Ravings for Remedies

episode1: straining till you thought you could burst

Lonely, he toiled the winding path leading to town, like some weevil intent upon destruction.  Nearly failing to leap an obscure felled tree, he still managed it more readily than an overanxious deer and furthermore burst from the undergrowth into the populated village of Hackville; the carnal desire to reach the lavatory before twilight darkness drove tavern owners to sleep was his sole passion.  It must have been the mushrooms he sampled on the way.  An alchemist he was not, but he took pleasure in variety and sometimes creating things to augment his abilities.

The tavern was near dark but for one lit candle burning in the entrance; he let himself inside.  The warm atmosphere he expected was replaced by burned down coals, and a very slight illumination, it was enough to satisfy his much desired sleep.  Firstly however he had business to attend to.

“Innkeeper!!!” he shouted, slamming his fist upon the bench as ornaments distributed along the connecting wall seemed to shift slightly.

A dozy, inept runt of a man came dragging his feet down a blackened hallway and peering around the corner sought the attention of one frustrated looking Bard with a furrowed brow.

“What do ye want?” he spat sullenly.

“A room you fool, what else!  Be quick about it man, I have a squirrel head poking out!” he said becoming exasperated.

“Sorry my FRIEND, there are no more rooms available. Now if you don’t mind-”

“Bugger this, your room will do!”

With one hand he skilfully lept over the bar and made for the innkeepers bedroom.

“What do ye think you’re doing?  I shall call the guards!” the innkeeper threatened.

Turning he bluffed, “You do and it’ll be the last mistake you’ll ever make!”

The innkeeper, shocked by the audacity of this rude upstart left the inn and ran out toward the magistrates office.  Meanwhile, Willy charged into the innkeepers bedroom only to find a sleeping woman, snoring slightly.  Silently he crept into the room and retrieved the chamber pot from beneath the bed.  Into this, frustrations emerged from his person to a much less agitated form and utilising a nearby nightcap he cleaned himself and vindictively placed the waste in the innkeepers wash basin in the kitchen; making his way back to the burned out fire.  The innkeeper emerged from the entrance moments later with a man in a sleeping gown and cap, only to find Willy sitting in a chair by the fire.

“There he is, there is the bastard that threatened me!” excitedly pointing at Willy.

“What appears to be the problem officer?” Willy pursed.

“Benrich here informs me that you have defiled his privacy.  Is this true, stranger?”, with command the magistrate set his lawful tone.

“Why be strangers, my good man.  My name is Willy, Willy D’Toole and I’m at your service.” formally bowing.  “Now my friend, in regard to your question, it simply hurts my conscience to think anyone – least of all myself – would be so brazen to without forethought and patience, commit such a foul act thou speakth.  It chills my soul to believe there are people like this in this our fair and just world.” Willy performed.

The magistrate seemed surprised that one so eloquent and illustriously spoken would be so ruthlessly adamant as detailed by the innkeeper.  From this he began to suspect the innkeeper’s ravings once more; he was well known for sleep walking into female townsfolk bedrooms, while their husbands were away on business.

“My apologies,” said the magistrate glaring at the innkeeper only to be received by a whining expression of disbelief, “You may stay here tonight, I’ll see to it that the innkeeper does not cause you any further problems.  A word outside Benrich.”

“Thank you sir,” finished Willy “a pleasure helping a capable officer of the law!”

Heated words were spoken outside the tavern, the innkeeper made to strike the officer, were upon the Magistrate roughly bound the innkeepers hands and led him toward the gaol; “sleep it off you foolish git.”

Willy, listening at the door heard the exchange perfectly and without a second thought, dashed quickly toward the innkeepers bedroom, undressed and snuggled alongside the innkeepers wife.  As she turned over they kissed and fondled each other.  She knew that was not her husband, but she didn’t seem to care.  And the evening passed without further interruption.  The following morning, he was treated to a continental breakfast with occasional elated smiles from the innkeepers wife, Heidi as she finally introduced herself.  She asked if he’d like anything else, dangling her pronounced bust before his trailing eyes.  The moment he opened his mouth to confirm his desire, the innkeeper burst into the tavern beaten with sweat, looking fatigued and broken.  From his vantage he could see his wife handling the operations of the business, determinately omitting the man who caused the problems in the first place and resolutely head for the bedroom.  Willy pinched Heidi and played with her a little before she led him up stairs to a vacant room and obviously further passion ensued.  Some time passes.

