Original Submissions by Semper

• 

  When Bynners Get Drunk
  Added on Dec 5, 2010

  Just before a contract to head north, a group of runners of the T'zai Byn get together to drink and have fun. A lot of craziness ensues.

  ---

  From the perspective of "the compact, sun-bronzed woman".
  
  
  Looking down from his impressive height, the blond, strapping man stares unblinking at the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  Clasping both her hands behind her, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "We are currently in the final steps of being awarded a contract from the northers. It involves patroling and guardind labourers clearing the North Road just north of Luir's."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man glances at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man tenses, slightly, the hint of a frown touching his lips.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Ah . .. "
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "They asked for the Ragin' Tembos specifically, but I'll talk to Sergeant Cael about borrowing some of his men too."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf nods, smiling.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Aye... clear'n it'a what?  Ah heard some-- yeh."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Sergeant, if I may..."
  
  Looking to him, the red-haired, lean woman asks the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Yes?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "This doesn't happen to have anything to do with the Kryl gathering in Grey Forest, does it?"
  
  Shaking her head, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "We are not going into the Forest as far as I know."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "... Trust me, you don't have to."
  
  With a nod, the red-haired, lean woman says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
  
  Flicking his gaze aside to the tall, heavily-scarred man briefly, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Its right near the Pah."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Alright. That's all I wanted to know."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man sighs.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Yeh, so need to go piss'n yer pants."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man chuckles at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man refocuses his attention back on the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  As she looks around, the red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
       "I've spent ten years here in this company. I know a unit when it's ready and when it's not. We ain't all there yet. I need every man mounted, and every 'necker with a tent. Who doesn't have a mount yet?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man glances around, for a moment.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man raises a hand.
  
  To the lean, brown-skinned man, the red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
       "That's one... and anyone else?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his rough canvas backpack.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man hums, and picks out a pouch, counting it up, before nodding slowly.
  
  With a nod, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Alright, we can work with that. We also need everyone armored and ready in fightin' order."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his rough canvas backpack.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "I'm as armored as I'll get."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
       "Just need an escort, Sarge, or permission, and I can get the cash for the tent.  Ain't been able to find a shovel for the shit, yet.  "
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Well, damn."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man closes his hooded, brown military aba.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says to the short, ebony-skinned elf, in sirihish:
       "Escort? You can get a tent down in miners road. I'll take you there myself."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Ah'v got armored covered, pretty much.  Figure ah'll go buy a better blade at th' bazaar..."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
       "Escort or permission for the flats, was what I meant."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "You need a sword?"
  
  Looking over, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "'ey, shithead.  Lemme see that one poker yeh had in your pack."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
       "I been wandering around the city for some time alone. "
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf chuckles.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "... The rapier or the shortsword?"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Yeh, sorta.  That rapier-thin'."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man wipes a hand down his face.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man holds up his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, and his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword.
  
  Returning her attention to the group, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Now we haven't sealed the deal yet but we will soon, meanin' you have time to prepare and that's why I'm talkin' to you today."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man nods to the rapier.
  
  Off to the side, you sit down, relaxing.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Which one you want? Both're fuckin' Militia swords from up north."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
       "Any questions?"
  
  Handing it over handle first, the tall, heavily-scarred man gives his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Lemme borrow it fer th' trip, aye?  Ah'll watch yer back for't."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf shakes his head.
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman sits here by the wall, relaxing
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Sure. Just don't lose it, that's high quality shit..."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man shakes his head.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "No, Sergeant."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man slants the tall, heavily-scarred man a smile, taking his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier by its carved hilt.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman looks down at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "And nah, I'm ready to go."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman asks the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Why do you have militia swords?"
  
  Weighing his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier in his hand, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Shet, this' heavy."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "They were given to me by a Half-Giant."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man holds his rib-hilted bone rapier.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man slings a rib-hilted bone rapier across his back.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman breathes out an amused chuckle.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man shrugs, off-handedly.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "We're going to be stationed in the north. Those swords will need to be replaced."
  
  The blond, strapping man glances over to you.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "They won't know the difference, trust me."
  
  Extending a hand, the red-haired, lean woman says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Show me."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf stops using his bloodied short stabbing halfspear.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "They're 'militia' swords, in that they came from there, but you can buy that shit from anywhere up north."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man gives his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword to the red-haired, lean woman.
  The lean, brown-skinned man sighs.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Ain' a big deal sarge.  Doesn' even have no emblems on't or brandings."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman nods.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Alright."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied short stabbing halfspear.
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf brandishes his short stabbing halfspear.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "They came out of the Militia stocks, no brands. Otherwise I'd never have taken em."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf sheathes a short stabbing halfspear.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man holds his hand out, for the shortsword.
  
  A Small Training Hall [S]
     This small, bare stone hall has thick straw pads on the walls, and also
  on part of the floor, to provide some small degree of cushioning from the
  violent activity normally seen here. Around the hall, a few pairs of rough-
  looking mercenaries engage in close-combat drills or sparring. The smell of
  stale sweat hangs heavily in the air. A large archway opens up to a larger
  hall to the south.
  A couple of large, etched wooden casks are here.
  The blond, strapping man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is standing here.
  The red-haired, lean woman is here, hands clasped behind her back.
  The lean, brown-skinned man is standing here.
  The tall, heavily-scarred man is sitting here.
  The short, ebony-skinned elf is reclining here.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Well, that's all I wanted to say. Get ready, really. Use the barracks if you want to drink. I'll be takin' Vhryss down to miners road."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
       "Think I'm gonna want to lay in a few more throwing knives, and I still gotta get some armor."
  
  The blond, strapping man sends you a telepathic message:
       "You are fun drunk?"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Aye, ma'm."
  
  Loudly, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Dismissed."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the blond, strapping man with the Way.
  
  The blond, strapping man offers a salute to you.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gets his waterskin from his small bag.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman snaps a fist to her chest.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Yea- Hey, hold it."
  
  The blond, strapping man trods over to a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "I know the way, Sarge. I meant, an escort or permission for the flats, I ain't figured the shovelling of the shit yet."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man chuckles, and raps a fist onto the chest-bit of his used bloodied chitin-banded leather cuirass.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man chuckles over at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the blond, strapping man:
       "Eeeeh. Well. Just don't get on my bad side. I've nevah hit no non-bynner..."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man glances at the blond, strapping man before saluting the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man glances over his shoulder once to the blond, strapping man then walks over to one of the casks.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The blond, strapping man picks up a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man picks up a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Gonna need that sword back, y'know."
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Lets haul these to the barracks, Berk."
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the blond, strapping man:
       "Actually...jes' might. Dunno. It's always a risk even for me to get drunk, heh."
  
  Gesturing with a hand, the red-haired, lean woman says to the short, ebony-skinned elf, in sirihish:
       "Well, you get a shovel, go to the stables, collect the shit in a bag, go on Merchants road 'till you reach the man with the cart. He'll pay you for it."
  
  You stand up, dusting herself off.
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Passing it back hilt first, the red-haired, lean woman gives her bloodied double-edged bone shortsword to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the short, ebony-skinned elf, in sirihish:
       "And get my bag from Berk."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man puts his bloodied short bone sparring sword into his small bag.
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf says, in sirihish:
       "Ah, 'twas the shovel part that fucked me up then."
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Someone doesn't ant to drink."
  
  Cask halphazardly under one arm as he gives his waterskin a shake, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Looks like yeh got a good deal, Blondie."
  
  The blond, strapping man walks south.
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man walks south.
  You follow the blond, strapping man, and walk south.
  
