Fable - Ask No Trouble

[Ivan Skender]

He watched in silence as Ollie spoke, his features alternating between a look of curiosity and impassiveness. A nobleling with a conscience was something undoubtedly new to him. He couldn’t say that he sympathized, or understood Weirwoon’s position - for obvious reasons - but he figured feeling unworthy of something one had been thrust onto was a bit inglorious.

- "Spoken like someone who could use a break himself." - He said at last, with a smile. - "So tell you what." - He continued, pulling himself back into an upright position, legs crossed over his bedroll.

- "From now on, we both forget who we are: No more initiate, no more Weirwoon lordling." - His smile took on a perceptibly mischievous stride. - "And we put all of it behind us while we're here: no more family duties, no more training, and no more" - He leaned his head forward, and covered his mouth with his hand, as he whispered in a mocking imitation of Ollie’s voice:

- "doing some business while there." - He said.

- "If you want to figure out why the lady speaks then that is fine." - He continued, pointing with his chin to Ollie’s sword. - "But while we’re not doing that, let’s just eat, drink and fuck our way to an early grave." - Which, if he had to guess, would probably come about at the hands of Tyr's ogre guard, if he had his way.

- "How does that sound?" -​

 

[Olvir]

Olvir nodded along as Ivan offered his own suggestion, a smile steadily growing on his face. He hardly ever got to forget who he was. Though the third son, Ollie was still the child of a Great House. That would always carry weight in Vel Anir, and when others knew their demeanor almost always changed.

To be anonymous? To not have anyone look at him twice and just get to enjoy himself? There was something to that. "Well, I can't say I'll do the latter."

Ollie countered with a smile. He was betrothed to Elspeth Sirl, and although her father so desperately wanted to split the union before it could be set in stone, Olvir had every notion of staying true to his word. He wanted no other woman but her.

"But I'll certainly join you in the two former." Eating and drinking for two weeks sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.

"I have no idea what Tyr is like." Apart from what he'd read in books, but most of those tended to be dry and droll. Never speaking of a cities nightlife. "But I imagine they have drink there too."

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "And hopefully enough to make you forget all about that betrothed of yours." - He added playfully to Ollie’s remark. - "But I wouldn’t worry, I’m sure Tyr’ll have plenty for us to do." -

Once again, he reclined on his bedroll, supporting his body’s weight with his arms. He threw his head back slightly, to look at the stars. Up there, in the mountains, they seemed to shine brighter against the night sky than they did at the Academy.

- "It's nice that you and your betrothed care about each other though." - In truth, Ivan did not much about Weirwoon, nor his fiancé, but, in his mind, the fact his travelling companion had rejected to fool around during an adventure on the other side of the world said enough to reveal how he cared about the girl.

If he also had to guess, he’d say Ollie would be in an arranged marriage, as was the norm for the scions of the Great Houses, and which made his liking of his betrothed twice as lucky.

- "What’s she like?" -​

 

[Olvir]

"That would never happen, even when i've drank a whole keg of ale." Olvir said quite cheerfully, clearly not insulted by the playful jest.

He knew such jokes were all too ordinary, but for him the vow he had taken was a sacred thing. He and Elspeth might not yet have been married, but Ollie had said he would be true, and he intended on following those words to the letter.

His word was one of the few things that he had, and did not come from his family or wealth. Thus, he would never break it. "She is wonderful, kind, caring. The antithesis of the rest of her family."

Ollie smiled, briefly, then continued.

"We've known one another since we were young." He explained. "House Sirl has never been known for it's...kindness."

In fact, they of all the Great Houses had a reputation for being, simply put, assholes. Often using violence, threats, and pain to get what they desired. "But Elspeth is different, she actually opened the first public hospital in Vel Anir."

Ollie said, quite proudly.

 

[Ivan Skender]

He looked on with mild interest as Weirwoon offered a description of his bride-to-be. A kind Sirl, and a generous Weirwoon… what a quirky couple those two would make.