Smug, grinning, Willy descended the staircase of the inn to a varied assortment of patrons; lumberjacks, merchants, commoners and one pretty young woman sitting by the fire enjoying her breakfast.  In the manner befitting a man of an unusual calm, Willy strode fearlessly into a flourish and introduction.

‘I wonder if you could help me, M’lady.’ slightly grinning.

‘That all depends if I am able.  Speak your woe.’ her warm reply.

‘Do you have a map that I may peruse?’

‘Let me guess…you keep getting lost in my eyes, right?’

By the dice, she was quicker than foolish Willy, but he was never one to back down from a challenge, unless of course that challenge meant death.

‘I’m sorry that you are not trusting of your fellow man, when he is desperate for another’s help.  I bid you a better morning than the upset of my rude interruption.  Good day.’ perfectly executed, thought D’Toole.

As he turned, her hand caught his arm and their gaze locked.  He kept his eyes dead-pan and offered a single tear.

‘Here,’ rummaging through her pockets ‘you may use my map.  Show me where you need to get to.’

With a glimmer of trepidation, Willy approached the table and randomly pointed to a spot on the map; for he knew that once he was out of town, he could charm her with his knowledge of nature or the mystical realms beyond this meager little hamlet.

‘Ahhh’, forced Willy ‘there it is.  Though it is a fair distance to be walking all alone, would you care to accompany me, miss?’ beautiful, thought Willy.

She seemed to take a moment for reflection before finally caving in ‘Proton, is the name, Mr?’

‘Toole.  Willy D’Toole, a pleasure to make your acquaintance miss Proton.’

‘Well Mr Toole…’ she started.

‘Please, call me Willy’ he said.  She smiled.

‘Shall we head out of this dull little place Willy?’

‘I would be absolutely honoured in present company.’

In the same moment as Willy and Proton leave the inn, a cry of disgust bellows from the kitchen, coupled with the sound of pans and pots clanging.  Willy smiled in triumph.

Episode 2: along the random path

Some hours later, betwixt the sodden village and their point of destination, the gullies filled with an audible remnant of Willy’s miraculous inability to cease conversation regarding his knowledge of forests and the fauna that presided within.  Furthermore, he neglected to notice the total disinterest of his female companion, eye rolling almost continuously from the outset.  It was within a moment of complete frustration as Proton was about to firmly end Willy’s pointless onslaught of vegetable illustrations, that the unmistakable clashing of swords irrevocably diverted their attention.

Curious, they both crept silently toward numerous silver birch with autumn plumage, facing a sloping hill, stretching out into an open clearing.  There ahead, stood a battle-weary elvish woman fending off six grotesque beastly-featured creatures.   It was obvious that she was not coping very well, so from their vantage point, Willy decided to climb higher up the trees and pick them off from a distance.  Proton on the other hand, not convinced that the woman hadn’t attracted the battle in some way, lay waiting immersed in bushes undecided with a course of action.

A prominent creature, took a heavy swing at the woman, tearing her arm open and forcing a scream due in that certainty of pain.  Momentarily she looked dazed.  Willy loaded his crossbow and aimed at the beast closest to their vicinity.  The bolt panged hopelessly against the creature’s armour, averting its attention toward the direction of the missile and a clumsy-looking man riding a wide branch.  Sure-footed, it strode over with outstretched talons toward the hapless duo, unknowing that one lay in wait.

Growling in patterned speech, it was obvious that some vestige of civilisation had left an imprint on this creature.  It took only a few more moments for Willy to recognise this creature as the type which tortured his brother and father back home in a small tavern outside Cormyr.  He observed the whole affair from beneath the thunderous floor-boards, where his father hid him.  It was a massacre, all the tavern patrons killed and the final stand led his father to defend his two sons, the eldest doing his part to defend the youngest.  Willy recalled his father’s last words ‘You’re D’Toole son, never forget that!’  That led Willy to study the language of the Orc, thinking it would one day be useful (this was very much Willy D’Toole’s philosophy, he was a conservative utilitarian ).  For the memory of his father, he fired another bolt at it.  Lodging in the ground beside its left foot; he wasn’t very good with a crossbow.  The orc looked down at the misfired bolt, chuckled slightly, then looked up and laughed at Willy.