  The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
     This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
  at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
  story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
  several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
  and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
  pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
  lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
  the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
  bearing a purple dragon.
     The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
  there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
  The blond, strapping man is standing here, looking tired.
  - he is carrying a large, etched wooden cask.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is standing here.
  - he is carrying a large, etched wooden cask.
  The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
  The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
  The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
  
  Flopping it down, the blond, strapping man drops his large, etched wooden cask.
  
  Slouching it against the wall, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drops his large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man has arrived from the east.
  
  Glancing over a shoulder, you say, in sirihish:
       "We should make one of the new guys eat part of the rat to join the party. Heh. Heh."
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Heh-heh... drinkin'."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Ok, newbies."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Berk and Kar here can drink when and what they want, but you feckers."
  
  After a loud breath, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Hard stuff."
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "There's one, simple rule."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I drink:  you drink."
  
  Smirking, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "I bet I can drink you under the table."
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I promise, you'll be asleep by afternoon."
  
  The blond, strapping man opens his bone-studded backpack.
  
  The blond, strapping man gets his waterskin from his bone-studded backpack.
  
  The blond, strapping man closes his bone-studded backpack.
  
  Shuffling over to you, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Kar..."
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I don't think he seen me drink before."
  
  Glancing toward the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Hmmm?"
  
  Easing down near a large, etched wooden cask, the blond, strapping man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  Holding out his waterskin, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Shoulda try some'a this."
  
  The blond, strapping man drinks water from his waterskin.
  
  The blond, strapping man drinks water from his waterskin.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man turns his waterskin over, cocking an eye down its contents.
  
  Turning back to a large, etched wooden cask, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Shit."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  Curiously, you ask the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "What's it?"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man gets his waterskin from his small bag.
  
  You are carrying:
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Yeh ain' ever had flame?"
  
  A bone-studded backpack is already open!
  
  You get your leather waterskin from your bone-studded backpack.
  It is very light, and full.
  
  You get your waterskin from your bone-studded backpack.
  It is very light, and about half full.
  
  pour skin barrel
  There is no room for more.
  
  The blond, strapping man pulls down his leather and jet-colored chitin coif with a gentle tug.
  
  You drink the water.
  You do not feel thirsty.
  
  You are carrying:
  a waterskin
  a leather waterskin
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Yeh, well, ah haven' either."
  
  It's less than half full of a clear liquid.
  
  The blond, strapping man carefully pours his waterskin's scant remains over his head.
  
  The blond, strapping man pours his waterskin on the ground.
  
  Slumping back, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man rests on a small leather cot.
  
  drink skin
  Your stomach can't contain anymore!
  
  You sigh.
  
  You put your waterskin into your bone-studded backpack.
  
  You put your leather waterskin into your bone-studded backpack.
  
  You get your shot-glass from your bone-studded backpack.
  It is very light, and empty.
  
  The blond, strapping man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  Shaking your shot-glass, you say, in sirihish:
       "Got this for emergencies."
  
  fill shot cask
  Ok.
  
  You open your small leather pouch.
  
  You get your deck of Kruth cards from your small leather pouch.
  It is very light.
  
  You close your small leather pouch.
  
  You sit on a small leather cot.
  
  With a woozy gaze, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man lifts his waterskin to his mouth.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stops guarding the blond, strapping man.
  
  You shuffle a deck of Kruth cards.
  
  Bringing your shot-glass to her lips, you say, in sirihish:
       "Now, tah start it off."
  
  Pausing his hoist of his waterskin, the blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Hey, Kar, going to brush up that hair today?"
  
  You drink the firestorm's flame.
  You do not feel thirsty.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Jes' might. But only cause i's you guys."
  
  Tilting his head back to take a few gulps, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  You are carrying:
  a deck of Kruth cards
  an empty shot-glass
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  Just chugging away, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Let me get a drink, then."
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
       "Alrigh'. High card to see who drinks or does a dare?"
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "You're a waterskin down already."
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I'm in, for a dare round."
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Be back."
  
  Hastily, the lean, brown-skinned man walks east.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "We got all feck'n weekend. Whoo."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man has arrived from the east.
  
  You are carrying:
  a deck of Kruth cards
  an empty shot-glass
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The blond, strapping man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  Grinning as he holds up his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Let's get to drinkin'."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Normal Kruth ranks, Suits before Ranks, Whira on top."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  You deal a Kruth card to the lean, brown-skinned man.
  You deal a Kruth card to the blond, strapping man.
  You deal a Kruth card to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  You deal yourself a Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman drops down your Kruth card: the Water of Kings.
  
  fill shot cask
  Ok.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Feh."
  
  Looking down at his card, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Aw, shit..."
  
  Flipping it over, the blond, strapping man drops his Kruth card: the Stone of Truth.
  
  While presenting his Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit, the lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  As if it were water, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  While watching the cards from the corner of her eye, you drink the firestorm's flame.
  You are feeling very intoxicated.
  You do not feel thirsty.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man watches the blond, strapping man grinning.
  
  You are Kahya, a Runner of the T'zai Byn.
  Keywords: compact sun-bronzed woman Kharsa Kar
  Sdesc: the compact, sun-bronzed woman
  Objective: Survive and become a Trooper of the Byn.
  Long Description:
  Code Generated Long Description.
  You are 25 years, 0 months, and 140 days old,
   which by your race and appearance is adult.
  You are 71 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
  ...
  You are neither hungry nor thirsty.
  You are intoxicated.
  ...
  You have been playing for 3 days and 9 hours.
  You are sitting on a small leather cot.
  You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
  
  
  You are carrying:
  a Kruth card: the Water of Kings
  a deck of Kruth cards
  an empty shot-glass
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  Lowering your shot-glass, you say, in sirihish:
       "Whew...damn I've gotten weak. I'm feel'n it already."
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles over at you.
  
  Smirking, the lean, brown-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Shit... two shots?"
  
  l in cask
  It is empty.
  
  Amusement in his tone, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I know who'se getting hit first."
  
  Squeezing it a short distance into his mouth, the lean, brown-skinned man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Hey, I'm a light-weight for now."
  
  The blond, strapping man asks, in sirihish:
       "So who lost?"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man raises a hand.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Go lay a kiss on Serg."
  
  Tossing it aside, the lean, brown-skinned man discards his Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit.
  
  You say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Hey, tha's a nice one."
  
  The blond, strapping man dips his head, grinning.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "We gotta watch 'im do it."
  
  Looking about, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Where's 'e at?"
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Watch this."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man stares at the blond, strapping man.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman regards the lean, brown-skinned man with a flush to her cheeks.
  
  Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Who I gotta kiss?"
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf has arrived from the east.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "The Serg, who'se coming."
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf puts his waterskin into his bone-studded backpack.
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf nods, and heads back out, raising his hood.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man scowls at the short, ebony-skinned elf.
  
  The short, ebony-skinned elf runs east.
  
  Easing it back, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
  
  Suddenly, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  Absently, swaying a glance over to no-one in particular, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Hey, sharp-ear. Hands off the shit, hmm?"
  
  The blond, strapping man blinks a few times.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Drov. . . I'm finally feeling it"
  
  Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Wait... no. She said we got leave days, right?"
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man steps in, and blinks, before motioning to the grey-maned, wooden-legged man, and laying himself down on a small leather cot.
  
  The blond, strapping man tilts his head back, laughing merrily!
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man rests on a small leather cot.
  
  Smirking before laughing loudly!, the lean, brown-skinned man looks at the blond, strapping man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man closes his eyes, while the grey-maned, wooden-legged man gets to work wrapping his wrist -again - as well as a slash on his head.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man sleeps on a small leather cot.
  
