Knights of the Nine - Beginning of the End

Chapter 20: Recovery (Part 2)

The Rain bounced up and slid off of the thatch roof of what was a little hut. Humid and somewhat moist was fluttered on the inside and the walls. Three people, laughing, drinking, playing cards, catching up on meals, were sitting upon a mix of two tables. Ciri, Coën, and Derek were enjoying a break from the roughness of the world.

A game of 'war' was brought to an end when Coën outsmarted the others and brought their reign to an abrupt end. Coën, the victor, stood up and downed another shot before heading to the john. Ciri readied the cards once more and set them back into a deck formation. She went out of her seat and found her way to the kitchen. Ciri was craving a chocolate muffin.

Derek waited for either one or both, sitting and drinking. The wounds that bound him to a chair sixteen hours a day, had taken its utmost toll on Derek. He shifted his arm in gentle circles as Coën took his seat again.

"Anythin' you need, say the word." The young knight balanced his hiccups to a few seconds apart.

"I'm fine," Derek nodded in appreciation to Coën as he reached for a spoon to subdue his throat from dryness. "Just hope time'll get in motion and I'll be good as new."

"You've been at this for 28 years, Derek. Ought to retire soon."

Derek chuckled. "Sayin' I'm old?"

"You're certainly ain't young."

The two laughed just when Ciri came through and sat beside Derek. She had chocolate smears on the creases of her mouth and one on her chin.

"Messy when you're drunk, aren't you, lass?" Coën handed Ciri a nappie.

"Mhm," Ciri wiped off the smears and laid the napkin on the table. "Four shots a limit, I guess. So... 'nother round of War?"

Derek looked over to Ciri with a mouthful of broth and swallowed it down. "I'm in."

"Another game, bring ye shame!" Coën said with confidence.

"The Phenix of Alburnesses Nest. Alex Hagenburg's book!" Derek laughed out loud, considering the author was a laughable comedic dwarf.

The two Knights laughed as their cards were handed out.

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The rain smashed harder and louder. The remaining cards wailed about on the wooden floor. The fire dead and many shot glasses tipped down. Full head of sheer steel armour was on the floor, along with swords and a quiver with arrows. The young ashen haired women slept on the table, in a seated form. Coën, the youngest out of all, was weighed down by his armour on the floor. Derek, wounded and the oldest amongst the crew, in a similar formation as Ciri. All drunk.

The door opened slowly and the rain grew louder. The sound of boots with heels clamped on the wooden floor. The sound of dripping water fell of a coat. The coat was whipped around the persons body, a hat along with it. The thuds came soon after. The person thudded to the table with the drunks and pulled up a chair. The dying light of the fire silhouetted showing a beard and bushy eyebrows. The man poured himself a shot and downed it quick. He walked over to Coën on the floor and scoffed, pushing him the slightest with his boot.

"Damned young 'uns."

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The morning sun shattered the eyelids of the sleeping people. Derek was the first to eye and he felt his head wobble and remembered such of the events of the previous night. He looked over at Ciri, drooling with dried stains of vodka on her shirt, then to the fallen Coën.

"That was a nice plate of steel... before all the vomit." A voice shuttered from the back of the room. "Good to know you got rid of the dragon. As it is that you're alive and... well."

Derek looked over his shoulder, trying hard not to out-stretch his hurt shoulder, seeing this man. Derek smiled faintly as the one aproached. The man took a seat next to Derek and placed his hand on a Queen card.

"Good game?"

"Coën has definitely grown better. It'd be quite the match to see him go against you, though." Derek looked into the amber eyes of the man.

The man nodded and rose up once again. He walked over to the sleeping Coën and pulled him up. It was a struggle for the aged man but he got him seated, no matter how uncomfortable it looked, and sat beside him.

Swhat

Coën's face flung to the left, his neck making a cracking noise. The hungover Knight groaned and rubbed his neck. He licked his dry lips and reached for a standing shot glass and poured one down. Coën sniffed and stretched his neck and body.

"Was getting so hammered to the point he had to take his knickers off due to pissing himself apart of your recovery, Derek?" The man asked as he watched the young Knight steady himself.

"Not apart of mine, but Coën ought to get a recovery himself."

The man walked over to Ciri and pulled her head up. A long dribble of spit strung from her lips attached to a bottle. The bearded man shut Ciri's mouth and held her nose shut. Ciri coughed and woke up. She coughed more and spit flew out onto the table.

"What a disgrace! To see, even, the young Ciri piss drunk!"

"Ugh, wail about your crisis somewhere else, you coot." Ciri mumbled loud enough that all heard.

The man scoffed, tugging Ciri's shoulder. Derek pulled down on the mans arm and forced him to seat.

"Thought you were dead." Derek said holding in a burp.

"Ciri said, I assume?"

Derek nodded, minding how it hurt is head.

"I was in a cell, along with three bulky Elves, and I felt young Ciri teleport close. I knew she was fleeing so I simply casted a navigation spell and looked through. Saw Ciri slaughter the no good king and was casted off just as she was going into a white portal. I casted my own to see if I could follow the traces of said portal but I landed in the marshes of Dubagg. Took a portal over to Borden and heard that some people came into the Knight holding. Came in last night and here we are."

"Great to here you're alive and well, my friend." Derek patted the man on his shoulder before trying to stand. "Help me get to the couch."

The man helped Derek get to the ripped up couch and lit a candle to lighten up the room. Derek shut his eyes and laid his head back.

"Gonna let this hangover off and be well in the coming hours. Talk to you then, Jeff."