RPG Time! (10) (Patreon)

The first thing you feel upon waking is an intense throbbing in your head. You lie there for a moment (on the floor you presume by the feel of it) and watch the little pulsing white flashes behind your eyelids that seem to dance to the rhythm of the pounding in your skull. Slowly and with some effort, you pry open your heavy lids to stare at the ceiling, wincing as the morning light (if you can still call it morning) stings your eyes.

The night before comes back to you in little snips and flashes, most of it lost in a haze of drunkenness now turned world shattering hangover. You sit up from your spot on the bedroom floor and fight the urge to retch. Someone is lying nearby. You wipe the crust from your eyes and strain to see through the blur in your vision.

Lying flat on her back in a prefect X still clutching an empty ale mug and sporting a pillow case on her head like some sort of turban, is the old witch, peacefully blowing bubbles in her sleep. The room reeks of alcohol which doesn't help your desire to toss your cookies.

Did you make out with the barmaid? You vaguely remember dancing on the bar top with your new friend. Kinda remember falling off it too. Also, did you challenge the minstrel to a dual? You raise your hand to your tender right eye. Yup, you most certainly did.

You suddenly remember your coin purse and quickly pat yourself down in a moment of terror before locating it. You tear it open and check the contents, letting out a sigh of relief when you realize that you don't seem to be any lighter than you should be for a night of drinking. We'll at least there's that.

With a loud snort the witch suddenly sits bolt upright. She blinks twice before her eyes focus. "Morning!" she beams. "Nice shiner! Say, you don't look so hot kid. You need a drink?" That did it. You turn to the side and barf all over your boots at the end of the bed. The witch howls with laughter.

A short time later you find yourself seated at the bar once more. The barmaid gives you a wink as she pours you a cup of coffee. You're not really sure how to respond so you offer up your best smile which must not have been that great because she looks at you like your have a tarantula on your face and scuttles off. Uhg... smiling hurts. The old witch, seemingly unfazed by the copious amounts of alcohol imbibed the evening previous and chipper as ever has disappeared.

You force down a small breakfast and some coffee but you still feel wrecked to the point of being unable to function. There's so way your going anywhere today. The only place you could possibly walk to right now would be to your grave. You sit staring blankly at the back wall of the bar, the man that was once you now reduced to a drooling mindless lump of flesh.

Suddenly someone slaps you hard on the shoulder and tosses a small bag onto the bar. The slap causes you to retch but you manage not to return your lunch to the waitress. "Put down some of that! You'll feel better!" laughs the old witch in a voice that thunders in your head with such force that you have to put both hands to your head to stop it from splitting in two. You open one eye enough to stare down at the little bag of dried... herbs? It looks terrible.

"You want me to eat a bag of compost?"

"HAHA!" laughs the witch, again threatening to split your skull in twain. "Bring some hot water!" she instructs the barmaid. "You make a tea bonehead!" she says slapping you upside the head. You make some sort of noise that can only be described as a whimper, a scream, a snort, a gurgle and grunt all combined into one, before burying you head in your hands.

A few minutes later the water is delivered and the most horrendous smell of noxious rot you have ever experienced assaults your nose. You fight to keep down your breakfast. "Here!" says the witch much to loudly. "Drink this!"

You look at her in horror. "You've got to be kidding me? That smells like rotten meat and cat piss."

The witch scoffs. "There's no meat in there! Now drink it!"

"I don't wanna!"

"Drink it!"

"No."

"DRINK IT!!!" (Head-splitting death metal voice.)

Well? Do you?