- "Public, voluntary service." - He mused, his brow raising slightly. - "Compassion is an admirable trait." - And one he couldn't say he shared.

He shrugged.

- "So you lucked out in love," - He said - "and money." - He added, leaning his head slightly sideways, with a passing brooding expression flickering through his features.

- "Do you think it'll hold going forward?" - He asked. - "What kind of life do you think you'll have with this girl?"-

Although Ivan was not - by any stretch of the imagination - an expert on the labyrinthine ties and relation networks of Anirian high nobility, he seemed to recall that Elspeth Sirl was the heiress to her House; one of the Seven Great of Vel Anir.

Something which raised an interesting question:

- "And should I call you Olvir Sirl going forward?" - He quipped, his features settling once again on an amused expression.​

 

[Olvir]

"I am, I was, and I do." He said in quick succession of answers, smiling all along.

Olvir knew the life that he had signed up for, and he knew that he was safe in his choice. There were few things that he doubted in his life, but this was one of them. Elspeth and he had something, love, he hoped to call it.

That, at least by his estimation, was a solid enough bond to overcome anything else. "I don't know."

He admitted freely to Ivan.

"She will do her works, I will do mine, one day we'll have children and perhaps together we'll shape a better future for Vel Anir." Olvir smiled as any fool in love would. "That is my hope, but who can say? I'm bit a dreamer."

Olvir said with a shrug, letting out a chuckle as Ivan offered another jest. "I might be a fourth son, but I'm still in the main line. I'll stay a Weiroon, but our children? Sirl."

That was how it went, not that he cared much. As long as his children took after neither his or Elspeth's families.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "A happily ever after, hey?" - He jested, right before a grimace took over his features as he well and truly felt the moonshine go up to his head.

- "Well, I wish you all the best Lord Weirwoon" - He said, getting up and stretching lazily. - "with many Sirl brats to keep you and your bride busy, while you make Vel Anir a paradise on Arethil." -

Picking up his bedroll, he hurled it into the tent Ollie had so kindly put up for him.

- "But in the meantime, I really need to get some sleep." - He made his way to the tent. - "So, wake me up when my turn is up... Or, you know, if we get attacked by wolves." - A grimace formed on his face as he gazed up at the dark peaks that towered all around them, wondering if wolves - or something worse - really could be lurking there, just waiting for them to lower their guards.

Hopefully, no such thing would happen; fighting wolves with a hungover did not sound like fun.​

 

[Olvir]

Olvir smiled at, what he at least, already considered his new friend. Not speaking to any of his points but tugging the joy from congratulations. Whether or not Ivan fully meant it was not any more important or less. Ollie felt the notion, and that was what mattered, least to him.

No wolves came that night, nor the next when that came.

Their journey, at least for the first few days was unremarkable. During the day they would hike and crest smaller parts of the mountains, at night they spoke, drank a little, and even philosophized once or twice. It was on the sixth day that they reached the first village marked on the map Ollie had purchased.

Ostgoth was it's name, a town carved into the very mountainside. Famed for it's hotsprings heated by pools of lava. Apparently under the protection of Tyr. The town was under the watch of their final destinations famed Death Watch.

As Ollie and Ivan approached the town, a pleasant scent began to fill the air. As though a thousand flowers were blooming all around them. "Do you...smell that?"

Olvir asked as they continued down the road, the town on it's cliffside perch coming into full view.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan had very much enjoyed these last few days. Hiking during the day, drinking, and chatting in the evening; it had been pleasant. Indeed, if he had to say, probably more so than any other interaction he'd had at the Academy.

While he had, beyond a doubt, come to consider Olvir as his friend, the nature of this friendship was something very new to him. Though Ivan had friends at the Academy, his interactions with them had always been rather shallow, and essentially boiled down to how to remove blood stains from leather equipment, which classmate they’d beaten up during sword practice, or whichever initiate they’d gotten lucky with the night before… and all of that invariably ended, every day, with all of them hacking each other to pieces in the training grounds.