  You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Oh, shet! I forgot! Kell, sarge said yah had to spar that elfie."
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Drink.  You're still a skin behind."
  
  Thumbing at himself, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I can beat that elf's stupid ass. I done it before, and I do it again."
  
  With a slow smirk, pointing at the tall, heavily-scarred man, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Oh. There's the one yah gotta kiss."
  
  Wavering on his cot, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Even as drunk as I am..."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman has arrived from the east.
  
  Stepping in, the red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
       "Runners. How's the drink going?"
  
  Pointing at the lean, brown-skinned man, the blond, strapping man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "He's the one."
  
  Glaring at the tall, heavily-scarred man, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "Grinz!? You want me  kiss -that- ass-hat?!"
  
  The red-haired, lean woman looks down at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Yah should drink one more shot, Kell."
  
  The blond, strapping man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "You're a skin behind, and a dare behind.  Get to work!"
  
  Eyes half-lidded, the lean, brown-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Absolutely right... what was I thinkin'?"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man sips from his waterskin.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman asks, in sirihish:
       "Anyone here seen Sergeant Cael?"
  
  The blond, strapping man scoffs.
  
  Wearing a loose grin, the compact, sun-bronzed woman pulls her hair out from her eyes, looking from the lean, brown-skinned man to the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "I've not . . .," he pauses to hiccup, "Serg."
  
  Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "So who'm I kissin'!?"
  
  The blond, strapping man points a long finger at the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman points absently toward the red-haired, lean woman along with the blond, strapping man.
  
  Slowly turning his head, the lean, brown-skinned man looks up at the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The blond, strapping man fails to stifle a huge grin.
  
  fill shot 2.cask
  Ok.
  
  Looking away from the red-haired, lean woman, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Sure she won't mind?"
  
  The blond, strapping man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Not at all, look, she's beckoning you over!"
  
  With a low groan, to find his head wrapped up lightly, and his wrist set in a heavier bandages, the tall, heavily-scarred man awakens.
  
  You exclaim to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Jes' do it. Yah gotta catch her off-guard!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks, in sirihish:
       "Ohh, ohh fuckin'... Ehh..?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man glances around, for a moment.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman tries to talk in a whisper, which is rather loud.
  
  To the lean, brown-skinned man, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "If you want a good lashin', Runner, go ahead."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks, in sirihish:
       "The fuck's goin' on here..?"
  
  Passing it over, the red-haired, lean woman gives her round black shield to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles a bit, eyeing the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  Grimacing, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Aw... but it's a dare. I can't -not- do it."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, at his round black shield, and grins.
  
  Tossing that over, the tall, heavily-scarred man gives his cracked smelly round black shield to the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "You'll do as your told Runner, drunk or not."
  
  The blond, strapping man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "What's he doin'...?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man opens his rough canvas backpack.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man gets his waterskin from his rough canvas backpack.
  
  Scratching at his scalp, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Then I... don't?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man sips from a tun of water.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man sips from a tun of water.
  
  In a stage whisper, you ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "A kiss on the cheek?"
  
  The blond, strapping man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Go kiss Grinz then!"
  
  Hopping up, the blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  Settling down, the red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
  
  Bobbing a nod, sitting back, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Lost 'is chance though."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man tries to drink from his waterskin but it's empty!
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Ohh, SHIT!"
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman offers your shot-glass toward the red-haired, lean woman a moment.
  
  Nodding a bit, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Definitely lost."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says, in sirihish:
       "Hahah, look at this..."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  Rushing over to the tall, heavily-scarred man, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man slams his waterskin back, and coughs.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Ohh SHIT Firestorm! FUCK yeah! Tuluki liquor!"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man tackles the tall, heavily-scarred man, smooching him.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  Easing down beside you, the blond, strapping man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  You say to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Whoooa, shit."
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman goes and hugs a large, etched wooden cask protectively.
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles a bit.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and falls off a small leather cot, hitting the floor and sputtering, throwing an arm up to get the lean, brown-skinned man off.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Ge- GET OFF ME!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man sits down to rest.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "That's enough for you, then."
  
  Pushing up, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "There. Dare done."
  
  Staggering, the lean, brown-skinned man gets to his feet.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman returns to her cot after the mess is over.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man spits, and sputters, before standing up, and raising his fist at the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  Holding out his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Fill me up?"
  
  You shuffle a deck of Kruth cards.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "I'll kick yer fuckin' ass!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  At your seat, the blond, strapping man says in sirihish, smiling as he glances about the barracks:
       "It was worth seven small."
  
  Holding out a hand, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Pass it ovah'"
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman walks east.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and coughs, before stepping aside, and grabbing hold of a small leather cot to keep himself steady.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man puts his waterskin into his rough canvas backpack.
  
  Taking a very long step, the lean, brown-skinned man gives you his waterskin.
  
  Glancing east, you say, in sirihish:
       "Awww, we chased the sarge off."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says, in sirihish:
       "Ohh... ohhhh..."
  
  l in 2.cask
  It's about half full of a reddish liquid.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
  
  fill skin 2.cask
  Ok.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man closes his rough canvas backpack.
  
  l in skin
  It's full of a reddish liquid.
  
  l in 2.cask
  It's less than half full of a reddish liquid.
  
  You give your waterskin to the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "You... you slimy... slimy fucker..."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Let's... let's go. Right... right now... Mess Hall... you n'me..."
  
  Smiling, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Mess hall rumble!!"
  
  Pumping her fists, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Whoooo!"
  
  Holding out a hand, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "My skin, please."
  
  The blond, strapping man shakes his head, chuckling.
  
  You are carrying:
  a deck of Kruth cards
  a shot-glass
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man coughs, and steps past, half-stumbling, before moving beyond the group, seeking the exit - and the mess hall.
  
  Blinking, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "I gave it tah yah, shithead."
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Still down an entire skin, lightweight."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man looks down at his already full hand.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man hits the floor, and... stays there.
  
  Nodding, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "so ya did."
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles, eyeing the prostrate the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman barks out a chuckle.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man steps over the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stands up.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man and then trips.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man grunts, and stands himself up, intentionally - or not - tripping the lean, brown-skinned man in the process.
  
  Laughing riotously, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Idiots!"
  
  Glancing around, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Wha' happened tah Berk? He pass out already?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man staggers east.
  
  Exhaling, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man staggers east.
  
  Nodding a bit, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "That he did."
  
  The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
     This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
  at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
  story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
  several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
  and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
  pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
  lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
  the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
  bearing a purple dragon.
     The hall appears mostly empty except for a few mercenaries here and
  there, mending armor, sharpening weapons, or just talking quietly.
  A Kruth playing card is here: the Stone of Truth.
  An empty large wooden cask, etched with flames, rests here.
  A large wooden cask, etched with flames, rests here.
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
  The blond, strapping man is sitting on a small leather cot.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man lays on a cot here, plastered and passed out.
  The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
  The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
  The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Awww. Damn."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is in excellent condition.
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks completely rested.
  
