Yawn.

Penril rubbed his eyes with his right hand, trying hard to keep sleep from closing them down. The wan orange light from his lamp was the only remaining sign that someone was still awake in the Pony at such an ungodly hour. By his reckoning with his internal clock, it was four in the morning, and the Three Suns would make themselves known across the sky soon. And that meant he failed to get sleep. Yet again. This was the third day he'd been awake. Now, if the inventory only consented to be finished...

Another yawn.

Now it was very tempting to just...sleep here. Slayer training made sure that Penril lost all trace of choosiness in his system. He could sleep virtually anywhere dry. He could sleep standing or sitting down. Basic skills every Slayer needed to learn and master in order to survive out in the world.

Peering at his neat handwriting, Penril blearily noted that he was still five lines to go before the inventory for last night was finished. But by the Three Suns, he wanted to sleep! Reaching over, he screwed the inkpot shut and placed his quill beside it. The parchment was starting to look like a very nice pillow. Penril cleared his inventory and then proceeded to pillow his head onto his arms. His eyes closed automatically...



...He was having a nice dream. He dreamt that he was a kid again, but strangely, he wasn't in the Keep. He was much younger in this dream, maybe about five years old or so. He was shrieking with laughter as he ran down a very huge hallway, with old oil paintings of grim adults hanging by the walls. Those paintings...they all seemed to stare him down. But he wasn't afraid of them. Someone told him that he shouldn't be. Now if he could just remember who...

In the dream he turned his head to see his pursuer. A young soldier...he was yelling something... but Penril only laughed and tried to increase his speed. However, his footing failed, and down he went, tripping...



...Pen was jerked back to reality. His head throbbed. He blinked his eyes furiously for several times to clear his head. Ouch. He only just now became aware that someone was standing over him.

He couldn’t sleep.

To sum it all up, the King had finally allowed him to barge into the Pony. He had a WARRANT, after a little legal argument with the King’s court, but then his ‘use of fancy words to elaborate’ won them over in the end. Haha, those old men always did sound like someone vomiting. He checked with it after he went over to the Fort and let the whole guard march under the suns. Eventually someone HAD to puke.

So it was surprising he couldn’t sleep.

People always told him, only those brave enough, that as an aging man, he needed sleep. For what, growth? He was FORTY, for god’s sakes, why did he need to grow anymore? Any taller, and he’d probably bang into the doorframe. Hell no, he loved being this present size, bugger off. But still, lack of sleep was going to kill him. He had an official ceremony tomorrow…

Hadrian rolled over and fell off the bed. Grunting painfully, he shook his head. No, he couldn’t sleep. But what could he do at…. This unholy hour? He didn’t care what the fudge the time was. It was UNHOLY, and he deserved his so called ‘old-man’s rest’. Damn you INSOMNIA!

Hadrian put on some clothes; he didn’t care which ones, and went outside. He had this sort of limp. Barely recognizable, but a limp nonetheless. Weird doctors would tell you it was the old gout acting up. He was not OLD, and the next minute you say OLD, he would KILL YOU.

KILL YOU.

Ah well, what else he could do? Taking up the scroll that would allow him to bust in on the Prancing Pony, Hadrian decided to go there. Why not bust in on Penril in this unholy hour? He was bored enough, and Penril CERTAINLY needed to be informed. Why not bust in on an innocent sleeping person? Priceless.

Hadrian went down the streets, the sword present at his side always keeping people at bay. The ones who went too close earned a glare from him. Once he came to the Pony, he saw a dim glow somewhere. Walking over, he checked the door. Locked. Grunting, and sorely regretting the pain that would come later, he rammed his shoulder against the door. It gave way easily. Har har.

Ethics demanded he announce his presence BEFORE he busted down the door, but this was a matter of grave importance. His rulebook self demanded at least, that he announce himself AFTER the door. So he did that, although screaming into an empty pub looked STUPID.

Not like you’ll tell him.

…

You’ll DIE.

Walking about in the darkness, he tripped over chairs and tables aplenty. Until he saw a dim orange glow, AGAIN. I FOUND THE LIIIIIIIIIIGHT. Annoyed, he picked himself up from his newest mishap, which was blundering into the counter rather PAINFULLY. Moving around, he found the sleeping figure of a person near a lantern. Penril.

