Submitted: 4 July 1997


The Red Velvet Smoking Jacket

by Herpo Drakonides

(Kaerna Village, Zoluren)
It was one of those days back in '48 or '49. You know the sort. The days when Elves retreat to forest meadows and dance pastoral dances or whatever they do when no one else is around to watch them. On this particular day even a well raised young S'kra (as I have been called on an occasion or two-- though only by those unrelated to me) would have been tempted to join them. I legged it to my vault and withdrew my new sartorial delight-- a red velvet smoking-jacket-- and, doffing my armor, I donned the smoking jacket. It had been a gift from a particularly beautiful Elven empath--a girl, in short, as juicy as the day itself--and, as I brushed off a (perhaps imaginary) fleck of lint from my lapel in her honor, I hummed a merry tune.

Stepping forth from the rosewood arch I espied an old acquaintance of mine. He started like a scared rabbit and clutched at the woodwork for support. I supposed then that he was simply surprised to see me after so long a time. Although his gurglings were incomprehensible to me, with hindsight I see now that he was merely expressing admiration for the jacket. Continuing to hum that same merry tune (you would recognize it instantly, it's the one that goes "I met a little Elven lass, pah-pum pah-pum pah-pum-pum-pum pum" or something like that and was so popular back in 347) I gave him a jolly wave good-bye and debouched from the Carousel making my way to nowhere in particular.

It was not long before I ran into Aldreties. I don't know if I've told you about Aldreties before, but never did sterner stuff walk Elanthia's highways and byways. He'd worked his way up from the ol' farm and was making quite a name for himself in the Paladin's Guild. No ninny was he, but a stout yeoman turned knight who was ever the gentleman, ever the warrior. Paradoxically humble and proud, he was a good man all around. If Aldreties had any weakness in him it was his desire always to be helping someone. If he could help by smiting some sort of evil or other, so much the better.

'Heyo, heyo!' I said as I tapped a joyful finger on his armor, "How's the Paladin?"

'Ah, hello, Herpo. It's good to see you. I'm fine.'

But we Drakonides are anything but easily fooled. Before the "ah" had even finished in his throat I knew that all was not well with the Paladin. A well-tuned paladin has a particular timbre to his voice and said t. was distinctly lacking from this one's.

'Paladin, the day is fine, let us traipse off and gather flowers and weave them into garlands. Let us gaily mimic the Gor'Togs and throw large rocks about in the fields with abandon. Let us scamper away and enjoy ourselves. Even now the whisper goes 'round your guild, "Aldreties is pushing himself too hard. Soon he must rest before he wears himself out." I imagine that you've already helped 10 or 20 people this morning, so the afternoon is yours to dispose of as you will. If you behave, I shall allow you to help an old woman across the street later.'

'I was thinking of heading up to Haven, Herpo. There is evil to be smitten, tortured souls put to rest, fiends sent back whence they came, and the dark mystery of the Manor to be solved.'

'Pshaw!'

'Pardon?'

'"Pshaw," I said, and I will say it again if you insist on pressing me.'

'I most certainly do not insist,' he said wiping off his armor. 'Is "pshaw" S'kra for something?'

'It is Dwarven, I believe, and means something along the lines of "You will accompany me for the rest of the afternoon and relax. No smiting allowed. And the only help you shall render is to provide me with the kronars necessary to purchase libation at the Golden Unicorn." Now lead on, for that is what you paladins do best.'

To my surprise, Aldreties made no objection but started off at once. I might have even heard a murmured "Alright" pass the barrier of his teeth but I would not swear to this under oath before a magistrate. Take into account the circumstances and judge for yourself. Our travel up the Northern Trade Road was without incident although a bit quick considering that my mood was to savor Nature's display. Nonetheless once we got to the Unicorn, Aldreties had noticeably cheered up. He had stopped glancing suspiciously about for evil and only once had I seen him choke down the desire to call out some rot like, "Are you lost? Do you need aid?" to passersby.

Depositing ourselves in the main room of the Inn, I ordered an ale for myself. Aldreties withdrew some milk from his pack and toasted my health. The hell-brew apparently bucked him up and he sat back with a contented sigh.

'This is nice.'

'I told you it would be so. You should do this more often. Promise me that there will be no paladining for an hour or so.'

'I give you my word,' he swore solemnly.

At this juncture you might well ask as to why I am describing what would seem to be an otherwise normal day. Sunny and cheerful, yes, you might say. You might even think fondly of one or two of your own relaxing moments with friends. But what happened next was to differentiate this from such occasions. Perhaps I should have started with this bit, but I thought the setting would allow you to recognize my dismay over what happened next.

Over the gwethdesuan came the call, "Deader in rock trolls. We need help! They're swarming." Much to the paladin's credit, his only visible response was a small twitch--or tick if you will--in the left eye. We sat in a somewhat strained silence for a few more moments. 'Two deaders," the thought came, "and we can't drag them! Someone help!"

Again my stalwart companion restrained his instincts. To the twitch was added a slightly haunted look, and not just in the left eye but also the right. Nevertheless he pulled in another abstemious sip of the milk and said nothing. Herpo Drakonides is not a man of steel; I am not an unfeeling brute. As the cries for help increased in frequency and urgency the obvious pain welling up in my friend was too much for me.

