Evenings on the Transdarian: Country Exorcism

Outside the city of Drache lies a number of cities, towns and provinces of varying size and populace. Most of the people living outside Drache are natives who speak Arangothian and observe the native customs and rituals. Click here for a list Arangoth's locales, and here to view a map.
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Pigasus
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Preferred Title: Setting Whisperer

Evenings on the Transdarian: Country Exorcism

Post by Pigasus »

In which Brexil purges more inner demons.

--

At Meli’s relentless insistence, Uncle Brexil finally went to the village warlock to see about his drinking problem.

“What’s the complaint, old Brex?” said Tagan, an ex-con with several tattoos and also grimoires, who served as the local wiseman and wiseguy of sorts.

“Drunkenness,” said Brexil. “I drink and I cannot stop.”

“You have a demon of thirst inside you,” said the warlock. “But we shall drive him out.”

He took out a bottle and placed it on the table along with a goblet. He poured one. Brexil caught the delectable scent of Vale oaken cask with only a faint tang of turpentine.

“Now open your mouth wide and say ‘aaah.’”

“Aaah,” said Brexil.

“Why are you looking at me?” Tagan gestured at the goblet. “Look at the whiskey and reach for it with your mouth, fool.”

Brexil cleared his throat and reached for the booze with his mouth as ordered while making a ludicrous ‘aaah’ sound.

“No good,” he said. “I can feel his urge but he’s not budging.”

“Firm bastard,” Tagan said. “Might have to butter him up to kick up his greed. Right then, have a shot and ‘aaah.’”

“I’m not having a shot alone,” Brexil protested. “What am I, some kind of alcoholic?”

Tagan muttered, reached for another goblet, they slammed them back before reaching for a full one as usual. Brexil looked at the warlock and shook his head. They poured another round and slammed this back again.

“He’s coming! I feel the bastard coming, one more! One more and he’ll be out!”

They knocked back one more. But the demon was a tricky one and decided to stay.

“Your demon is bloody spoiled,” said Tagan. “He can take half a bottle like a dockside whore takes sailor jism. But I value my professional integrity. We'll take him with a mug. By sidesweep.”

“How’s that?” Brexil asked, with a hiccup.

“You pour a mug full, and you bring it past your open mouth. Maybe the demon will jump out to get it,” said the warlock.

“Maybe he will,” Brexil agreed. “I would jump out.”

Tagan poured the mug, Brexil picked it up and drank it. The warlock was upon him.

“What are you doing? You are going to waste all my medicine! If you don’t want a cure, get out of my house and stop wasting my time!”

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m so used to drinking it when it’s in my hand, maybe you can seal my mouth so I can’t…”

“Seal your mouth? And just where is the demon supposed to come out? Faith, this drunkard presumes to teach me,” Tagan swore. “Here, I'll blindfold you. Now try it again.”

Brexil picked up the mug, brought it past his face and drank it.

“I’m sorry!” he defended himself. “When sight is lost, by Menxvan’s graces, other senses compensate. Smell, sense.”

“Smell! Sense! This is my second bottle!” Tagan cried. “Here, I’m plugging your nostrils and shielding your ears.”

“What about a toast?” Brexil said. “My demon isn’t some twopenny drunk either, he needs a good toast.”

“Bloody fucking bastard. Fine. May the grace of Menxvan preserve Duke Marcion Aldenbar and Branth Truxton, the true defenders of the south... Why did you drink it again?!”

“The toast was good,” Brexil said. “I couldn’t help it. It would be a disrespect to… Here, you put a gauze over my lips and I’ll say one next.”

He staggered upright, hefted his mug and slurred:

“People! Love one another!”

“Brexil! Let me hug you, brother,” Tagan wept. “That was so beautifully said. Let’s drink another one together!”

“I can’t! I have a demon inside!” Brexil yelled.

“To hell with him, Brex!”

They found Brexil and the warlock all the way at the edge of the forest, near the graves, surrounded by nothing but empty bottles from either magic potions or magic whiskey. It was late afternoon into evening, and as the men returned to the punishment at the hands of their wives.
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