Still Sozzled

1628, Earth Season, Fertility Week, Windday


Near Aldu-Chur, in the Healers’ Camp after the battle. Berra, still very drunk, wakes briefly. Varanis continues her watch. Follows after Sleeping It Off and continues in Tamakt Tucked Away.

Post Epic battles lead to epic hangovers (Session Sartar Arc 2).


Varanis blinks a lot and fails to fight off a yawn. On her own save the sleeping Humakti, she gets up and begins to pace within the confines of the tent.

Outside, there is a guard change, or possibly an extra guard got added.

Tensing, Varanis’ hand drops to her hilt and she half draws the blade. Her eyes have narrowed on the tent flap.1GM/Berra: Do me a Listen roll?

Varanis: 59 – pretty sure that’s a pass.

The guards seem to know each other a bit, but the one who has been there all along is asking, “Listen, this is a White Lady place…” like it’s a question.  The other answers, “I’m not killing anyone.  Unless I have to.”

Until it’s clear that they intend to keep guarding from the outside, Varanis does not relax.

They do not come in – the first guard falls silent for a bit, and then asks, “Did you get into the action?”

“Of course.  You?”

“Not much?  A bit?  I clashed but couldn’t find a target.  Too many shields.  And then we withdrew and that was it.”

“The Orlanthi did well.”

“Thanks.  That means a lot.”

Letting her blade slide home again, the Vingan resumes her pacing. There is barely room to walk up and down, and soon there is a muddy patch where bone broth got onto the grass and is being trodden in. Varanis doesn’t seem to care. She just keeps moving, filling the small space with her worry and agitation.

Finally, there’s a muffled, “C’rrrggh?” from the bed.  Berra gives Varanis a bleary, unfocussed look.

At the pallet instantly, Varanis demands, “Still drunk? You don’t look well.”

Berra blinks.  “M’asleep?” she says hopefully.  “‘m I?”

There’s a heavy sigh. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep you safe until you’re ready to be awake.”

Berra stares, still not comprehending.  “We gonna fight yet?”

“We fought already. We won. You won.”

“Oh.”  Berra takes that in without taking it in at all, and with that task done, puts her head down again.

Outside, White Ladies and those with a knack for healing – or strong stomachs – are walking over the battlefield.  Some wounded can be saved in situ, some dead are already being stripped.  A dryad’s home nearby is being guarded against those who would use the copse for pyres.  Humakti are usually burned on the battlefield where they fell, while other bodies may be brought back if they are close enough to home.  Animals are being rescued or recaptured, and the sound is slowly falling.  What rises instead is songs from different campfires.  Once the Comfort Song has faded after an hour or so of relief, other voices begins; chants of farewell, prayers of thanks, even drinking songs as people realise they have lived through battle.  The sound of Praxian throat-singing mixes with Tarshite hymns and Heortling challenges to the night.

Inside, Berra manages to curl up a little more. Varanis focuses on staying awake and maintaining her vigil. As the post-battle fatigue tries to take hold, she continues to pace. By the time Berra wakes for real, there will be a trench worn into the ground.

Odd sounds drift through from time to time – a horse’s neigh turning into a complaint about the quality of oats from those who have been personally saved in battle.  A young child crying.  A woman’s voice saying, “This is going to hurt a lot less than it hurts already, but everything hurts.”  Berra sighs, curls up, and seeks around her for a sleeping hide with her left hand.  That’s an improvement on her holding the rags around the blade of Wind Tooth.

Varanis sinks down beside Berra, not really caring that the grass is muddy there. She tucks the sleeping hide around her friend, whispering, “You scared me. Don’t do that again.”

Berra looks hung over now.  Pale, sweaty.  The poisons are working their way out.  But she’s breathing fine, and a moment after being tucked in she pulls her hide above her head.

Sighing, the Vingan stays where she is for a while, cross-legged on the ground. Before long, her blinks become longer and slower as do her breaths. Her whole body jerks sharply as if she’s just arrested a fall and she mutters a choice word or two. Clambering back to her feet with rather less grace than usual, she begins pacing again.

Continues in Tamakt Tucked Away

  • 1
    GM/Berra: Do me a Listen roll?

    Varanis: 59 – pretty sure that’s a pass.