'Fine!' I said, my willpower breaking, 'I release you from your oath. We can help if you wish.'

His face came alive with a sort of feverish triumph as he leapt to his feet, but, ever the gentleman, he paused and inquired, 'Are you certain?'

'No, dammit. But you'll never forgive me if I don't let you do this.'

In those days I had acquired something of a name for myself as a dragger par excellence and here came another opportunity to increase my reputation. A group of dumbfounded paladins and barbarians stood around the first corpse. Each was encased in a mountain of metal, as was the corpse, and perhaps the ground sagged a little from the combined weight. I was not the strongest there but unencumbered as I was, I was able to drag; and drag I did while the brave warriors around me fought off the trolls. Aldreties met me by the pool and we set off to find the second corpse. Again I dragged. Just outside of the log I collapsed from fatigue. Luckily Aldreties was relatively fresh and unfatigued and he managed to pull the body into the log.

As I sat there alone two rock trolls entered the room. I was exhausted but confident enough. The trolls in those days were made of stronger stuff than their miserable descendants today, but I had recently been fighting them more and more often and with greater and greater success. Leaping to my feet, I turned to face the first one. Glancing down I saw that the weapon with which I had unthinkingly proposed to fight off the troll was nothing more than a mug of frothy ale. Startled, I confess, I actually let a bit of the sacred liquid slosh over the side of the mug and drain into the creek. Deftly dodging a blow from the troll I moved the ale over to my left hand and drew forth my scimitar.

Having prepared myself for further battle with a quick draught of the brew, I parried the next clumsy attack. At this point the two trolls had me surrounded. To my shock, the second troll landed a light hit to my leg. Looking down at the scratch I saw to my horror that I was wearing no greaves.

'Gah!' I uttered. And I meant it. I meant it so fervently, in fact, that I sent the same thought out over the gwethdesuan.

A third troll arrived and advanced on me. This one swung at me, neatly removing the button from my red velvet smoking-jacket. The cool breath of air that hit my abdomen gave me pause. It was then that I realized my only defensive deficiency was not a lack of greaves. I was, in fact, completely unarmored aside from that smoking-jacket.

For some minutes the trolls worked at me wearing me down and pressing closer and closer. Like a well trained squad of soldiers they hounded me and kept me from retreating. When I escaped two, I would invariably find the third waiting behind me. Desperate now, I launched into a complicated series of jabs and parries that somehow kept me alive.

Another minute passed and I had managed to injure one of the trolls greatly despite my weariness and despite the odds, but things were not looking the brightest for Herpo. It must have been another hour before Aldreties finally reappeared.

'Gah!' I repeated for his benefit.

Now I cannot claim to understand the Trollish language. I have heard them babble any number of things while fighting, but never anything that I would say sounded like "Gah!" Nonetheless to this day I am convinced that "Gah!" in Trollish means something akin to "I am outnumbered already but you are welcome to come join in the fun." I take as my evidence for this that 1) when the first two trolls had entered and I had exclaimed "Gah!", almost immediately a third had arrived, and, 2) upon my second "Gah!" a fourth was added to the third. I am grateful that trolls do not wear gwethdesuans or I might have faced a whole tribe or gaggle or whatever-you-call-it of trolls.

I did not, at the time, test this linguistic theory because, noticing that the fourth troll was preventing Aldreties from coming to my immediate aid, I raised another cry altogether. I hope my mother never comes to learn of it, but I wailed in the loudest voice I could muster, 'I'm going to die!' I then began to repeat this mantra at regular intervals. Over and over again, between jabs, parries, thrusts and slices, a Drakonides voice was heard sounding this miserable swan song. Occasionally I was forced to pause momentarily and refresh my voice with a bit of ale, but it would not be going too far, in my opinion, to say that my shout of 'I'm going to die!' was unceasing and undiminished.

Somehow, miraculously, over the 6 to 8 hours it seemingly took Aldreties to kill the fourth troll I managed to stay mostly on my feet and wholly alive. I began to grow a bit giddy from lack of regular respiration and combat exhaustion. I felt as light as a feather and from that moment on, the battle swung our way. My cries of despair finally did cease to be replaced with cries of triumph. Aldreties and I dispatched 2 of the remaining trolls and although more were soon to arrive (obviously too far away to respond immediately to the "Gah!"), further aid was to arrive in the form of the barbarians and paladins who had been occupied with the dead.



I owed my life to Aldreties that day, as I had owed it to him many times before and often also afterwards. The day he disappeared--whether he went back to the farm or whether the fiends finally managed to steal his soul as they had tried to do so many times--was one of the blackest days I have experienced in my twenty-odd years of life. I shall never forget him. Besides, he still owes me money. And when my time finally does come, my last thoughts will be of many people but they will pause a moment, perhaps, when they come to him and I will wonder whether, were Aldreties still around, he could have held death away from me a bit longer.

When I do die though, I doubt I will be wearing the smoking-jacket. I have never died while wearing it and have now become convinced that it affords me invulnerability. If I die of old age and my body remains behind after my soul has gone to join my ancestors, I hope that that Elven woman--Lythaea, an empath as beautiful and graceful as Hodierna herself--who will still be in the prime of her life then, will dress me in that jacket and bury me. And think of the brief span when we shared youth equally, when time had not yet ravaged my scales.