Disclaimer: The Forgotten Realms shared world is owned by Wizards of the
Coast, as are several minor characters in this story. The major
characters, however, belong to me and my D&D group.
Adventure, Adversity, and Way Too Much Ale.
The Hangover from the Nine Hells
The pain was terrible.
The pain in his head, that is.
Neltharion Stormraven was sitting awake in bed, wishing that self- immolating spells had been a part of his wizardly studies. The elven mage was just not used to imbibing large quantities of dwarven ale, and the hangover showed him just how true that fact was.
He dimly remembered sitting down with his companions for a drink, and then being very happy. He also recalled some singing. Very bad singing. It may have been his own, but he wasn't sure.
He heard a rough voice coming from the bed next to him, and by the tone of that voice (he still wasn't fully awake) the oaths spouting from that mouth were rougher still.
The mage looked over to see one of his companions, the dwarf Rootnik Weathersprout, sitting up in bed, muttering every known curse in the dwarven tongue, and even some that weren't so well known. Rootnik was muttering about inept innkeepers, dirty mugs, and poisoned ale. Also, the innkeeper's genealogy was described in fascinating ways. The man's ancestors all seemed to be combinations of various disgusting species, each with a number of startling diseases.
While the dwarf went on cursing, a groan arose from yet another bed in the room (their last adventure hadn't exactly been what one would call lucrative). Gerwulf Ironheart, the Mystran priest, had just gotten his first taste of hangover. "Mystra's dark wand," the cleric cursed, "that was some drink."
"I wish I could help," replied Stormraven, " but that drink's erased every spell from my mind, including the one for quick sobering."
"Mists of Leira!"
Tabitha Starshadow, the roguish one of the bunch, had woken.
"I've already told Gerwulf that I can't help him," said the mage, "so don't even ask.
"Damn!" said the thief. She did not enjoy hangovers, even though she had them rather often for an elf.
This was going to be a long, long day.
Adventure, Adversity, and Way Too Much Ale.
The Hangover from the Nine Hells
The pain was terrible.
The pain in his head, that is.
Neltharion Stormraven was sitting awake in bed, wishing that self- immolating spells had been a part of his wizardly studies. The elven mage was just not used to imbibing large quantities of dwarven ale, and the hangover showed him just how true that fact was.
He dimly remembered sitting down with his companions for a drink, and then being very happy. He also recalled some singing. Very bad singing. It may have been his own, but he wasn't sure.
He heard a rough voice coming from the bed next to him, and by the tone of that voice (he still wasn't fully awake) the oaths spouting from that mouth were rougher still.
The mage looked over to see one of his companions, the dwarf Rootnik Weathersprout, sitting up in bed, muttering every known curse in the dwarven tongue, and even some that weren't so well known. Rootnik was muttering about inept innkeepers, dirty mugs, and poisoned ale. Also, the innkeeper's genealogy was described in fascinating ways. The man's ancestors all seemed to be combinations of various disgusting species, each with a number of startling diseases.
While the dwarf went on cursing, a groan arose from yet another bed in the room (their last adventure hadn't exactly been what one would call lucrative). Gerwulf Ironheart, the Mystran priest, had just gotten his first taste of hangover. "Mystra's dark wand," the cleric cursed, "that was some drink."
"I wish I could help," replied Stormraven, " but that drink's erased every spell from my mind, including the one for quick sobering."
"Mists of Leira!"
Tabitha Starshadow, the roguish one of the bunch, had woken.
"I've already told Gerwulf that I can't help him," said the mage, "so don't even ask.
"Damn!" said the thief. She did not enjoy hangovers, even though she had them rather often for an elf.
This was going to be a long, long day.