He was debating on whether or not to wake him up violently when the kid apparently woke up by himself. Hadrian looked down on him.

“You’re coming with me.”

“You’re coming with me.”

Penril's brain froze for a moment. Being a Slayer, he knew a cartload of things normal people would pass off as wanderer's tales. He knew that cliff-ghasts existed, and that they liked human liver fresh, plucked out from a still living body. He knew that Undead existed, and that they were a complicated existence.

Undead. Oh gods. Oh, Valleran forgive him. He hadn't prayed for them for ages, he knew it. He shouldn't have forgotten! He should've uttered the holy words every night, before he slept! Every damn day! Now they were out to get him! EEK!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Well, that was one of those moments where coherent thinking fled from Penril's head. It wasn't his fault! Deprived of sleep and under a terrible headache that seemed to be sent by the gods themselves, what could he do? His scream probably alerted the whole neighborhood, but that was not the only one he was going to do.

Old friends or not, Undead was Undead!

Penril wildly lashed with his magic, knocking the monster away with a spiteful blast of air that took a substantial amount of energy from him, making his knees wobble dangerously. He reached out to the heavier and bigger bottles from his cellar, pulling them up with his own fast depleting energy. There was a crash as fifty bottles came zooming out of the cellar and hurtled straight toward the offender.

More crashes, and sounds of breaking glass and spilling liquor. The creature stumbled out of the Pony and out to the streets. Dogs were barking insanely.

Lastly, a large butcher knife flew out of Madam Carmeli's kitchen. Penril caught it, and he launched himself toward the creature, still screaming.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"

Penril froze. Freezing either meant he didn’t like him, OR he mistook him for something. In this case, Hadrian’s STUPID reaction was to well, look at him. Stupidly, I might add. Heck, he even LEANED OVER. How stupid.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

“HOLYCRAP!”

OHMYGOD, HOW WEIRD CAN YOU GET!? HE WAS BEING ASSULTED! OH MY GODS, HE DIDN’T WANT TO DIE! His sword was out of the sheathe in a flash, reflecting the dim lights. Oh gods, what HAD HE DONE!? The scream probably, and SHOULD’VE WOKEN UP THE NEIGHBORS. WHY? BECAUSE HE WAS STUPID ENOUGH TO YELL ‘PENRIL TANITH I AM BUSTING DOWN YOUR DOOR, OR HAVE BUSTED!’ The sweep of air blew him away, sending him crashing painfully into the wall. Ohmygod, ohmygod IT HURT. IT HURT. MAKE THE PAIN STOP!

“OH MY GOD, WHAT’S HAPPENING!?”

“OI! I WANT SOME SLEEP!”

“DAMN GUARDS!”

Well, he had right mind to STRANGLE the guy who yelled that, but he was too occupied with DODGING BOTTLES TO SAVE HIS OWN DAMN LIFE. He looked strangely FUNNY though. He looked like he was just doing weird dance moves. If his recruits could look at him now, they would gape.

And then they would laugh.

Damn puppies.

Bottle after bottle crashed into the one, one even hit HIM on the head. Disoriented and thoroughly harassed, Hadrian stumbled outside into the night.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"

“OHJEEZIT!”

A KNIFE! A KNIFE! GOD WHAT POSSESSED THIS OBVIOUSLY STUPID MAN TO LAUNCH HIMSELF AT HIM WITH A DAMN MOTHERFATHER’ING KNIFE? His sword moved automatically, intending to disarm Penril. DAMN HEDIDN’TWANTTODIE!

Sword? Was that a sword? Penril quickly dug his boot heels into a ground, making screeches that added to the din around them. Lights flared from neighboring houses, and people started poking out their heads from windows. Some had hairnets. Some had no hair.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?"

"WHAT UNDER THE THREE SUNS -?!"

"The Pony -!"