With Ollie, at least he could hold a real conversation; one that didn’t have to revolve around whatever Academy achievements they’d accomplished the day before. Granted that sometimes their conversations could get rather quirky - especially when Weirwoon went on his philosophical tangents about the future, past, and present of Vel Anir - they were a nice break from his usual routine, and one he had found he enjoyed more than he ever thought he would.

In any case, the company of his new friend had helped time tick by faster. So much so, in fact, that they now found themselves on what could already be considered Tyrian territory, in the village of Ostgoth.

As they approached the settlement, much like Ollie had before him, Ivan couldn’t fail to notice the pleasant scent that seemed to envelop the two hikers. For his part though, Ivan piously believed that this agreeable smell had less to do with any external sources and more with the fact that they themselves probably stunk, after almost a week in the wilderness.

- “I do.” - He said, glancing downwards at his coat. Any hint of its once-white colouring had long since vanished, being replaced by an unholy amalgamation of dark grey and deep, earthy brown.

- “Do you..” - He started, a grimace forming on his face. - “Do you think we may need a bath?” -​

 

[Olvir]

"Well, I know you do." Ollie said with a grin, though he fully realized that by now he probably stunk to high heavens.

His own coat fared a little bit better than Ivan's, but it too showed the signs of their travels. There was no denying that. Being rich didn't meant you couldn't get mud on you, a fact which had amply been proven when Ollie had fallen into a large mire on the road.

"Lets go find a hotel." He said as they continued. "A nice one."

It was a small hike up a cliffside path into the actual town of Ostgoth. The city did not have gates, but a wide arch stood at it's entrance. Two huge Ogre's stood on either side of the archway, proud and wearing overlapping armor lacquered in black and red.

Both stood well over nine feet tall, and in their hands they clutches massive staves with swords at the tip. As Ollie and Ivan approached the two stood like statues, never approaching, never demanding papers or anything of the sort.

A fact which made Olvir somewhat uncomfortable.

Despite that though, once they got into town the flow of Ostgoth was much like any other he had visited. The outer city was made up of workshops, stores and all sort of nonsense, while the inner breadth was where luxury and wealth congregated.

It was not long before the two Anirians stood in front of a counter in a hotel built with marble and gilded with gold and other fineries. "I need a room, a suite, if you have it. If not, two room."

The woman behind the desk stared at him, looking up and down, and then glanced at Ivan.

"Of course sir, a suite can be made available, and how will you be paying."​

Ollie smiled, cloning down his backpack for a moment before digging around and pulling out a small pouch. One that seemed deceptively small. He opened it up, dug around for a few seconds, and then pulled out three coins.

"Gold." He said with a bright smile, the woman instantly seeming to perk up.

 

[Ivan Skender]

The sight of gold had an immediate impact on the hotel clerk, who, at once, led both Ivan and Ollie to their new room.

Once they got there, and the woman ushered the both of them inside, Ivan was awestruck for a moment. The room, while certainly not the grandest accommodation in the world, was far superior to the dorm rooms at the Academy, and certainly still better, by a longshot, than any other place Ivan had lodged at.

Indeed, the initiate was so stunned by the realisation that he'd be staying at that place that he nearly missed the innkeeper, as she walked out.

- "What's the strongest drink you sell?" - He asked, forcing himself to snap out of his astonishment.

The woman went on to provide him with a list of at least half-a-dozen drinks which, according to her, could make even an ogre inebriated with only a few sips.

Setting his pack by his feet, Ivan took out, with some effort, the money pouch the Academy had provided for him. From within he took out a few gold coins.

- "We'll take the lot." - He said with a smile.

Once the innkeeper brought the drinks - seven bottles in total, each quirkier in make than the one before - Ivan wasted no time in opening one of them, and pouring two glasses of the deep, dark-green liquid.

- "So, what do you want to do?" - He asked Ollie.​

 

[Olvir]

Olvir let his gaze pan over some of the other bottles that had been brought to the table. Grabbing the neck of one and reading it for a second before frowning. "This one is called Dragon's Dribble."

