Sir Osis
This little excursion was over. Monster hunting and demon beavers were not what he was getting paid for. He wouldn’t do any good if he died out here anyway. Mind made up, Sir Osis allowed sleep to come and take him from his pain. It didn’t come nearly soon enough. Then next morning, he willed himself to stand up again and called for his horse. After about ten minutes of that, Alphonse came lumbering to him. Then Sir Osis made sure nothing was left behind and put out the fire. The river’s cool water beckoned to him, but he was apprehensive about allowing his face anywhere near a place such a terrible creature allowed his. Thirst proved a stronger opponent than fear, however, and he carefully got a quick drink and some more water for later—swirling the water in front of him with a long branch every few seconds to scare anything off all the while, just in case. Then it was time to leave this cursed place. Every movement he made was difficult and there was pain with every breath—without breath too. He’d tried holding it to see if there was a difference.
After a couple hours, he had returned to the highway and was enjoying the feeling of the warm sun against his back. When he had reached a point he recognized as being roughly three miles from his home, he saw a man as old as the sun and moon bent under the weight of a pack that must have weighed twice as much as him. “Good day, sir!” he called in a voice which surprised Sir Osis in its clarity.
“I suppose one may call it that under certain circumstances. However, I shall be of the slight inclination to disagree with you. It is not yet a good day. Perhaps in a few hours, it will have sufficiently improved enough to be called middling, but for now it is a day that I would very much prefer to eliminate from my memory entirely.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” the ancient one said flatly before regaining his enthusiasm and setting down his pack before Sir Osis and his horse. The weight may have appeared to have been removed from his back, yet he was bent at the same sharp angle as before. “Whatever it is that’s ailing you, I have a product that would make a fine solution to it. In fact,” he chuckled as if thinking of the perfect joke to tell his friend later, “I may have several! What is it you need?”
“It is not a simple matter to—”
The old peddler cut him off. “I understand perfectly, sir. Actually, I don’t, but I wouldn’t think ill of you for it,” he said while giving Sir Osis a reassuring pat on the back.
“Have you laid eyes on the cursed beaver too?”
“Oh, many. That’s the point in which I usually remember that I need to be hitting the road once more and bid my companion farewell though, sir. You’ll learn in time.” He brought out a couple of glass bottles. One was clear with a deep brown, viscous substance inside, and the other was a watery substance with a color impossible to determine from behind the tinted glass it was in. He opened the bottle of watery liquid and inhaled deeply before pulling back an shaking his head. “Now this will cure anything,” he said with a laugh before tucking it back into his pack and smelling the brown bottle. “This here is the one we’re looking for.” He held it out to Sir Osis before drawing his hand back. “I am correct in believing you do have some coin on you, sir.”
After a couple hours, he had returned to the highway and was enjoying the feeling of the warm sun against his back. When he had reached a point he recognized as being roughly three miles from his home, he saw a man as old as the sun and moon bent under the weight of a pack that must have weighed twice as much as him. “Good day, sir!” he called in a voice which surprised Sir Osis in its clarity.
“I suppose one may call it that under certain circumstances. However, I shall be of the slight inclination to disagree with you. It is not yet a good day. Perhaps in a few hours, it will have sufficiently improved enough to be called middling, but for now it is a day that I would very much prefer to eliminate from my memory entirely.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” the ancient one said flatly before regaining his enthusiasm and setting down his pack before Sir Osis and his horse. The weight may have appeared to have been removed from his back, yet he was bent at the same sharp angle as before. “Whatever it is that’s ailing you, I have a product that would make a fine solution to it. In fact,” he chuckled as if thinking of the perfect joke to tell his friend later, “I may have several! What is it you need?”
“It is not a simple matter to—”
The old peddler cut him off. “I understand perfectly, sir. Actually, I don’t, but I wouldn’t think ill of you for it,” he said while giving Sir Osis a reassuring pat on the back.
“Have you laid eyes on the cursed beaver too?”
“Oh, many. That’s the point in which I usually remember that I need to be hitting the road once more and bid my companion farewell though, sir. You’ll learn in time.” He brought out a couple of glass bottles. One was clear with a deep brown, viscous substance inside, and the other was a watery substance with a color impossible to determine from behind the tinted glass it was in. He opened the bottle of watery liquid and inhaled deeply before pulling back an shaking his head. “Now this will cure anything,” he said with a laugh before tucking it back into his pack and smelling the brown bottle. “This here is the one we’re looking for.” He held it out to Sir Osis before drawing his hand back. “I am correct in believing you do have some coin on you, sir.”