Wait! Undead didn't have weapons! And now Penril's head started working normally again. Undead could NOT travel all the way out here. No. It was a man! HE VERY NEARLY KILLED A MAN! ALL THE SLAYERS BACK AT HOME WOULD HAVE HIS HEAD ON A PIKE! EEEK!

The lights from the neighbors helped him see. Oh gods, it was Lord Hadrian, with his sword up. Penril dropped the butcher knife onto the ground with an ominous clunk. He crouched down and buried his face into his hands. The dogs still did not stop barking.

"My goodness, Pen!"

"What happened?"

"I knew them Guards cause nothing but trouble now!"

"Isn't that the High Commander?"

Penril slowly looked up from his fingers. He shook his head furiously, his hair flying in all directions. Gods, he needed his sleep. It had disastrous effects, being deprived.

He only looked at Hadrian with bloodshot eyes as he sought to recover his wits.

Was it just him, or was Penril stopping? True enough, Penril quickly dug his boot heels into a ground, making screeches that added to the din around them. Lights flared from neighboring houses, and people started poking out their heads from windows.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?"

"WHAT UNDER THE THREE SUNS -?!"

"The Pony -!"

The lights of the neighbors illuminated the street. Not good, not good. Word would spread. DAMN IT. Hadrian lowered his sword. He massaged a bruise forming quickly on his face and looked up with a half-irritated eye that got splashed by some drink. And trust me, it HURT. MORE THAN THE PAIN ON HIS BODY.

"My goodness, Penril!"

"What happened?"

"I knew them Guards cause nothing but trouble now!"

That. Was. It.

“YOU SHUT UP!” Hadrian yelled hoarsely.

Spinning around, Hadrian yanked off one of his combat boots and threw it rather accurately at the person. There was a satisfying clunk as it made contact.

Silence.

“And bring me back my BOOT!” His hoarse voice rang out. “Nothing to see here, go back to SLEEP!”

When they still didn’t move, Hadrian blinked furiously to get the tears out of his eye. “I’ll ARREST YOU ALL IF YOU DON’T GO AWAY, RIGHT NOW!”

There was a great clattering as people hastily shut the windows. There was a clunk somewhere. Hadrian’s boot apparently came back. Hadrian hopped over and shoved it back onto his foot.

“You’re coming with me.” He said hoarsely, turning back to Penril. DAMN HIS CRYING EYE. “And no more stunts.” He tried to calm his pounding heart. Gods. “… I have the right…. To arrest you… if anything goes wrong.”

“You’re coming with me. And no more stunts.… I have the right…. To arrest you… if anything goes wrong.”

Penril didn't move from his couch. Even the dogs had stopped barking now. His stuffed head was making things harder. He rose gingerly, and for a moment his vision reeled. He needed to sleep, really. And that magic was out of hand, now it made him even weaker.

"Go where? To jail?" Penril laughed. "Look, you BARGED in the Pony when it was closed. You LOOMED over me like something out of Valleran's books, it was YOUR fault you ended up like that..."

He saw quite distinctly how the man's nostrils dilated in anger. Penril rose and stared at the man. Ick, his face was in a superbly bad condition.

"If you head over back inside, I can heal you." He paused. "Or at least, try to heal you."

He led the way back into the Pony, where Madam Carmeli was already up, holding her baker's rolling pin high. Markoj was sleeping by the stairs, nightcap still on his head.

"What was it, Pen?" Madam Carmeli demanded. "Show me and I'll pound them to submission!"

Penril gave a weary sigh. "Just go back to sleep, nothing to see, go on go on..." and he pushed the big woman back to where she came from. Markoj was sleeping deeply by the stairs, there was no danger there...

Lord Hadrian came in. Penril gestured to his chair. "Sit."

The man obeyed at least, and Penril moved and examined him. Argh, he looked really bad. At least he would have enough energy left for healing. His hands on the man's face, Penril reached out to Hadrian's energy.

"I'll be using some of your strength. This will sting, but it's faster than bandages and ointments."

His hands started to glow.

Penril didn't move. Hadrian was SORELY tempted to just pick him up and THROW him to the palace. He was too tired for this. His eye was still bothering him, and the parts of his body that were hit by bottles ached. All in all, he was not happy.