He noted with a frown. "And it's alcohol content is-oh...we'll just go ahead and save that one for...maybe never."

The noble said with a chuckle as he pushed the bottle to the side with a shake of his head. Grabbing the glass that Ivan had poured for him and musing for a second. The liquid appeared to be some kind of whisky, though he had no idea what sort.

"Well, I'd say lets have a drink, find those hot springs, have another few drinks." This trip was starting to have a theme. "Then lets see where the evening takes us, eh?

Olvir offered as his cup swayed forward for a toast. "Here's to your first night as Ivan Skender, regular guy."

At least for now.

 

[Ivan Skender]

The remark about the Dragon's Dribble got him raising a brow at Ollie in amusement.

Maybe never.

- "I never took you for a weakling, Weirwoon." - He said playfully.

As Olvir reached out for a toast, Ivan also raised his glass, clicking it with the one held by the other boy as it made contact. - "And to yours as Olvir the nobody." - He added with a smile. - "Enjoy life without responsibility!" -

He downed the entire contents of his cup. Though the drink he'd picked did look like some sort of whisky, with an alcohol level to match, it felt rather soft to drink. As opposed to the familiar burning sensation that inferior alcohol had, this liquor instead left a pleasant warm sensation as it went down.

- "The hot springs do sound wonderful." - He said, refilling the glass. - "Though we should bring the Dragon's Dribble with us." - He continued offering Ollie a sly smile. - "If we're making you forget your own name, we'll need to bring out the big weapons." -​

 

[Olvir]

A scoff echoed passed Olvir's lips. "I want to forget my own name, not end up drooling for the rest of my life!"

He chuckled, and then downed his own drink.

The whisky was the smoothest he'd ever had in his life, and a second after it slipped down his throat he let out an impressed whistle.

"Kress." The Noble mused as he tipped his glass forward for Ivan to refill. "We may have to bring some of this stuff home with us."

He said with a shake of his head. Watching as the amber colored liquid poured into his glass and then standing up from the table. "Let's find those hot springs."

Ollie said as he comically half-bent down, scooping up half the bottles on the table in his free arm. The clinking glass echoing out as he stood upright, clearly intent on continuing any conversation, and drinking, soaking himself in comfort.

 

[Ivan Skender]

He shook his head amusedly at the sight of his friend carrying the bottles out of the room. For his part, Ivan also took with him whatever liquor was left that Olvir hadn't picked up, including, of course, the Dragon's Dribble.

- "Moderation is key." - He said in a grandfatherly tone - one of those usually associated with the aged and wisened - as they headed downstairs, right before adding in a perceptibly more mischievous voice:

- "Which is why we should drink equally from all the bottles." -

As for the hot springs, he was rather elated to find out they were not very far from them, as the hotel had its own set of heated pools. Down below the ground, an underground passage would take them to their destination. Built into the very edge of the mountainside, the springs, beyond their allure for comfort, were very picturesque constructs.

In front of them lay three large pools, immaculate-white columns of steam rising from the turquoise waters. Just by the side of these pools grew a handful of red-leafed bushes that cobbled themselves together in a neat hedge, while by their base grew bright green moss that covered the far side of the chamber that hosted that entire scene. Also on the far side of the room, huge windows of transparent glass gave them a clear view of the snow-covered valley below Ostgoth. Outside, the usual grey-skies of Sheketh had finally made good on their promise and had finally presented them with a full-fledged snowstorm, which added even more to the cosiness of the atmosphere inside.

Setting the bottles he had brought over on the soft moss, he dipped into the warm water. While he first shuddered slightly at how hot the liquid was, once his body grew used to the temperature, his muscles relaxed at once, while he involuntarily let out a relieved sigh he hadn't realised he'd been holding in the first place.

- "Kress, is this how you lot live?" - He asked sarcastically of his very rich comrade. This was certainly a long way from the cold baths at the Academy.​

 

[Olvir]

As they departed, a voice echoed in his mind. Do not leave me behind.