This was as good a chance as any for Proton as she lept from the bushes into battle with the startled Orc.  One clean swipe with her sword disemboweled the heathen into a slumping pile.  The orc shoulder-armour, helmet and cuirass seemed like it might fit his person.  This gave Willy an idea, as he donned the cuirass and cut some hair from the beast, layering it under the orc helmet.  There he charged down the hill and into the clashing battle.  The other orcs didn’t seem to notice any difference in their companion, not even the sudden loss of weight and stench.  At this moment of togetherness once more, another orc sliced at the woman’s other arm making it useless for holding her shield any longer.  Willy made an advance to attack the woman and then spun around and cleaved the prominent orc through the temple, it fell backward with a loud thump.

Two other orcs stopped attacking the woman and spoke harshly: ‘Why you kill our leader?’

With a look of hatred, he spat in Orc ‘Leader curse mother…me kill leader!’

One of the orcs laughed and turned back to the matter at hand, the other kept an eye open, not convinced.  At this moment, the wary orc noticed the shoes of the newcomer, they were human shoes.  It took a swing at Willy, as he jumped backward quickly.  Startled, yet solid in his seriousness, Willy performed his role well, ‘Traitor!!! Kill traitor!’  The other orc having overlooked Willy’s disguise glared at the attacking orc and locked axes, drawing them away from the battle and leaving only two orcs by the woman and three by Proton’s viewpoint.

Proton figured Willy had naturally run from the scene like the coward he seemed and decided she could not let this woman die, when she could possibly prevent it.  Descending the hill in a charge, she aimed for a particularly ugly looking orc.  Willy made to strike the woman again, just as a sword cut his armour and sliced his arm open:

‘Arrrhh Proton, what are you doing?’

‘Oh Willy, I’m sorry,’ answered Proton honestly.

This loud exchange disturbed all the remaining orcs and angered them more so, being ridiculed.  A wounded Willy gutted another orc and as the last turned to flee, Proton dismembered its leg.  It grunted in absolute agony, drawing the attention of the other two orcs locked in battle.  Willy cast his helmet at the fallen orc and took off the other leg with a clean strike.  It tumbled helplessly around snarling and crying.  As the other two orcs turned, Willy stood before the legless orc, clear of the woman, now laying beaten and almost lifeless.  Willy tightened his grip on his sword and looked menacingly toward the orcs, now frightened at the pitiful display of their once healthy horde.  Without breaking eye-contact with his stunned foe, Willy opened a vial of oil from his belt and poured it over the crippled orc, groaning, yelping and spitting some oil from its throat.  The orcs looked at Willy with such disgust, they hissed a warning ‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Watch me!’ gritted Willy between his teeth, with literal venom.

Striking a tindertwig, he enveloped the fallen orc in flame and gut wrenching hideous smoke.  It sent the orcs into frenzied rage, one charging toward Willy, the other howling at Proton, before lunging.  Though the first orc missed Willy, it lashed out with its hand and scratched Willy on the face, hating that he missed the accursed antagonistic fool.  Willy recoiled in pain and stuck his dagger in the orc unawares but to no affect.  Proton parried the advance and took an ear from the brutish monster, replacing it with its hand and bleeding profusely, it seemed to whimper and turn for retreat.  With a heavy strike, She cut deep into its chest and forced it downward.  The last orc now bewildered and panic-stricken, shot a glance upon the ruptured battlefield, overturned with circled footsteps and pools of orc blood.  It threw down its weapon and begged, howlingly for mercy.  Proton took this opportunity to bandage the woman’s wounds.

‘Me tell you things, me live!’ with utter surrender.

‘Speak quickly, or my sword may tire with conversation!’ snapped Willy with surprising quickness.

‘Treasure!’ snorted the orc. ‘Treasure…magic, you go, I live.’

‘Where, damn you?’ getting frustrated.

‘Not far, a cave two hours west of here.  Lead you to it, you let me live! Deal?’

‘Sounds like a trap.  No deal!’ cried Willy, slamming his sword down on the shoulder of the orc (like an aggressive knighting ceremony), using the edge of the blade and carving a curtain of orcish blood into a lifeless mass.

As he returned to the woman’s side Proton looked up, ‘She’s gone.  We were too late.’

They sat a moment at the smoking battleground and upturned bodies of fallen orcs, a little overwhelmed with the morning’s events.  Being a Toole, Willy figured that the elf woman may have something useful on her body, seeing that she would no longer need it.  After some searching he found a map leading to an Orc lair.

‘Well what do ye know Proton, that filthy orc was speaking the truth.’ smiled Willy.