"Go where? To jail?" Penril laughed. "Look, you BARGED in the Pony when it was closed. You LOOMED over me like something out of Valleran's books; it was YOUR fault you ended up like that..."

Hadrian stiffened in anger. HIS FAULT? HIS FAULT FOR WHAT? CARING!? SINCE WHEN WAS IT HIS FAULT FOR DOING WHAT WAS RIGHT? Oh, that boy was going to GET SOME. HE WAS GOING TO SUFFER AND DIE.

Penril rose and stared at the man. He KNEW he looked UGLY, but no need to STARE AT HIM.

"If you head over back inside, I can heal you." He paused. "Or at least, try to heal you."

Hadrian was SORELY tempted to give a great barking laugh, go ‘It’s nothing’ and then drag him through the streets to the King, but then again his other part of him, the one who LOVED soft feathery beds and nice long 8 hour rests wanted to be healed. Annoyed, Hadrian just stared at him. HA, who was the freak now!?

After a few minutes, he went into the Pony. Penril gestured to his chair. "Sit."

Hadrian hesitated for a moment, but then sat down, and Penril moved and examined him. His hands on the man's face, Hadrian felt a slight pull at something.

"I'll be using some of your strength. This will sting, but it's faster than bandages and ointments." His hands started to glow.

Oh.

“The King wants to talk to you.” He said bluntly.

“The King wants to talk to you.”

He didn't say anything. He just stared silently as Hadrian's face recovered under his touch; the bruises shrinking, the cuts closing, the skin returning to its normal color. He drew more from Hadrian's energy, enough to make the soldier wince. When he shrunk most of the bad bruises, Penril let go, and the glow from his hands disappeared.

"Really?" Penril said.

He walked past Hadrian and back to the streets, surveying the bottles of wine he wasted. No Blue Wine, thank the gods. The butcher knife was still there. He yanked it out of the earth and went back inside the Pony, pausing for a moment to examine the slightly delapidated door. He heaved another sigh. More repairs... and he was going to have to pay for those wine bottles, all right.

"About what, Lord Hadrian?" Penril said as he placed the butcher knife on the counter. "I already told you that I do not want anything to do with your throne. What is the use? I don't even know an ounce about these inter-house politics." He gave a short bark of laughter.

And then he ran a hand through his hair. "But then...maybe I can see the old man. Goodness knows...how many years I..." He shook his head again. "Is it true he's so sick? I might be able to heal him. And maybe give him an item of blessing or two, for safekeeping?"

Penril tilted his head sideways.

"You can wait until morning, can't you, Lord Hadrian?"

He glanced out of the door. Dawn already had some of her rosy fingers unfurled. He sighed yet again.

"Well...it IS morning already...silly me."

He didn't say anything.

Hadrian frowned, but then felt a sharp tug, enough to make him wince. As his face returned to its normal, grumpy self, Hadrian briefly wondered what Penril would say. Penril let go, and the glow from his hands disappeared.

"Really?" Penril said.

Oh damn you.

He walked past Hadrian and back to the streets, surveying the bottles of wine he wasted. All your fault, by the way. The butcher knife was still there. Penril yanked it out of the earth and went back inside the Pony, pausing for a moment to examine the slightly dilapidated door. His fault, my bad.

"About what, Lord Hadrian?" Penril said as he placed the butcher knife on the counter. "I already told you that I do not want anything to do with your throne. What is the use? I don't even know an ounce about these inter-house politics." He gave a short bark of laughter.

Hadrian stood up in alarm. Even then, WHY MUST YOU BE SO STUBBORN? He was steeling himself for dragging the man through the streets when Penril spoke again.

"But then...maybe I can see the old man. Goodness knows...how many years I..." He shook his head again. "Is it true he's so sick? I might be able to heal him. And maybe give him an item of blessing or two, for safekeeping?"

Hadrian gave a nod. Penril tilted his head sideways.

"You can wait until morning, can't you, Lord Hadrian?"

He glanced out of the door. Dawn already had some of her rosy fingers unfurled. He sighed yet again.

"Well...it IS morning already...silly me."

Hadrian went over to the door. “Come on.” He said.