I have a raging bastard of a hangover.

As I lie here, on this lumpy mattress, someone is kicking my head, I swear it. I open my eyes and I'm dazzled by what must be floodlights shining directly into them. Maybe it's just daylight, but I won’t be lifting my eyelids again for a while, that’s for sure. My mouth feels like someone has sucked out all the moisture from it with one of those dentist's hoovers and any second now, I’m going to puke.

There we go. No time to get to the bathroom. Just enough warning from my guts to lean over the side of the bed and vom onto this straw covered floor.

I’m so disgusting. I’ll clean it up later, I promise.

“That’s it,” says a voice. “Get it all out. You’ll feel better.”

Is that Danny Devito? Sounds like a cross between him and the guy who does the voice of Mr Krabs.

I risk opening my eyes again, and there’s an otter looking at me with a sympathetic smile. I remember now.

“Veppi,” I say, my voice a pathetic croak. “Please kill me.”

“There are plenty of things here that will do that for you. But not I.”

“Where am I?”

“Remember that girl we spoke to at the end of the night? Andraya?”

I was pretty sloshed by the time she came along and pulled me out of the quicksand of despair that I was slowly sinking into. So my recollections of her are muddy at best. But I do remember her sharing a quest, and us celebrating with more drinks before agreeing to meet a friend of hers at noon today.

“A bit.”

“She paid for these lodgings. We’re in a barn outside the Cackling Pig. There were another twenty or so folk sleeping in this bunk house with us, but they’ve all up and left. Things to do, adventures to be had. We’re the last ones standing. Or in your case, lying down.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten minutes to noon. You best get up.”

----------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later me and Veppi are standing outside the clock tower in the bustling village square, apologising to Andraya for being late. She’s all smiles and has even given me a bottle of tonic to cure my self inflicted illness. I drink it down in one go.

“Eugh. Tastes like cabbage and vinegar.”

“Pretty close!” she says. “I never go drinking without it. It’s an old remedy, with a bit of magic mixed in. You’ll feel better in no time, I promise. ”

She’s right. After getting over the revolting taste, I do start to feel a bit more human.

“Thanks. This is actually pretty good. Where did you get it from?”

“Well, funny you should ask. That friend I mentioned, that we’re going to meet? She brews it.”

Andraya leads the way across the square and into a narrow street that runs down a gentle slope to a river. The houses here are worse for wear and a couple of them look abandoned, with broken windows and planks of wood nailed over the doors. Sitting outside one of the derelict houses is a group of furry humanoids playing dice. ‘Rat people’ would be the quickest way to describe them.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“How much for the snack?” they ask as we walk past, gesturing at Veppi. We ignore them and they laugh, but they don’t try anything.

“Typical raffen,” says Andraya. “Annoying but harmless, unless you find yourself up against a swarm of them.”

We reach a house at the bottom of the street with its door wide open. Andraya knocks anyway and when there’s no response, we go inside. It’s a cozy cottage and by that I mean small. The hallway is so narrow I feel like I’m spelunking as I move down it, and I have to continuously bow to avoid headbutting every exposed beam in the ceiling.

“Is your friend a halfling, by any chance?” I ask Andraya.

“Good guess,” she says. “But no. She is renting this house from one though.”

We reach a door which Andraya knocks. “Mistle,” she calls out. “Are you decent? Can we come in?”

The door opens and there’s a woman about the same age as Andraya and I. Her hair is large and curly brown, making her features seem even more petite than they are. Her bright blue eyes are a touch glazed, and her cheeks and nose are flushed red. She’s swaying slightly too, with one arm holding the door frame for support. Looks like she might need a swig of her cabbage and vinegar tonic.

“I’ve been called many things,” she says. “But decent isn’t one of them.”

Andraya lets out a giggle and they both hug.

“This is my new friend Doon,” says Andrea. “And his familiar Veppi.”

“Hi” I say, with a timid wave.

“Good afternoon,” says Veppi. “Not a familiar, by the way. Anghren companion. There’s a difference.”

“I am sorry for any slight master otter,” says Mistle in a tone that is genuine rather than sarcastic. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Come inside, I’ll brew some tea.”

It’s a small room with linen cushions strewn about. Posies of herbs and dried flowers hang from the beams in the ceiling, giving off a pleasant potpourri fragrance. As we find a place to sit, Mistle busies herself at a wooden bench in the corner. I watch as she pours water from a jug into a copper kettle, then touches the bottom of the kettle with the her hands to heat it. She lifts the lid and mutters a few words, rubbing her fingers together as she does so like she’s sprinkling salt on some fries. Tiny green leaves fall down from her fingers and into the boiling kettle.

“Misty here’s a bottle witch,” Andraya explains. “A brewer of potions, tonics, and a few other handy things besides.”

“I make the best tea,” says Mistle, handing out cups of it. “I use a spell my grandpa taught me, so the credit is all his. Never fails.”

“Were you at the Pig last night?” Andraya asks. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No, no. I’m trying to keep a low profile. Sort of in hiding.”

“Who from?”

“Koldarus.”

I sip the tea and it is delicate and fragrant. I’m more of a fan of strong builder’s tea, stewed to the colour of wood stain. But I can appreciate that this is top quality, and I’ve got just enough manners not to ask for any milk or sugar.

“This is really very nice,” I say and Mistle gives me the warmest smile.

“Thank you Doon,” she says. “That means a lot.” Again, the way she says it is not at all snarky or fake. This amount of sincerity and lack of cynicism is going to take some getting used to.

“So how did you upset the old goat this time?” Andraya asks.

“I borrowed money from him. Again.”

Andraya sighs. “Oh Misty. What’s this week’s lost cause?”

“No, it’s not like that. Not at all. There’s a family, next street across. The father injured himself labouring at Three Farms and he can’t work. They have no money for food. The mother has twin babies to look after and one of them’s sick, and they got an old dog who needs medicine, so-”

Andraya holds up her hands. “I get the picture. You’re too kind for your own good Misty. You need to learn that you can’t help everyone. Other people’s woes aren’t your problem.”

“No they’re not girl,” says a voice behind us, “when you got so many problems of your own.”

We turn around, and there’s a devil in the doorway. Leathery dark red face, horns on the forehead, pencil moustache, swishy pointed tail - the lot. His breeches are three quarter length, showing off hairy fetlocks and hooves. His white shirt looks like it’s made of the finest cotton, and his woolen waistcoat is embroidered with roses that are the same colour as his skin. Clearly he's a devil of means.

He’s flanked by two goons. On one side, a bald blue humanoid with a missing eye and on the other, what I’m guessing is an orc. They’re both brandishing weapons, and doing a good job of looking tough and quick to violence.

“Koldarus, I presume,” says Veppi.

“The very same, otter,” says the devil. "But what the fuck is it to you?"