  You look down at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  Numerous bald spots break out all around this man's scalp, leaving only a
  few patches of unkempt black hair.  His face is angular and his body lean,
  though his arms are sinewy with muscle and harshly tanned in contrast to the
  rest of him, showing that he's someone used to the unforgiving rays of the
  sun and physical labor.  Much more noticable about him is his dark eyes,
  which seem to be permanently slanted downwards in a surly stare. 
  Crude cut marks are visible along his stubbled jaw, most likely where he
  slipped shaving. 
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is in excellent condition.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man is using:
  <worn on head>           a dusty cuirbouilli helmet
  <worn around neck>       a dusty dusky chitin neck-guard
  <slung across back>      a rib-hilted bone rapier
  <worn on torso>          a bloodied thick beetle-carapace cuirass
  <worn on left shoulder>  a dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch
  <worn around wrist>      a stained leather wrist guard
  <worn around wrist>      a stained leather wrist guard
  <worn on hands>          a dusty pair of chitin-plated leather gloves
  <primary hand>           a cracked round black shield
  <worn as belt>           a black belt
  <hung from belt>         a small bag
  <hung from belt>         an obsidian shortsword
  <worn around body>       a dusty hooded, brown military aba
  <worn about waist>       a tough, grey chitin codpiece
  <worn on legs>           a pair of patched sandcloth pants
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of sandcloth and leather boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  Simply, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "He's earned that right."
  
  You cannot wake him up!
  
  The blond, strapping man leans over and gently claps the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's shoulder once.
  
  With a cheeky grin, the compact, sun-bronzed woman stumbles over to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The blond, strapping man squints up at you, then glances down to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's eyes flutter open.
  
  Grabbing the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's hand, the compact, sun-bronzed woman loosens up his pants at the front, sticking the hand in.
  
  Giving the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's crotch a light tap, the compact, sun-bronzed woman stumbles back to her cot.
  
  Mumbling, you say, in sirihish:
       "We need tah get chalk nex' time..."
  
  You drink the firestorm's flame.
  You are feeling very intoxicated.
  You do not feel thirsty.
  
  Pulling up casually on his tough, grey chitin codpiece's strap, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well 'ey Kar."
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles softly, grinning ear to ear.
  
  As she shakes her shot-glass over her head, empty, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Hey to yahself, Berkie. Have a nice dream?"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man slumps back against the cot, leaning sideways on an elbow.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Yeh.  Real nice."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man smiles slowly to you.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you."
  
  Expression fading, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "But now ah got a feck'n headache to all krath."
  
  The blond, strapping man cocks his head, pointing a finger at his neck.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man rubs at his eyes, clenching them tightly closed.
  
  The blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
       "You like that smell?"
  
  Slowly turning her gaze toward the blond, strapping man, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Like...what smell?"
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman sniffs around.
  
  Blinking some, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
       "Can' even see straight.  What'd they put in this stuff?"
  
  The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "No, here, my skin."
  
  You are a little hungry.
  
  Looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, the blond, strapping man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Its just water."
  
  You are carrying:
  a deck of Kruth cards
  an empty shot-glass
  an unlit dusty simple, leather-wrapped bone torch
  an used round black shield
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stares dubiously at the blond, strapping man.
  
  In a wet slur, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Shut up, Blondie."
  
  You look at the blond, strapping man.
  A stocky and compact frame stretches to impressive height to shape the
  foundation of this human male.  Broad shoulders give way to a thick neck
  which supports a face shaped by a strong jaw and moderate lips set under a
  complimenting nose.  His eyes, a lusterous viridian, are framed by thin
  brows with a distinctive curve in their shape.  Short and tussled, his blond
  hair is thick and full, with a hue lightened to radiant heights by Krath's
  influence.  Lean, and suitably proportioned legs end in nondescript feet.
  His arms are defined, and his hands bare long fingers marked with callouses
  and scars. 
  His coif has been pulled back to lay against his broad shoulders.  Meticulously
  groomed, his bright blond hair is styled in a backwards-sweeping look.
  The blond, strapping man is in excellent condition.
  
  The blond, strapping man is using:
  <worn on head>           a leather and jet-colored chitin coif
  <face>                   an angular, crescent shaped scar
  <worn around neck>       a reddish-brown chitinous collar
  <slung across back>      a short bone sparring club
  <worn across back>       a bone-studded backpack
  <worn on torso>          a new chitin-banded leather cuirass
  <worn on left shoulder>  a red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch
  <worn on arms>           a pair of agafari-wood armguards
  <worn around wrist>      a jet, chitin-layered leather bracer
  <worn around wrist>      a jet, chitin-layered leather bracer
  <worn on hands>          a pair of gurth shell and leather gloves
  <worn as belt>           a leather swordbelt
  <hung from belt>         a bone-hilted, carru-antler longknife
  <hung from belt>         a short bone sparring spear
  <worn around body>       a hooded, brown military aba
  <worn about waist>       a scrab shell breechguard
  <worn on legs>           a pair of inix hide pants
  <worn on feet>           a pair of sturdy sandcloth and leather boots
  
  He is carrying:
  nothing obvious
  
  The blond, strapping man grins ear to ear.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  Flicking his dark blue eyes back to you, the blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Well?"
  
  Still staring at the blond, strapping man, you ask, in sirihish:
       "I don' see it. Yah're play'n a trick?"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man has arrived from the east.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man looks relatively fit.
  The lean, brown-skinned man does not look tired.
  
  Shaking his head, the blond, strapping man asks, in sirihish:
       "No trick, but do you like it?"
  
  Moving to a small leather cot, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Need... bed."
  
  Glancing over, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Oooh. Hey Kell. Nice of yah to join the party."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
       "I'm... comin'.... comin' for ya!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles over at the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  Bobbing an idle nod over, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Uh huh. Smells real nice."
  
  Face-down, the lean, brown-skinned man rests on a small leather cot.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stumbles in, and stops near the entrance, eyes dimly scouring around, before he spots the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  Smiling a bit, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Good, good."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Leave Kar alone.  Ah got'r ask'r somethin'."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "There... there ya are... ya... ya worthless fuck'n bunch'a...."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "YOU!"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Kar, stick yer hand in m' pants again.  Think ah liked that."
  
  Grunting and staring over, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks up at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  Rolling over, the lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  You ask the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Who, me? Yah sure that was me?"
  
  The blond, strapping man cocks his head over at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks, in sirihish:
       "Hands... in pants...?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man grunts, and half-stumbles over to the blond, strapping man.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "It was Grinz."
  
  Blinking one eye, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Thought't was..."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "You... an'... an' me...!"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man sips from his waterskin.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "What the fuck!"
  
  Turning a wild-eyed stare, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks up at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman begins breaking up into a laugh, rolling on her cot.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
  
  Brows raised as he waves on a cot, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Ooh."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Y'wish... t'was m'hand... in yer pants..."
  
  The blond, strapping man places a hand over his mouth, watching the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man and the tall, heavily-scarred man intently.
  
  Stumbling a step forward, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "You'n me.  Let's go."
  
  Muffled behind his hand, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "That's what he said.  He said he liked it."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man unslings a rib-hilted bone rapier from his back.
  
  Whispering loudly, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Teach that ass-hat some manners."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Aw.... y'wanna.... fuckin'.... stick me?"
  
  ~rapier held lazily and its tip dragging against the ground, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stumbles more over to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Yeh, ah do."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man hisses, and shakes his head, lifting his left fist.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Gonna poke yer feck'n eye out.  Get'n the training hall."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Yeah.... sure..."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man staggers east.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
  
  fill shot 2.cask
  Ok.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man runs east.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman breaks out into another wave of laugher.
  
  The blond, strapping man shakes his head, watching the retreating figures.
  
  Plopping back, you rest on a small leather cot.
  
  Grunting, the lean, brown-skinned man rests on a small leather cot.
  
  Glancing over to you, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I'll show you where to do that, by the way, one of these days."
  
  Staring up at the ceiling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Drunk..."
  
  Bobbing a nod, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Yeah...tha' would be nice."
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "One flask?  So much for your prowess."
  
  You think:
       "Wha's he even talk'n about?"
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles, wearing a wide grin.
  
  Holding up lazy finger, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "You remember the trick I told you about drinkin'?"
  
