The day after ...

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Dunland Time and Weather Forecast

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Real Time is:       Tue May 05 02:52:06 2009

IC weather is:      Wind: fresh - Clouds: moderate

IC Moon is:         Last quarter

IC time is:         Early Afternoon

IC date is:         Monday, Day 8 of November in the year 3046.

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[Rathos(#19023)]

A chill wind peirces an extremly drunk Rathos to the bone. Autum\'s slow death is finally making itself felt, preparing the way for winters icy grip. The aging Hawk hugs a near empty whiskey bottle to his chest whilst staggering from empty stall to empty stall. \"By Keirn... I could use a pipe.\"

Unkown to the woodsman is why the overall hustle and bustle of the festival is winding down. He recongnises a few stalwort drinkers from the ale tent but the get lost in muffled blur that is Rathos falling down every six feet.

A young boy runs past him, laughing wildy and attempting to catch his friends. The hawk sighes inwardly, mubbling under his breath, \"Ah... to be young again.... What happened to the music?..... to the dancing?\" With a shake of his head he manages to pull himself to his feet, taking another pull on his whiskey bottle.

Nothing has been seen of Brev since the dance. No-one can quite recall when he left - come to think of it, who did he leave with? Given he partnered half the female population, surely there must have been some willing girl ...? But as he trudges into the village, back up the mud-churned track from the south, he does not look elated. Merely cold (he\'s holding his dun cloak pulled tightly round him), muddy and - yes, despondent.

\"It died,\" he informs Rathos dourly as he approaches. \"Like everything else.\" And then he relents, and just the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. \"Need a hand? You don\'t look too steady there.\"

[Rathos(#19023)]

Rathos looks up from his doubed over position and manages a crooked smile. \"Heh. If this is that set up where you clap then I think I can manage.\" The Hawk finds the time for a swift chug on his bottle, \"on the other hand... if you happen to know where a seat is then I\'d be damned grateful.\" Rathos offers the near empty bottle towards Brev, \"It\'s okay,\" the woodsman assures him with a slight slur and a tap of his nose, \"I\'\'ve gots me a stash round here.... somewhere. I think.\"

Brev manages a half-hearted chuckle and stretches out an arm to pull Rathos up, if the man allows. \"Think I can manage that. Come on, this way.\" He jerks his head toward one of the barns if Rathos is going to sleep off the effects of festival, he might as well do it somewhere comfortable.

The bottle is caught deftly in his free hand, and as he raises it to his lips - Brev the whisky-hater? - he murmurs, \"Kiern, I could use some of that. It\'s damn cold out there.\" Glancing back to the drunken Hawk, he asks softly, \"Do you believe in ghosts?\"

[Rathos(#19023)]

The hawk grunts and lets Brev manipulate him about. \"Tough question that. I don\'t reckon I\'ve ever seen one but Keirn knows I\'ve been kept up many a night by some. Why? You meet some of yours?\" Rathos drops a hand down the front of his tunic, a perplexed look on his face, before somehow magically producing a small flask. \"Cold as hell... heh, odd saying that really.\"

Brev grunts at that. \"Why? You been there?\" Manouevring the stumbling Rathos toward the barn whilst avoiding both the mess from the empty stalls and the ball now being hurled about by a group of youngsters leaves little breath for conversation he does, however, mumble an answer of sorts. \"No. I didn\'t.\"

Their destination reached, he lowers the Hawk to a bale of hay. \"There you go. Easier on the bones than cold ground.\" He regards his companion thoughtfully, then shrugs. \"Might as well talk. Not as though you\'ll remember it. The locals claim that Etins Cave is the gate to the next world. And when winter slays sumer the dead walk. So they say. So I went looking for ghosts. Lit the fires, made the offerings ...\" He lifts a hand to rub his weary face, and the new cut across the palm can be seen. \"Not a damn thing. Reckon my Da hates me that much?\"

[Rathos(#19023)]