The sword spoke for the first time in days, and the surprise of it very nearly caused Olvir to drop the bottles he'd clutched. With a comical, though shockingly well coordinated move, the young noble slipped his foot underneath the sheath of his blade, kicking it up to his free hand without a word.

"Ah, grand strategy." Olvir said with a laugh. "My friend Elias once told me something similar, though it sounded better without you having slurred every third word."

He grinned as they walked towards the hot springs. Ollie hadn't seen Elias in months, not since he'd graduated from the Academy. Elspeth had talked to him, he knew that much, but his old friend was still just that in his head; an old friend.

That connection would never be severed for him. "Pretty much."

Ollie admitted as he finally managed to find a place to put down some of the bottles, followed quickly by his blade.

"When we're not traipsing off around the world." Ollie reached over his head, and in a trick Zael taught him pulled off his shirt in one smooth motion. Bending down second later to scoop up one of the bottles, this one labeled; 'Kiva's Milk'. The cork popped out from it as he rid himself of his trousers, the Noble slipping into the hot springs seconds later. "But."

He began to argue. "For that we have to deal with Politics, so...."

The Noble shrugged, taking a sip from the bottle.

 

[Ivan Skender]

It took only a few moments immersed in the water for his body to relax completely, leaving him in a quasi-vegetative state. He stared blankly at the ceiling as Olvir spoke, his head supported by the high edge of the pool.

- "Deal with politics," - He said unfazed. - "oh, it sounds terrible." -

He shook himself off of his nearly-laying position, so as to seat upright against the edge of the spring. Raising an eyebrow at Ollie, his features took on an amused expression.

- "Why yes Lady Virak," - He started, his tone obviously intended to be a mockery of some stuck-up Anirian noble. - "your cleavage does look splendorous tonight." - He flashed a grin at Ollie.

- "Or- or, do you sound more like: Ah! Can you believe it?! That Lorel prick ONLY gave me thirteen ponies for my birthday; the audacity! This means war!" - He splashed some of the water against Olvir.

- "The horror!" - He exclaimed in an overly-dramatic tone, as he shook his head, a large smile on his face.

Mimicking Ollie, he took one of the bottles. The Dragon's Dribble.

He took a sip of it, immediately regretting it. An acute grimace took over his features, as the liquid scorched through his throat. Blinking slowly, he put the bottle away.

- "Maybe never indeed." - He conceded to Ollie. That though was when he realised Ollie had brought the sword.

- "Why did you bring Lady Love to the bathhouse?" - He queried, as he looked for another bottle to open.​

 

[Olvir]

Ollie let out a laugh. "I don't think you ever want to tell Lady Virak her cleavage looks splendorous."

He had never met the woman, but he knew enough about Elise to make that judgment.

His hand came up to block some of the splashed water. Laughing still and deciding now to bring down the mood by pointing out that before the revolution Politics was about as dangerous as being a Dreadlord. Assassinations had been rife, and saying the wrong word really could lead to war. It had more than once, even in his memory.

"Ah, sure about that?" Ollie jested. "You could stand with killing a few brain cells, I reckon."

He reached for one of the bottles he'd brought, an ale mix of some sort that he popped open on the side of the spring. Taking a long draught before he answered Ivan. "I dunno, it told me not to leave it behind."

Ollie offered with a shrug, glancing over towards the blade.

 

[Ivan Skender]

"You could stand with killing a few brain cells, I reckon."

- "Because I'm so much smarter?" - He quipped, getting partially out of the water to better inspect the bottles he'd brought.

The remark about the blade did have him turn his attention towards the sword. Weird. It had been quiet since he could remember; why had it chosen to speak up now?

- "Huh, and does it often do that?" - He asked obliviously, as he returned to browse through the bottles he'd set by the soft moss at the edge of the pool. Finally, he settled on one of them; a transparent bottle bearing an amber-coloured liquid. He took the lid off, sliding back into the warm water as he took a hearty sip.

It was then that he had what was, perhaps, the most ingenious idea in his entire life:

- "Do you-- do you think we can get a sword drunk?" - He asked, a malicious grin crowning his features. If the thing could speak, then surely the two of them could find a way to get it inebriated. Wouldn't that be hilarious to watch?