  Holding your shot-glass in hand, still full, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Suuuure do."
  
  Exhaling softly, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "What?"
  
  You ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Are yah drunk?"
  
  Eyes half-lidded, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Nnn...-yes."
  
  Snickering, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Pusses."
  
  With a shrug, head tilting to one side, you say, in sirihish:
       "Then meee too."
  
  drink shot
  You drink the firestorm's flame.
  You are completely drunk.
  You are a little hungry.
  You do not feel thirsty.
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Well if it counts... I had three bottles of spirits before this."
  
  Finishing your shot-glass with a flourish, the compact, sun-bronzed woman keeps her head tilted back a moment.
  
  Chuckling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "What's his face thought he could beat me too..."
  
  Snickering, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Right, sure, three bottles."
  
  Pulling it off, you stop using your bloodied crimson-dyed, leather skullcap, letting down her hair, speckled with old blood.
  
  Gesturing with his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Uhh... Ghani! Yeah. Ask him. Wasted all that saltin' 'sid to do it."
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Right, like I'd trust a northie."
  
  Wobbling a little, the blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  You ask, in sirihish:
       "Who the feck is Ghandi?"
  
  The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Stay right there."
  
  Frowning, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "He's a northie?"
  
  The blond, strapping man plods over to a tun of water.
  
  The blond, strapping man scoops up some water in his hands, carefully.
  
  The blond, strapping man strolls back over to you.
  
  Holding out a hand, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "Look out!"
  
  The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "We'll get that hair fixed up good, just, stay still."
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman seems not to notice anything.
  
  Grunting, the lean, brown-skinned man just shrugs.
  
  The blond, strapping man holds his hands above your head, slowly letting the water trickle out into your hair.
  
  As her hair gets wet, the compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of slumps forward onto the blond, strapping man's leg.
  
  Groaning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Krath, I hate it when people say I can't drink..."
  
  Japping a finger into the blond, strapping man's knee, you say, in sirihish:
       "Ahhh feck. Why's my cot so hard."
  
  The blond, strapping man chuckles, but doesn't move, letting the water spill onto his leg somewhat.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Wrong way"
  
  With a faint groan, the compact, sun-bronzed woman drops back the other way onto her cot before turning onto her stomach.
  
  The blond, strapping man gets his garnet studded bone comb from his leather swordbelt.
  
  Pushing herself back up, squinting, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Feck, what happened tah the party?"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man scratches at the bridge of his nose.
  
  Looking around, you sit on a small leather cot.
  
  Chuckling as he leans over, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Fighting and passing out."
  
  Holding up his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Drinks."
  
  The blond, strapping man holds his garnet studded bone comb.
  
  The blond, strapping man picks up a strand of your hair, brushing at it firmly.
  
  His voice sounding intense and focused, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "See, tangles and knots.  You've got to comb it daily."
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of waves the blond, strapping man away with a hand for a moment.
  
  Wagging a finger, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Daily..."
  
  The blond, strapping man rights himself, eyeing you.
  
  A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "You're next."
  
  Wincing, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Uhg... horn loud."
  
  Squinting, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Berk, is that yah? What are yah doing with that twig.."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human has entered the world.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human yawns.
  
  Waving his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I was showin' ya how to comb your hair."
  
  Adding on, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Daily."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human sits on a small leather cot.
  
  Sitting still, you ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Why do I want to comb my hair?"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man places with a long braid of hair.
  
  Leaning too far to the side, the lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human stretches.
  
  The blond, strapping man taps his garnet studded bone comb in his empty hand, eyeing you.
  
  Righting himself, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Because..."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human looks at the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  In an entirely earnest manner, the blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Why wouldn't you?"
  
  Inclining his head, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Yeah?... wait... no."
  
  Waving a hand absently, you say, in sirihish:
       "Ish...too much trouble."
  
  Nodding, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Yeah... She could be drinkin' instead."
  
  Chuckling, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "She *is* drinking."
  
  Nodding her head slowly, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "I *am* drinking..."
  
  Nodding sagely, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "You *are* drinking..."
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman brings up your shot-glass to her lips, emptying it out into her mouth...which has nothing in it.
  
  Waving your shot-glass around in the air, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "I *am*  drinking."
  
  Holding up a finger, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "But!"
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman wipes her mouth with a finger.
  
  The blond, strapping man staggers a bit, then corrects himself.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human gets his sharp bone dart from a multi-ringed dartboard.
  
  Pointing, the lean, brown-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
       "You aren't combing your hair."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human gets his sharp bone dart from a multi-ringed dartboard.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human gets his sharp bone dart from a multi-ringed dartboard.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human brandishes his sharp bone dart.
  
  You ask the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Huh? Why would I want tah comb mah hair?"
  
  Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Why wouldn't you?"
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human stands at the mark etched on the ground.
  
  Looking up slightly, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Uh..."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human hurls a sharp bone dart at a multi-ringed dartboard.
  a sharp bone dart struck the Noble ring.
  
  After a pause in which she has a finger to her lips, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "I...don't know. Can't remember..."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human asks the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "You saying she's got something to hide?"
  
  Wiping a hand down his face, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Because... shit. I know, I know."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human brandishes his sharp bone dart.
  
  Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
       "Uh..."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human hurls a sharp bone dart at a multi-ringed dartboard.
  a sharp bone dart thumps in the Templar ring.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
       "Drink."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human brandishes his sharp bone dart.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human says, in sirihish:
       "Nah, I'm pro'ly just gonna sleep."
  
  The blond, strapping man indicates a cask with a slightly misplaced finger.
  
  Waving a hand toward the ground, you say to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
       "Si'down. Yah're making my head spin."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human hurls a sharp bone dart at a multi-ringed dartboard.
  a sharp bone dart thumps in the Templar ring.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human sits on a small leather cot.
  
  Offering his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the thick-necked, beefy human, in sirihish:
       "One of us..."
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man has arrived from the east.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  Tilting his head back, the blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man shakes his waterskin in front of the thick-necked, beefy human.
  
  The blond, strapping man stumbles a bit after the massive gulps.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human holds out his hand.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stumbles in, behind the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, heaving, with blood set on his armor, and hands.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man stops holding his waterskin.
  
  Reaching, the lean, brown-skinned man gives his waterskin to the thick-necked, beefy human.
  
  Spilling onto it, the blond, strapping man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human looks up at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  Shoving the tall, heavily-scarred man away with a bloodied shoulder, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "That's what... yeh get."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human gives his waterskin to the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  Groggily, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Third . . flasks the charm."
  
  Seeming to spot the blond, strapping man, appearing mildly surprised, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Hey, Blondie. How'd yah get there?"
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Cheers."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man takes one step, before throwing his weight into the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in an attempt to knock his ass down.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Fuck... you!"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stabs the tip of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the ground, leaning into its hilt.
  
  The blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "I . . . drank."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man squeezes his waterskin.
  
  Slipping on his bloodied boots, leaving a smear across the floor as he falls, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man sits down.
  
  Wearing a loose smile, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "No shet? Me too."
  
  Grabbing a pillow, the thick-necked, beefy human rests on a small leather cot.
  
  Falling on the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, and glaring darkly, the tall, heavily-scarred man sits down.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of drags a large, etched wooden cask over to herself, dipping in her shot-glass.
  
  The blond, strapping man grins, bobbing his head wildly at you.
  
  Pushing him meakly off, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Get off me yeh feck'n shithead."
  
  fill shot 2.cask
  Ok.
  
  l in 2.cask
  It's less than half full of a reddish liquid.
  
  While fumbling for his neck, the tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Y'... y'take that back!"
  
