Prologue
Somewhere, Morning
There may come a point in your life where you look back and wonder how the hell you got there.
This was that moment for Merlin. One of many to come. Though this moment was a pretty literal one, he really had no idea where he was.
He was stood in a forest. Dawns light was filtering through a haphazard mass of trees and bushes. He could barely see the melted colours of the sunrise sky through the green of the canopy. The suns brightest rays nor the wind that howled faintly in the distance had been able to penetrate the lush forest. It was eerie and peaceful wrapped into one disorienting bundle.
Merlin stood in a little clearing. He was dishevelled and more then a little confused. More then a lot confused too, actually. The confusion wasn't from the weird surroundings that he was having his surprise moment of lucidity, dare he say sanity, in. No, there were a few other peculiarities that stood out even more.
For starters he was missing both his socks, but only his left shoe, and his shoeless foot was bound in a red cloth bandage. He didn't feel any pain so he figured the bandage was more a makeshift sock then an actual bandage. His shoe was his own, albeit a little dirtier then when he last remembered wearing it. Which was the day before, concerning, but at least the shoe was his.
'His' shirt wasn't actually his. It certainly wasn't something he could afford either. It was coal black with silver thread laced around both a V-neck collar and the two v-slits cut into opposite sides of the bottom of the shirt. The shirt was a bit long for him but the slits in the side still went high enough to show off his hip, closing just under his first rib. His breeches, thankfully, were his own well worn brown ones. He had his own blue neckerchief as well. The fabric around his neck a comfort in the strangeness.
"Are you ready?" A voice asked from above. Dion. The man sat on a large tree branch above him. His green eyes looking down at Merlin with less rationality then Merlin felt. His appearance was as strange as Merlin's. He wasn't wearing shoes, and his socks had been discoloured by the dirt of the forest floor. His shirt was inside out, though Merlin wasn't sure if he should just assume it was Dion's shirt. His hands held him steady where he sat and were stained a bright and obvious pink. The dye reached his elbows and some splattered even further.
Merlin glanced down at his own hands to find them similarly stained.
"Yeah I's uh ready." Merlin said, finally answering the earlier question. He looked up to the blonde man and asked politely. "What s'it we doin again?" He was slurring bad, though he was genuinely confused as why he suddenly developed a slur.
"Treasure hunt my friend," was the honest reply. Merlin nodded solemnly like it made sense to him. Somewhere in his muddled memories the notion of a treasure hunt did make sense. Another part of him said that he had agreed to this earlier. He hoped he had been in a more 'smart-decision-making' state at that time.
"Your weapons courageous adventurer." Dion said, sliding ungracefully from his perch. He took a step towards Merlin, then an unsteady step right, then a surer step forward again. He reeked like alcohol. It occurred to Merlin that he might be drunk too. He didn't step forward to test the theory though.
Dion reached his hands out, then with a quick chant and a flourish of his wrist weapons began to solidify in Merlin's neon pink hands. Magic. Yes, Merlin had to remind himself, Dion had magic.
His weapons were a knife and a sword, which would have been fine except for two things. One, the knife was referred to in respectable society as The Butter Knife. And two, his sword, though obviously sharp and well polished, was broken off about halfway up.
Dion looked him up and down appraisingly, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork. Merlin looked at Dion's weapons. A dented crossbow and a quiver full of bolts missing their fine feathers or that were visibly curved. He also had a butter knife, clipped to his hip in a bejewelled, leather butter knife sheathe. Not the weapons Merlin would have chosen for a dangerous treasure hunt.
"This is the best I could do!" Dion cried out acting as if Merlin had just offended him by thought alone. Maybe he had. "I'm not all powerful like you ya know! I can't go summoning the kings' armory. Any thing I wanna summon is broken or cheap. And last time I checked you ain't gonna be casting the spells 'cuase you can hardly speak." He ended his rant with a loud belch.
"'Course." Was the best thing Merlin could think to say. Though he wasn't sure that made sense. "I'm ready now." He managed not to slur.
"Great!" Dion said, his earlier grumpiness forgotten. He hoisted his crossbow onto his shoulder. Then he started off into the woods. "We're reeeeeeeeady!"
"Ready!" Merlin cried thrusting his sword into the air and marching into the woods behind him. It wasn't hard to start a good giddy mood with two drunks.
They had gotten about 4 steps in when Dion stopped.
"I forgot!" He dropped his weapons to the ground and gestured for Merlin to do the same. As fast as the sound of metal against rock clipped through the air the men were holding two chipped and half empty tall mugs of a greenish liquid. It smelt like a mix of alcohol and herbs and even in his inebriated state Merlin could sense a faint hint of magic. Dion started drinking without a thought and Merlin followed in suit. When they were done the glasses disappeared and the took a hold of their weapons again.
"We gotta stay drunk Merlin. Else we'll get hungover before we get to the hangover cure; then this trip would be pointless."
Oh. Is that why we're doing this? This was Merlin's last thought before his mind faded back into a state where his vibrant pink hands and bizarre appearance made total sense.