And if it worked, then maybe they could even snatch a secret or two out of the dulled blade.​

 

[Olvir]

"No no, so you can live your life as a simple fool." Olvir contended with a wry grin. "I think it'd take just...a little bit more."[/color

It was, of course, a joke.

Over the last couple of days of their travel the two Anirians had gotten to know one another quite well. Ivan was no slouch when it came to intelligence, but then that was hardly surprising of an Initiate from the Academy.

As he reached out for his own bottle, pouring yet another drink, Olvir shrugged in answer to his companions question. "Once or twice."

He admitted.

"Usually when it-" Olvir stopped his explanation as Ivan stumbled upon what was simply the most brilliant idea he'd ever heard.

"I...have no idea..." He said, his head beginning to swim. "We need a barrel."

Olvir said suddenly, already scrambling to grab some of the bottles. "Or something."

The Noble said as he began to look around the spa room.

 

[Ivan Skender]

A grin appeared on his face as he saw Ollie grab a few of the bottles and realised his idea was actually going to happen. Much like Weirwoon, he glanced around the room, before his gaze landed on a group of wooden bowls stacked against one of the far walls, right beside the door. They were large and looked like those basins that washers used to transport and soak clothes in. There was one in particular that caught his attention as, even from a distance, he could tell it to be longer and shallower than all the others.
​

- "Well, lord Sirl," - He quipped, as he got out of the water. - "I may not boast your intellect, but at least I know how to make stuff drunk." -

Using his arms as support he hoised first his upper body, and then his legs out of the water and over the edge of the pool. It was as he started walking towards the wooden containers though, that he realised the drink - combined with the relaxing effect of the warm water - had taken a toll on him. At an unsteady pace, sometimes wobbling to one side or the other, he made his way across the room until he was standing - though barely - in front of his prize.

Examining the basin, he could tell it was long enough to fit Ollie's sword in, while also shallow enough that they wouldn't need that much drink to fill it. In other words, it was perfect.

Carrying it back across the room, he lay the basin by the base of the pool and went back to browse through the bottles, in search of one whose contents would be suitable to... feed to Olvir's magical sword. This time it didn't take him long to make a choice: The dragon's dribble.

Turns out "maybe never" had come sooner than expected.

Pouring the drink on the basin, he looked nonchalantly at Ollie.

- "A mighty drink, for a mighty sword." - He shrugged.

- "Care to do the honours?" - He asked, once the drink in the vessel had reached enough depth to submerge the sword.​

 

[Olvir]

"Weiroon! Thank you." Ollie said, stiffling a hiccup that echoed through his chest. Using the scabbard of his sword as sort of a crutch as he and Ivan enacted their rather delirious plan.

"My lady love may be a Sirl." Whom, no one could really deny, were truly one of the more terrifying of the seven Great Houses. "But I think she's still going to take my name..."

Ollie paused for a moment. "Or maybe we'll make a new name...together..."

That would probably be for the better. Seiroon? Wirl? He would have to talk to Elspeth about it, probably when he wasn't this drunk.

Grinning wide at Ivan, he slowly began to remove his blade from it's rather plain scabbard. Drawing the sword free and letting it's crimson blade shine within the bare candle light of the hot springs. For a moment Ollie just stared at it, then glanced at Ivan.

"Sure do!" He declared, before plunging the blade into the basin.

For a moment he simply stood there, waiting, watching, and then suddenly a voice echoed in his head. You are both tremendous morons.

The sword said, much to Ollie's visible dismay.

Not that he had much time to process it, as suddenly the loud twang of a crossbow releasing sounded out and bolt buried itself in his shoulder.

 

[Ivan Skender]

It all happened too quickly. In one moment, he was laughing like a maniac - in that way only a drunken teenager really could - both at the stupidity of their idea, and at Ollie's disappointed face; in the next, the only thing he remembered hearing was the loud release of the crossbow, and then seeing that bolt suddenly buried in Ollie's shoulder.