  You are Kahya, a Runner of the T'zai Byn.
  ...
  You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
  You are totally plastered.
  ...
  You have been playing for 3 days and 10 hours.
  You are sitting on a small leather cot.
  You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
  
  Moving over to a large, etched wooden cask, the lean, brown-skinned man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man cuts slowly and uselessly at the tall, heavily-scarred man with his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
  
  Beside a large, etched wooden cask, the lean, brown-skinned man sits down.
  
  Loudly, the thick-necked, beefy human says, in sirihish:
       "You know, I think we got a pretty good crew here."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man reaches to grab his neck, and -very- weakly strangle the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman has arrived from the east.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "... Take i'.... take i' back!"
  
  The red-haired, lean woman looks down at the thick-necked, beefy human.
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  In a slow, mumbling chant, you say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Drink, drink, drink, driinnn...."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human salutes.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman snaps a fist to her chest.
  
  Flling up his waterskin, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Drink..."
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human rests on a small leather cot.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man fills up a waterskin from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man continues to uh... hold his neck, without actually applying any legitimate pressure to it at all.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman kind of brings a hand up to her chest but waves it at the red-haired, lean woman instead.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man grunts and smacks the tall, heavily-scarred man in the side of the head with the blunted edge of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, using it like a sword.
  
  With an unfocused gaze, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Yeah, I'm downing my third skin you puss."
  
  Glancing at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, the lean, brown-skinned man sips from his waterskin.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Who's that medic in the Fist? I forgot his name."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and shakes his head, before actually -squeezing- this time, and attempting to slam his head off the floor, throwing his weight down to pin the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  Holding it out, you say to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Wanna' drink, Luja? Bes' stuff."
  
  Biting into his lower lip for a moment first, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Ahh I know!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Take i'... take i' back.... righ' now!"
  
  Regarding the shot-glass, you say, in sirihish:
       "Well...one 'of the good ones, at least."
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Its . . its. . .old man. . . asshole . . . tries to kill me all day . . ."
  
  In a slur as he holds the point of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the tall, heavily-scarred man's side, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "He grabbed my crotch, sarge!"
  
  Suddenly belting it out, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Arrun!"
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Arrr...arrrrr"
  
  Turning his attention back to the tall, heavily-scarred man, wiping some matted hair from his face, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Gonna... cut yer eye out."
  
  Pointing a finger toward the blond, strapping man, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Arrrun."
  
  Shrugging, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Arrrrrr...."
  
  Pointing at the blond, strapping man, the thick-necked, beefy human asks the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Him maybe?"
  
  Laughing, then slurring it suitably, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Arrrrrrun."
  
  With a hiss, leaning his face over his face, the tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Ain' gonna... gonna do shit!"
  
  Calling out, face toward the ceiling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Arrrrrr......"
  
  You say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Arrrrr...."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man tries to make a prod for the tall, heavily-scarred man's eye with his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, only weakly scratching the skin near it.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Shut up.. an quit movin'."
  
  Laughing to the floor, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Arr...heh-heh..."
  
  To no one in particular, the blond, strapping man shouts, in sirihish:
       "You hear that old man!  ARRRRRRRRR!"
  
  Kind of spilling a lot of it by accident, you give your shot-glass to the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man bats the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man across the face, and leans in to give the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man a kiss on the lips before -throwing- himself back, and scurrying behind the red-haired, lean woman for cover.
  
  You shout in sirihish:
       "ARRRR!"
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  Grinning, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "I thought you'd never ask."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
  The red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman holds her shot-glass.
  
  From his prone position, the lean, brown-skinned man shouts, in sirihish:
       "Arr!!!"
  
  Knocking it back, the red-haired, lean woman drinks firestorm's flame from her shot-glass.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man lies down on the ground and rests.
  
  Spitting to the floor, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Ah'm gonna.. feck'n kill'm!"
  
  Blinking up at her and offering a salute that manages to hit his own face, the blond, strapping man exclaims to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Arrrr!"
  
  The thick-necked, beefy human has departed from the land of Zalanthas.
  
  Slipping over his bloodied boots, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man sits down.
  
  With a chuckle, pointing in the direction of a large, etched wooden cask, you say to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Still a good deal left. Yah need at least two..."
  
  Making a face, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Aaarr."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man scurries over the cots, tripping himself up a couple times, before half-diving under her cot.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman walks over to a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  l in cask
  It is empty.
  
  l in 2.cask
  It's less than half full of a reddish liquid.
  
  Laughing at the red-haired, lean woman, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Yea-arrr!"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man intently scans the area.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stops using her shot-glass.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Shut up."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman fills up a shot-glass from a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Kell-ARRRR."
  
  Knocking it back, the red-haired, lean woman drinks firestorm's flame from her shot-glass.
  
  Sitting up, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "Ka-karr!!!"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man stops resting.
  
  Stumbling a few times as he rights himself, the blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman giggles a little.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man shouts, in sirihish:
       "AAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man does that from under one of the cots.
  
  Wincing, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "This shit is weak. Gypsy brew is a lot better."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man squints on eye, roving his bloodied gaze over the cots.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The blond, strapping man weaves and trips his way over to the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman holds her shot-glass.
  
  The blond, strapping man thrusts his waterskin haphazardly at the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  You say to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Kinda'...hits yah at the end."
  
  The blond, strapping man says to the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "That . . .was my third.  Rules . . . you gotta catch me . . ."
  
  Spotting him, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Gonna cutcher feck'n mouth off nex' time yeh do that!"
  
  Aggreeing with you, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "yar."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Ya.... YA LIKED IT!"
  
  You say to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "karr"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Feck yeh.  No I didn'."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man snickers, and crawls over to the lean, brown-skinned man, before rapping him on the shoulder a couple times.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Feck'n manlover.  Now ah'm gonna cutcher cock off too, breed."
  
  You are a little hungry.
  Probably trying to right himself, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Karr. Karr."
  
  Pressing on his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier for support, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
  
  The blond, strapping man jiggles his waterskin at the red-haired, lean woman, staring at her appraisingly.
  
  You stand up from a small leather cot, staggering a little in one direction.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Hey.... Hey you...."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman nods to the blond, strapping man.
  
  Smiling, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Kellar. I like that..."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman accepts the waterskin.
  
  Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Huh?"
  
  Nearly dropping it, the blond, strapping man gives his waterskin to the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  Making her way over to the blond, strapping man, you say, in sirihish:
       "Here...Berk...I'll show yah someth'n yah can like..."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man latches onto his face, and plants a big, sloppy kiss on his lips!
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man barks out a laugh at the lean, brown-skinned man.
  
  Bringing it to her lips, the red-haired, lean woman sips from her waterskin.
  
  As he is smooched, the lean, brown-skinned man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Ugh...!"
  
  Falling over, the lean, brown-skinned man lies down to rest.
  
  Expression going stern, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Now yeh know how a' felt!  Kill'm!  Cut 'is cock off!"
  
  Knocking it back, the red-haired, lean woman drinks firestorm's flame from her waterskin.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man releases the lean, brown-skinned man, and smirks.
  
  The blond, strapping man stands blissfully unaware of his surroundings.
  
  Slumping forward, one hand draping over the blond, strapping man's shoulder, the compact, sun-bronzed woman reaches down to his crotch, giving a light squeeze, before giggling.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man makes a charging motion at the tall, heavily-scarred man with a wave of his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman burps, her eyes turning red.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the lean, brown-skinned man, in sirihish:
       "Y'ain' wanna ge' kissed... y'don' e- WHOA!"
  
  Groaning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "So the tables have turned..."
  
