river that acts bad all the time, coming forth from its banks and a stoic old he-mountain that never does anything bad."

"A thought the sea was a she too..." Asikol groaned, "By the Twelve Lords, this is swill. Barkeep! I commanded your best!"

The man gave him a filthy look.

"Fine, fine," Asikol muttered, "I'll drink it and ye'll have my coin." Under his breath, he grouched, "Swill of swines."

"Yeah...even piss has more alcohol in it than this...this...whatever it is," Nivram added, grumbling under his breath. "Whoever serves coloured water like this would deserve his tavern burnt to the ground."

"Aye." Asikol rose steadily to his feet with more grace than he had any right to. It was almost as if he wasn't half as drunk as Nivram. On the other hand, he had only drunk half his barrel. "I need to relieve myself. Finish up here, my dear and faithful friend; I shall join you in the stable."

"I've heard they have dry straw that burns well in the stable," Nivram added only half-joking.

"Quiet you fool! Do you want the world to know?!" Asikol leant down and hissed in his ear. Where had Nivram heard such a tone before?

Drunk as he was, Nivram was not in the least preoccupied with voices he had maybe heard in his past. He grabbed a candle from the bar, and with his other hand took the remainder of the beer, balancing all precariously. "On to the stables then! Lead the way, Asok...Asik...whatever!"

Picking up his barrel, Asikol turned and declared, "And they shall fear His coming, for with Him shall come judgement, fire and wrath! From the Stars He ascended, so too, from the Stars He shall return. Banishment shall not hold Him, nor Death imprison Him for all shall fear the day when He returns. His brides shall proclaim His name and fire shall consume the unbelievers." He paused, "Or so the legends claim. Tradition dictates His words are recited, lest we never forget why we have ale. Farewell!" And under his breath added, "Accursed filth. No one serves such swill."

With that, he was gone leaving the tavern staring at him as they shook their heads; those that bothered. Another crazy madman.


As soon as they arrived in the stables, Nivram accidentally dropped the candle he had been holding, which fell onto the dry straw covering the ground. Flames started dancing merrily.

"Whoops." Asikol looked remarkably unconcerned with the newest development. "Pity that. I guess I should attempt to put it out." So he attempted... alas, his... water was not quite enough to douse the flames. "Time to go."

"Yes...I wonder whether this craphole has another tavern..."

"I doubt it. I saw but one on the way in." Grabbing his horse as the stableboy ran around screaming wildly, Asikol seemed oddly unfazed by all of this. "Onwards, then! In search of fair maidens and drink!"

What better quest was there?

(Written with Dplax)

[DrowArchmage]

Jason sat in the corner and sipped his wine, wishing that he were in a different situation. The events leading up to this moment in his life were strange at the least and monsterous at the worst.

He never asked for this, never asked for anything really, except the chance for redemption. Oh and redemption would be his, over the years he had learned much, from swordplay to life lessons. Though what were life lessons from a bandit?

Hard.
Brutal.
Unloving, uncaring, unwilling to give you an inch.

It hadnt made him bitter, not towards everyone else at least.

He sipped his wine in silence, staring at Ydalon, waiting for something. Could this seemingly whelpish youngster help him? He did seem to hold some sway with the group that had taken him, but how much power he really held was another question.

[Legolas]

Ydalon

At long last he shook himself from his reverie to find his plate empty and a waitress carrying a large ale jug trying to clear it. The boy let her, though she carried a stern expression and was the kind he could never convince to pour him anything without water if he tried.
As she carried her mothering frown away Ydalon was left to survey the tavern, and found it unusually quiet. He shouldn't be surprised, he told himself. They were probably in prison again. Like summoning meteor showers was an easy thing to do. His only concern was the settlement didn't seem to have any gaols. Surely they would have woken him to witness a multiple hanging?

With a scrape of his seat on the floor, he rose and ambled over to a familiar face - the bandit's. For one step he faltered, thinking he had the wrong man, but he had seen those same features malformed in deathly grimace while he was drifting on Isokla's spice vapours.

"You looking well," he commented, mounting a stool by the corner table.
"It's about time to round up the rest, isn't it?"