His eyes widened and he held his breath for a second, right before his instincts kicked in and his brain suddenly leapt into action. The instincts that took hold of him though, were not the ones usually present whenever he headed to combat, though.

This was because while Ivan - the initiate - was severely outmatched in this situation, with no weapon, and way too drunk to perform any sort of coordinated movement with any blade whatsoever anyways, Ivan - the drunk - had plenty of experience in dealing with angry hostiles while half-naked and unarmed. It were these drunkard's instincts - so arduously earned during late night escapades and underground drinking parties at the Academy - as opposed to those of a dreadlord that kicked in the moment he saw that bolt.

Almost without thinking he reached out for one of the bottles on the moss. He smashed it against the edge of the pool so that he was left holding the shattered upper third of the bottle, ending at the bottleneck. With this, he lunged at the crossbowman.

With all the grace of one truly inebriated, he covered the distance to the attacker in a half-comical fashion managing to only slip once on the wet floors of the room.

Once he was face-to-face with the crossbowman though, the attacker's fate was sealed as Ivan lunged on top of the man and unceremoniously slit his throat through the jugular, before the ranger even had the opportunity to let a second arrow loose.

- "Weirwoon?" - He called out afflictively as the attacker's blood flowed uncontrollably through his hands. - "You okay?" - He asked, his voice bearing the touch of genuine concern for his friend.​

 

[Olvir]

"Weiroon." He corrected Ivan with a slur, half turning around and now holding his alcohol soaked in his off-hand. Prepared to fight, though seeing in an instant that there wasn't any need to. His assailant already laying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

"I'm alright." Olvir insisted. Though his energy somewhat wilted. It was only through the adrenaline pouring in his veins that he was able to ignore the throbbing pain that radiated from his shoulder.

"Who thle fuck is that?" Ollie asked, surprising himself at the calm in his voice. "And why the fuck did he shoot me!?"

The young noble demanded as he stumbled forward, the sword dragging half on the ground as he stepped up to move besides Ivan. It wouldn't take long for the Initiate to catch sight of Ollie's wound, the crossbow bolt sunken half into his flesh.

A small trickle of blood dripped from the wound, and but Ollie could feel that it had missed most anything important. Likely he had bent down to dip his sword just as the man had fired his crossbow. Saving his life only narrowly. "I'm gonna need some...bandages."

He remarked, more of the pain now creeping in.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "Yes, Lord Sirl!" - He quipped back, somewhat relieved at Ollie's drunken pedantry. If he could still muster the strength to criticize his mistake, then probably that bolt did not hurt all that much. Something which Olvir himself confirmed shortly after.

- "Are you sure?" - He asked, brow raised at the bolt still sticking out of his friend's shoulder. - "Maybe you should sit down. We need to look at that shoulder." -

He got up from the corpse of the unknown assailant, and walked to the door. The corridor seemed quiet, but he didn't want to take the risk of a silent hostile lurking around the corner. Softly, he closed the door shut, and moved one of the piles of basins against it, to further impede entry. After this he walked past the corpse again as Ollie made his question about the fallen ranger, and towards the pool.

- "I don't know." - He admitted with a shrug. - "Maybe Lady Virak overheard our conversation about her cleavage and sought revenge?" - He quipped yet again, finding his joke very humorous in his current inebriated condition. - "Do you recognize his outfit? Any sigils or coat of arms?" -

He finally made it through the pool, kneeling by the pile that his clothes made. He ripped his shirt into rudimentary bandages, and then sunk them in the water, so as to wash them clean. After, he dumped them in the basin that still held the Dragon's Dribble.

He'd heard the proctors at the Academy that alcohol was a miracle worker when it came to treating wounds... even if it stung many times as hard.

With the "bandage" cleaned and disinfected, he walked over to Ollie, and prepared to pull the arrow from his shoulder to patch it up afterwards.

- "This.." - He started, wincing at Olvir's wound. - "Might hurt a bit." - ​