  Passing it back, the red-haired, lean woman gives her waterskin to the blond, strapping man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stumbles back, and scurries under the cots again!
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Fuck you!"
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stops using her shot-glass.
  
  The blond, strapping man gazes down at his own crotch for a moment, blinking.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stalks over to the line of cots.
  
  Her hands behind her head, the red-haired, lean woman rests on a small leather cot.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man gets his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword from his rough canvas backpack.
  
  As she stumbles back to her cot, you ask the red-haired, lean woman, in sirihish:
       "Did it hit yah yet, Luja?"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man prods the lumps under the threadbare linen sheets with his boot.
  
  At 1) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 2) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 3) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 4) a small leather cot are:
        the red-haired, lean woman, and one empty seat.
  At 5) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 6) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 7) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 8) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 9) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man slips his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword out, and continues scurrying, working his way in the opposite direction of the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  Idly, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "Oh, yeah. Feelin' like a fuckin' pickled ginka."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
       "Where are yeh, you coward?"
  
  Squinting at her, the blond, strapping man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Hey . . .that's not my . . ., " another hiccup escapes, "hair."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stops using her carved carru-skull face-guard.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man comes out near the entrance, as far as the cots go, and stands up, pointing at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  Managing to pick the same cot as the red-haired, lean woman to rest at, you rest on a small leather cot, kind of draping an arm around the red-haired, lean woman's waist.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man exclaims to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Y'come on, suck on m'dick, tough guy!"
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stops using her decorated anakore-skull helm.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man spots the tall, heavily-scarred man and throws his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier like a spear over at him.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stops using his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man staggering onto a cot.
  
  The end of it bouncing harmlessly off the wall, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gives his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier to the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  You exclaim to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Do it 'n bite if off!"
  
  The blond, strapping man dopily smiles off at a blank area of the barracks.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, and steps back, falling, with the rapier skimming right byhis head. Then... he grabs it.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stops using his round black shield.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man holds his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man nods to you and stalks over to where the tall, heavily-scarred man was.
  
  After a moment, you ask, in sirihish:
       "Ew...what was I talk'n about again?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man eyes the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, for a moment, before whipping his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier up, and angling it toward the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man looks up at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Y'don' wanna fuck with me..."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man draws an obsidian shortsword.
  
  Stumbling towards the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man and the tall, heavily-scarred man, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Uh . . ah . . One small on Berk!"
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man looks in the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man's direction.
  
  Holding up a hand, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Berk. Three coins."
  
  Mumbling against the red-haired, lean woman's side, you say, in sirihish:
       "Why's this so comfortable..."
  
  Meeting his rapier with his shortsword, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the tall, heavily-scarred man, in sirihish:
       "Back off an lemme take yer eye out, yeh coward."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man brings his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword out, and around, resting it beside his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier, his right foot set back, eyes dimly recovering.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man says to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Y'jus... try it..."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man asks the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man, in sirihish:
       "Think you can beat me...?"
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man starts moving the sharp edge of his obsidian shortsword towards the tall, heavily-scarred man's face.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man lashes out, smashing his shortsword away with his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword.
  
  The blond, strapping man staggers about uncertainly on his feet, watching the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man and the tall, heavily-scarred man with a bright, almost cherubic smile.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man grunts and moves his obsidian shortsword back over relentlessly.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man also watches the tall, heavily-scarred man and the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  Absently, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Just like . . .home!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man zips his bloodied rib-hilted bone rapier in, and thrusts it at his hand, while using his bloodied double-edged bone shortsword as a guard.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man sets the tip of his obsidian shortsword just above the tall, heavily-scarred man's eye.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man curses as the rapier bites into his hands, but keeps one forearm loped over his obsidian shortsword's pommel.
  
  Blinking as he stares, enthralled by the martial stand off, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Kick . . . kick his groin!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man blinks, then does just that, knocking his sword aside and throwing a hard right foot up.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man shirks to the right, moving his crotch, and legs out of the way.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man steps back, out of the barracks... and calls out...
  
  Rounding on the blond, strapping man, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "What th' feck, Blondie?!  Ah nearly cut 'is eye out!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man shouts, in sirihish:
       "COME AND GET ME MOTHER FUCKER!"
  
  Babbling on, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "B. . . burp!  headbuthim!"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man stands up.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man staggers east.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man attempts to walk, but trips over his feet.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stands up.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man staggers east.
  
  The blond, strapping man laughs whimsically, staggering slowly through the barracks.
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
       "Shut yer trap!"
  
  The red-haired, lean woman stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  From her spot at the cot, you shout in sirihish:
       "GO! Get the motherfucker!"
  
  Watching the two fall over themselves, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "I hope Grinz dies or somethin'..."
  
  The red-haired, lean woman shakes her head.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman places her carved carru-skull face-guard onto her face.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman places her decorated anakore-skull helm on her head.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman staggers east.
  
  The blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Just like . . . when I tried to kill Jaro."
  
  The Main Barracks [EU Quit]
     This massive, two-story hall seems to have undergone heavy rebuilding
  at some time in the past. Most of the vast room is open air, with the first
  story above ground level being nothing more than a balcony of sorts,
  several cords wide and running along the walls of the building. Both upper
  and lower floors are devoid of furniture, with several hundred grimy
  pallets arranged in semi-orderly rows along the walls. Solid stone stairs
  lead to the upper level from the western end of the hall. Suspended from
  the ceiling, more than twenty-five cords above, is a large black banner
  bearing a purple dragon.
     The darkened hall is crammed with sleeping mercenaries, most still and
  snoring, but a few not so still, and definitely not asleep. The occasional
  figure can be seen dressing and then slipping quietly out through the large
  hallway to the east.
  A Kruth playing card is here: the Stone of Truth.
  A couple of empty large, etched wooden casks are here.
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A large barrel of water is shoved in the corner.
  The lean, brown-skinned man is sitting on a small leather cot.
  The blond, strapping man is standing here.
  - he is carrying a large bag.
  The brown-haired, blue-eyed man looks around slowly from his pallet here.
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman stands here, watching the stairs.
  The grey-maned, wooden-legged man sits here, sharpening a bone-toothed saw.
  The dimpled, shaven-headed man looks over a wounded mercenary here.
  
  Looking over, the lean, brown-skinned man asks the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "You tried killin' a guy one time?"
  
  The blond, strapping man slams full speed into a small leather cot and crumples atop it, face first.
  
  *thunk*, the blond, strapping man rests on a small leather cot.
  
  Mumbling, you say to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Blondie...Blondie..."
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman mumbles a bit more, indecipherably.
  
  Snapping suddenly upright and leveling a hard gaze at a small leather cot, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "You . .. you got a problem!"
  
  The blond, strapping man laces his fingers together and throws a hard rabbit punch at a small leather cot, to no avail.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The blond, strapping man stands up from a small leather cot.
  
  Spilling off a small leather cot onto the floor, the blond, strapping man sits down to rest.
  
  In a loud voice which quickly disappates, you say, in sirihish:
       "Fix it! YAH MOTherfuck'n cockshushk'n whor...."
  
  Staring blankly up at the ceiling, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I . . tried every day to kill Jaro."
  
  While lying on her cot, you say, in sirihish:
       "What happened tah Jaro?..."
  
  Nodding slowly, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "I know what ya mean, Blond-man."
  
  The blond, strapping man lifts his head, glancing about in a daze.
  
  A loud horn blast sounds from the northeast.
  
  Matter of factly, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "He killed everyone but me.  I haven't found him yet."
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man winces at the loud sound.
  
  Holding his hands to his ears, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Ohhhhhhh."
  
