Snippet #1519936

"Heroic catchphrase!" Hollered the drunken deep human as he grabbed an elf's thrown punch, jumped in the air, and slammed both feet into the side of his head. The male uttered a groan, and toppled over along with Kisikoni. Falling on his back, he was expecting a pitchfork to run him through. When that didn't happen, he raised his head slightly and looked around. They were all on the ground, probably not dead. He let his head fall back onto the wet ground, the rain pummeling his face. "Yeah!" He said, his voice breaking near the end of that word. Through the din of the rain, he heard his commander suggest that they help out the fallen individuals.

"Neediest people. Ever." Kisikoni drawled, hoisting himself off the ground, staggering over to the nearest person. Oops. He might have dislocated his jaw. Fixing a hand to it, he slowly yanked it back into position after checking for any breaks. The man moaned again as Kisikoni attempted to pick him up. He failed miserably, losing his balance and crashing to the ground. "Ooh. Heavy... little... sonnova bitch aren't you?" He growled, hoisting him up and pulled him under a well shaded tree. Patting his head, he moved onto the next one. This continued until every damned attacker was under suitable cover- and it was only then that his partner approached him.

"Come see me in the morning if you're hungover," she told Kisikoni. "I know a remedy that will help." was what he heard, then she saluted to the general before leaving. He blinked once, nodding as he checked the civilians once more. He tripped a few more times, as the ground had become a lot more slippery and ended up returning to the tents soaking wet and bruised all over. He noted that the area under his Live Armor had repelled most of the water, which was good- and so did his boots. At least his socks weren't soaked- that was the worst part about marching. Not the distance, the terrain, or the attacks- it was the perpetual state of intense discomfort created from wet socks.

He changed his pants, looking at the slightly dark tent canvas with as much disgust as his head could handle. Coming in, he had heard mutterings about a traitor- however, he couldn't be assed this late at night. He squeezed most of the moisture out the flap, and allowed the pants to dry itself however it will. He took off his shirt, doing the same. Though the Live Armor protected his torso from rain, the sleeves were still sopping wet. He crashed into his cot, throwing the blanket over him, and stopped thinking about everything.

---

It was no small feat that Kisikoni forced himself out of bed. His head was a storm of pain, but in the past it was a lot more severe as he had to train himself to endure these kinds of parties. It wasn't every day you could just forget your problems by drowning them away with a glass of ale. He felt sore all over, and looked down.

Gods under, why were there so many bruises? Did he throw himself down the tavern steps for fun or something? Kisikoni tried to concentrate, but his throbbing head and sore body stopped any attempt to divine what happened last night. He struggled to his feet, put on a overshirt to cover the bruises and his bare chest and put on his socks. Strangely, they had escaped being wet- which was strange when he saw his pants and shirt drying. They were still slighly damp, but almost wearable. His body automatically moved toward the exit, a response he had developed. His coping method when it came to hangovers was imbibing copious amounts of tea. He exited into a sonorous wall of noise that caused his head to hurt even more. He clutched his head, wondering if he could even make it to the tavern. He had his own tea bags, but they were running low and were expensive to replace.

He decided not to go to the tavern. Returning inside his tent, he took out a tea bag, he gave it a gruff whiff. The smell of home. His mother had given so many of these he joked about coming back with enough left to quench the entire village's thirst- if they were still here. However, as the ten years dragged on his supply fell short of the demands and he looked at the few remaining bags with immense sadness. He set down a ring of stones, and brought over some fire wood. He set a borrowed kettle onto a borrowed wire mesh, and lit a match. He knew he was forgetting something. Somebody had told him to do something if he was... hungover? The water had reached a steady boil, and though he had spent the entire time trying to remember, he still couldn't recall who even told him what he was trying to remember.

He placed the tea bag in, watching the herbs inside the bag tint the water a deep color. He swung the bag around on the string to stir. Hangovers were simply part of the balance. If people could be drunk all the time with no consequences, there would be a lot more drunkards roaming the streets. He accepted it, as it kept people (well, some people) in regulation.

Hangovers.

Somebody had told him he could get a nice cure for hangovers. But who? He poured himself a cup, sniffing at the tea and smiled slightly despite his pained head. Who knows. Perhaps time will eventually decide to speak to him. The loud whispers of Iriana the traitor permeated the camp, drowning out conversations of Talae's miracle cure. However, Kisikoni managed fine enough- though probably wasted more water as he had drunk all the contents in the kettle and filled his head with an acrid feeling rather than a painful one. It cleared his mind, leaving him in a much better state than before. Fanning the hot wire mesh and kettle slightly to return later, he began to wonder.

That Lamia had been fighting with them since he had been assigned to the Legion. How quaint that it would be her to start the fight. Would a spy really have gone to the lengths of killing hatchlings to maintain her cover? Who knows. He didn't know her well, nor did he see what happened. Rumors were rumors- twisted so that Iriana looked like the snarling devil slowly torturing her comrades before heroic Legionnaires skewered her with holy spears of light. He poked at the smoldering embers- the fire had lost it's use. Luckily, he had shielded the fire from any rain that might have remained with a small overhanging. It was painful construction, but in the end it was worth it. Now, he had to inquire what he had been doing last night- as he certainly didn't acquire all these bruises for nothing. He remembered he was supposed to tease Fae about something as well.