Coffee To Wake The Dead
And Now, A Toast
Aromagorn paced nervously through the darkness. He was beginning to think that this 'short-cut' wasn't such a wild idea. With clarity, he recalled the conversation that had occurred the night before... Had it really only been the night before?
By the aching in the forelobes of his brain, Aromagorn bitterly regretted the "last pint" he had consumed. 'If only' he thought carefully through his hangover, 'If only I had stopped at twenty shots of coffee liqueur! That last one really did me in!" He stepped awkwardly in the dark and jarred his head. He groaned, remembering ...
King Karóden of Yuban had ordered a great barrel of java d'jour opened, in honour of their guests. It was a strong dark beverage made by the fermenting of coffee beans. They had been raising a toast to the Victorious Dead, followed by a toast to the Victorious Living and another to the Ambivalent Bystanders, when news of the lighting of the Beacons of Gondaroma came to their ears.
"Gondaroma calls us to come and fight!" announced Karóden, ordering the mugs to be refilled, "That, or there is a fire-sale in the Lampwright's District. Either way, we ride!"
This was answered with a chorus of Huzzah! and the mugs newly filled were drained. They planned to set forth immediately.
But of course, custom dictated that they must drink the 'Farewell' Cup, and the 'Stirrup' Cup, as well as the 'Battle Is Coming' Cup, the 'We're Hopelessly Outnumbered But Spoiling For A Fight' Cup, the 'One More For The Road' Cup, and the 'Well, The Keg Is Almost Empty... It Would Be A Shame To Let It Go To Waste' Cup. By then, naturally they had forgotten where their horses were and which direction Minas Teabag was in, so they collapsed into little piles of unshaven leather and burlap and began to snore.
Except for Legolatté and Gemli. They continued their game, a competition drinking espresso shot for shot, until no Man (or woman) of Yuban could withstand them... or stand between them and the 'Little Free People's' Room, rather.
Late that night, Aromagorn awoke with a strange dream knocking inside his head, and his future Father-in-law glaring down at him, eyebrows arched as if to give the St Louis Monument pause.
Aromagorn realized that he was sleeping in the stable and he prayed silently that the warm body that lay next to him beneath the horseblanket remained still and hidden. This would require an eloquent and coherent explanation.
"Gah." So much for eloquence. Aromagorn tried to spit out the lint-covered candle-stub that was inside his mouth, until he realized that it was his tongue.
Elground was not sympathetic. "Shut up and listen, Isillydur's Heir. If you think that I am going to let my daughter marry a scruffy human who drinks to much coffee liqueur and sleeps in barns... well, you'd be right! But you gotta become King first. No daughter of MINE is sleeping in a barn unless it is THE KING of Gondoroma's Royal Barn, understand? Now get up and get going! Take the shortcut through the spooky mountain. The plot is starting to drag." Then his horse Brego (hiding under the blanket) had bitten him on the leg.
So here he was, in the dark spooky mountain; cold, confused, and coffee-less, with a big horsebite on his leg. At least he was not alone. His friends and companions were with him, loyal to the last.
"This is the stupidest idea you have ever had!" complained Boromocha, fumbling his sword-hilt in the pitch-blackness all around them. "Are you sure 'Estel' isn't Elvish for 'dope' in stead of 'hope' ?"
Legolatté chimed in cheerfully with: "What about that time at Elground's Council when he suggested that we build an enormous slingshot on top of Isencoaster Tower and shoot the Coffee-Ring into Mordor?" He and Boromocha laughed loudly.
"Okay," Boromocha agreed, chortling, "I'll give you one... that idea was worse!"
Aromagorn grumbled. Gemli reached up and patted him on the back. "It would have worked, too, if we could have found a really big rubberband."
The heir of Isillydur sighed. Maybe it would have been better to be alone.
Just then there was a sound; the scrape of metal on metal, clinking like a length of chain dragged across flagstones, accompanied by a limping footstep and a mournful wailing. Gemli as so afraid that he leapt straight into Legolatté's arms. "Ruts rat, Raggy?" he said, incoherent with terror, perhaps.
"Gemli," said the Elf calmly, dropping the Dwarf on his armoured bottom, "This is not an episode of Scooby-Doo."
They regarded the apparition: a man it looked, or like one, with garments rotting from gaunt limbs, bleached bone flashing through torn cloth. The face was all sallow skin stretched over misshapen skull, with red protruding eyes and black protruding... you get the picture.
"The way is shut..." the thing moaned, waving its putrid arms at them. "It was made by those that are dead, but before they were dead. They couldn't very well make it after they were dead, now can they? How do you hold a hammer when you're dead? Gods, I am bored!" The ghost rattled its chains and sighed. "Do you guys wanna play Graveyard Scrabble?"
Aromagorn's head began to pound again. "Does anyone have any coffee? I have such a hangover..."
Suddenly the darkness around them was filled with hundreds... thousands of revenants, all in various degrees of decay, clacking their fleshless fingers. "Coffeeeeeeee..." the windless dark seemed to sigh.
Legolatté reached into his hip-pack and withdrew a small can. "I have some Elvish Instant EMP. You don't even need any water... just sprinkle some on your tongue... wait, do you have health insurance?"
Aromagorn took the can from the Elf, but it slipped in his shaking fingers and spilled across the chamber, innervating all the hundreds of undeadmen.
"Whoa!" The ghost bowed before Aromagorn and said, "You have rejuvenated us! Tell us what to do, and we will obey, as long as the coffee rush lasts!"
"Let's go to Gondaroma," said Aromagorn with a grin, his headache beginning to fade, "I hear there is going to be a bit of a barney."