  Brows raised, the lean, brown-skinned man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "No shit?..."
  
  Plugging her ears with a hand, you say, in sirihish:
       "Oooowww. Someone shut that thing up."
  
  Frowning, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "I need more booze."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man has arrived from the east.
  
  Mostly stable, the blond, strapping man rises and stands.
  
  Giving the handle of his obsidian shortsword a slow pat, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Took't right out."
  
  The blond, strapping man attempts to fill his waterskin from both casks, then gazes down at them with a slack jaw.
  
  The blond, strapping man shouts, in sirihish:
       "THE BOOZE IS GONE!?"
  
  Mumbling, you say, in sirihish:
       "Need moah booooooze..."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man turns his attention to the casks, looking just as slack jawed as the blond, strapping man.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Ah only got like three feck'n skin fulls'a that stuff!"
  
  Frowning, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "What? The Booze's gone?"
  
  Stuffing a hand into his small bag, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Wait.. ah think ah got some."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gets his waterskin from his small bag.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The blond, strapping man begins savegely attacking a large, etched wooden cask with kicks, elbows, and punches.
  
  Looking over to everyone else, the lean, brown-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
       "Whe's all the booze gone?"
  
  You say, in sirihish:
       "Berk saves deh day..."
  
  Wailing on a large, etched wooden cask, the blond, strapping man exclaims, in sirihish:
       "Give me more booze!"
  
  Stumbling a step over, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "S'alright Blondie, it's okay now."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man holds out his waterskin to the blond, strapping man.
  
  The blond, strapping man pauses his animalistic beating on a large, etched wooden cask, looking at the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  All traces of violence fading, the blond, strapping man says, in sirihish:
       "Oh."
  
  As he holds out his waterskin in a blood crusted hand, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Yeh, still some left in't."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man gives his waterskin to the blond, strapping man.
  
  The red-haired, lean woman has arrived from the east.
  
  Burping, the red-haired, lean woman sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The blond, strapping man tilts his head back and pounds another large helping of liqour.
  
  The blond, strapping man drinks firestorm's flame from his waterskin.
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man has arrived from the east.
  
  Narrowing one eye, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "But don' drink't all."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man exclaims to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "'ey!"
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman continues mumbling, the dawn light exposing half of her figure, and keeping the rest in the shadow.
  
  Handing it over clumsily, the blond, strapping man gives his waterskin to the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man makes a grab for the waterskin.
  
  Placing both hands behind her head, the red-haired, lean woman rests on a small leather cot.
  
  The thin, chestnut-haired woman intently scans the area.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stares up from his waterskin as its lopped into his arms.
  
  Stepping over to a small leather cot, and hissing, shaking his head, while the grey-maned, wooden-legged man lets out a sigh of his own, and comes over to check the tall, heavily-scarred man out, the tall, heavily-scarred man sits on a small leather cot.
  
  The blond, strapping man stumbles over to you, gazing down at you.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Feck'n krath, Blondie."
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man rests on a small leather cot.
  
  You have no feeling about the weather indoors.
  
  At 1) a small leather cot are:
        the lean, brown-skinned man, and one empty seat.
  At 2) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 3) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 4) a small leather cot are:
        the red-haired, lean woman, and the compact, sun-bronzed woman.
  At 5) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 6) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 7) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 8) a small leather cot are:
        a couple of empty seats.
  At 9) a small leather cot are:
        the tall, heavily-scarred man, and one empty seat.
  
  Frowning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "I feel like I should of been doing something..."
  
  The blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
       "You look pretty.  How do you do that?"
  
  The tall, heavily-scarred man sleeps on a small leather cot.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man reels his head back, squeezing his waterskin over his mouth.
  
  The blond, strapping man swipes his hand at the growing light.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man stops what he's doing to focus on the blond, strapping man and you.
  
  Grumbling, waving a hand toward the blond, strapping man, you say, in sirihish:
       "Like ah haven't heard that... gunna punch yah in the face..."
  
  The blond, strapping man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "Hah!  Try it . . .bitch!"
  
  You are a little hungry.
  
  The blond, strapping man lifts his hands clumsily, leaving his entire lower body exposed.
  
  Glancing aside, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks at the blond, strapping man.
  
  Sitting up suddenly, you exclaim, in sirihish:
       "Wha'?!"
  
  Groaning, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "Uhg... not enough shit to buy mount."
  
  Groaning, clutching at her head, you say, in sirihish:
       "Oohhh, my head."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says to the blond, strapping man, in sirihish:
       "Feck Blondie, cover't up.  Get'n sick of seein' cock today."
  
  The blond, strapping man asks you, in sirihish:
       "You say you'll punch me but I'll punch you or . . .wait, why would I punch you?"
  
  Glancing about, the blond, strapping man asks, in sirihish:
       "Where's Grinz, I want to punch someone?"
  
  Looking up, the lean, brown-skinned man says, in sirihish:
       "I wanna punch Grinz too."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man looks over his shoulder.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman suddenly lifts a foot up in a jerk reaction right between the blond, strapping man's legs.
  
  Nodding to the tall, heavily-scarred man, who's near the grey-maned, wooden-legged man, the patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Over 'ere."
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man says, in sirihish:
       "Think ah got that eye ah wanted."
  
  Crumpling like a heap of stone, the blond, strapping man lies down and falls asleep.
  
  The patchy-haired, dark-eyed man squints over at the tall, heavily-scarred man.
  
  The lean, brown-skinned man grimaces at the groin kick.
  
  Mumbling, holding a dreamy smile, the compact, sun-bronzed woman adjusts her position on her cot.
  
  Dozing off, you sleep on a small leather cot.
  You stop guarding the blond, strapping man.
  
  Someone presses his boot to your side and gives you a nudge.
  
  Someone mumbles in his sleep, "I'll . . . cut it off . . . don't . . . not agian . . ."
  
  Someone burps and looks up at the ceiling.
  
  Someone snorts, rolling onto his back, and mumbling something to the tune of "Rocks.... and trees.... and trees.... and rocks..."
  
  Someone prods his waterskin into his mouth, sucking a bit on its emptiness before tossing it angrily into his small bag.
  
  Someone thrashes about on the floor.
  
  Someone grumbles "I'll  . . . always . . you."
  
  You are a little hungry.
  
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman shifts on your cot, first an arm rolling off the edge, and then later your whole body, landing with a small *thud* on the ground, followed by a groan.
  
  Grumbling, someone steps over you.
  
  Someone rolls off the bed, and awakens with a start, blinking.
  
  Someone tries to walk out of the barracks!
  
  Your new ldesc is:
  The compact, sun-bronzed woman lies here beside a cot, one leg still on it.
  
  Someone nudges a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  Someone grunts, and crawls under the cots, before slipping over to a large, etched wooden cask.
  
  Someone sets his blood-crusted hand to his knee, pushing himself wobbily up.
  
  It is early morning on Ocandra, the 144th day of the Low Sun,
  In the Year of Desert's Peace, year 58 of the 21st Age.
  
  You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
  You are intoxicated.
  ...
  You have been playing for 3 days and 11 hours.
  You are asleep on a small leather cot.
  You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.
  
  Someone crawls over to a small leather cot, and climbs onto it, shaking his head.
  
  You are a little hungry.
  
  Someone sweats and rests uneasily, turning and tossing about on the floor.
  
  

  From the perspective of "the compact, sun-bronzed woman".
  
  
  Looking down from his impressive height, the blond, strapping man stares unblinking at the red-haired, lean woman.
  
  Clasping both her hands behind her, the red-haired, lean woman says, in sirihish:
       "We are currently in the final steps of...
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