Rathos looks stumped for a second, \"good point.\" He gratefully drops onto the hay. \"Aye, Tis much better.\" He uncaps his flask and takes a drink, listening somberly. \"Hard to say. Never knew him. Keep the bottle, sounds like you could use it.\"

Rathos sits himsef upright looks Brev in the eye, \"Did you have the mushrooms too? Any shaman worth his weight in salt knows you need the right mushrooms to speak with the dead. Course, the spirits ain\'t something to be meddling with outta some fancy nor whim.\" A lengthy pause, \"might wanna get that sratch cleaned up too. On another tangent, would you happen to have some pipeweed on you? I don\'t normally smoke but I find at times like these it helps keep the contents of my stomach on the inside.\"

Brev stares down at the bottle still in his left hand, then shrugs. \"Ach .. I\'ve probably had enough. Last thing I need right now is to have dreams of Brodie out for vengeance. Now there\'s one ghost I\'d not want to meet.\"

Carefully he sets the near-empty flask down beside Rathos the next question brings a scowl, though. \"No, I didn\'t. I\'m not some bloody shaman, I\'m just me.\" A pause. \"Carac knows those things, doesn\'t he? Didn\'t want to bother him though, he\'s still all worked up about those wretched scrolls.\"

The final query is answered with a shake of his head. \"No, I don\'t.\" Then one side of his mouth pulls up in a lopsided half-smirk. \"Reckon I know where I can find some, though. I\'ll get it for you in a bit, eh?\"

[Rathos(#19023)]

\"If your interested in keeping your boots clean it might be a good idea,\" Rathos grabs the bottle and emptys his small flask into it, losing almost half of it in the process. As he pours he comments on Brev\'s earlier statments, \"Aye. I suspect his old man woulda filled him in well enough. Was Brodie one of those tough, no love bastards you hear about in those myths of old?\" The hawk realises his drunken words only a touch too late. He looks up, a sorry look upon his face \"I... I didn\'t mean...\"

Brev sniggers, glances down at his feet. \"They\'ve probably seen worse. Though I guess you\'d think this tunic much improved.\" In keeping with the peaceful nature of the harvest festival, he has set his usual leather aside, which means he is wearing his old red tunic - rumpled now, but its colour still bright.

Rathos\' apologetic look is met with a level stare from amber eyes. Then Brev\'s inscrutable expression fades, and he shrugs. \"Can\'t change some things, can we? Besides, thought it was your precious I\'racil you were talking of. I\'m nothing like him. Oh, and Brodie was legitimate all right. Heir to the largest Fianship in Caerdh. He was just ... twisted.\"

[Rathos(#19023)]

Rathos chuckles, \"Good to see you still hold true to the venom of our people. Sometimes a twisted mind hides greatness. Sometimes it just destroys any who come into contact with it.\" The hawk takes another drink, \"so does that mean that you have some claim to this Fianship?\"

\"Huh?\" Brev watches Rathos drink in silence, then lets out a sharp bark of laughter. \"You thought- No, I\'m none of Brodie\'s get. Thank Kiern for small mercies, eh?\" His lips twist in a parody of a grin. \"Never you mind who my father is.\" Hard to tell if the Hawk is /that/ drunk.

Rathos\' final question is addressed with a shrug of the shoulder. \"As to the other - I\'ve no claim to a Fianship, not in any way that matters. Sure, I managed to convince the Ranich Fian things were otherwise, but it was just some pipe-dream of his. Cav was the legitimate heir, I\'m just some bastard. In the best Dunlending tradition.\" He grins at Rathos suddenly, his black mood of earlier fading.

[Rathos(#19023)]

\"Some traditions need to be upheld, that\'s for sure.\" Rathos falls onto his back, \"shame about that fianship though.\" He lifts the botte to his lips, the amber liquid spilling down the side of his face, \"Coulda.... used... a man like......\" The bottle falls from his hands as the sweet oblivion of unconcessness takes him. Rathos having fallen alseep on the warm hay is no longer with the land of the livng.