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Nivram was running. That blasted stable boy had spotted them in the stables as they had tried getting their horses. And now, judging by the sounds, half of the pitiful, but still dangerous, militia of the town was chasing after them. Sweating pure alcohol, or at least feeling like it, Nivram tried upping the pace, only to find himself face forward in the mud. Stifling a laugh he got up and pointed at a house hugging the town wall.

"Maybe they have some beer. Shall we go look?" he panted between strides.

“Providing we can find a place to stow my horse, I agree.” Asokil glanced around, “These villagers grow tiresome. I suppose we shouldn't just kill some. Perhaps if we felled a tree... no, that is in the way of our persuit of alcohol.” It was hard to tell if he was joking.

Bursting into the room Nivram barely noticed the maiden and her young lover escaping by the side window. Quickly he searched the drawers, the kitchen, kicked open the chest. But all was empty. Bereft of alcohol. Disgusted Nivram kicked the first thing in his way, a pink frill skirt.

Slowly formulating a plan, he looked at Asikol, an almost evil grin in his eyes.

"Ever been to a fancy dress party?" he asked.

The other just stared at him in confusion. “A... what?”

"Put this on," he threw the skirt towards Asikol and it was promptly followed by a pink dress. "I have a plan to get us out of this dirty village, but you need to get dressed." He winked at Asikol.

Just drunk enough to accept Nivram's word, Asokil shrugged, “All right, but the fair maidens... any maidens... no one ever gets to hear about this. At least, not until we're so drunk we can't remember. Deal?”

"Of course," Nivram added as he started putting on a light green dress. Half in the dress, and half still out of it, he noticed another boon from the gods lying on the ground...wigs. It seemed that whoever the fair maiden living here was, she was either an actor, or bald by nature. "Blond or black?" he asked Asikol.

“Very well... blonde.”

In a matter of moments, he had dressed...

“It chafes... how do women ever... I don't understand...”

And in a matter of moments Nivram was a black-haired...bearded maiden. Stroking the offending facial hair, he barely had an idea how to hide the fact when the door to the house burst open, and preceded by pitch forks two men came crashing in.

"Oh Mathilda," Nivram said in an exaggeratedly deep voice. "Are you sure I have to play the male part? This beard itches oh so much!"

There was much blinking, but to his credit, Asokil managed a rather high-strung, if a little strained voice, “Aye, lass, ye be ta male. It be suiting ye.”

Nivram managed a curtsy and then looked at the intruders with a grave expression. "Gentlemen? What is this intrusion without knocking? I am master of this humble abode and I shall not abide such an intrusion." He was almost laughing at the end, and managed to turn it into an almost female sounding giggle.

Asokil echoed the giggle.

The lead peasant, a fat man in his forties looked confused at the two sorrily dressed women. "Ladies, we are looking for two intruders who set fire to the tavern. Seen them by any chance?"

“We ain't seen no men, no 'round here.” Asokil winked at him, “Not until ye boys showed up.”

"Want to be part of our play? We need a courageous soldier to rescue the fair maiden after she gets abducted by a dragon." Nivram indicated Asikol. "You'd be perfect for the part. I even think we have some suitable metal armour imitation somewhere in here." Nivram started fumbling in the chest of clothes.

The peasant and his companions fled.

“Well, ain't that a shame.” Asokil winked at Nivram.

Nivram tore off the light green top and threw it back in the clothes chest. "Let's get the hell out of here before they realise little old me has more than a hole between my legs."

“Well, isn't that a delightful image.” Disdainfully, Asokil discarded his wig, “Keep the dress though; pink looks good on you.”

"It looks better on you," Nivram added with a laugh and exited the building.

“You think?” Asokil cocked his head to one side, then shook it, “Let's be on our way; more beer awaits.”


The horses had wandered off and finding them took the pair longer than evading the lynching party had.

So eventually, they resumed their trek. Unfortunately for them, neither were aware they were looping back in the same direction Nivram had originally come from. Whoops.

Incidentally, neither had remembered to take their wigs off. Whoops again.

(Written with Dplax. 'Fancy dress' was his idea.)