Bricc of Ages: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Mountain (Snarg)

[Hyacinthus]

"So let me get this straight."

By comparison, Siege was having a grand old time. Honestly, the most fun she'd had in recent memory. Snarg was an absolute hoot of a human— And that was before she learned all this incredibly silly, yet adorable backstory behind him. The barkeep, who seemed to be having about as much fun as she was, kept them well and truly lubricated-- and while Siege was very much enjoying the blended beast of a concoction, she could tell that her drinking buddy was only just hanging on by a few threads-- which was even funnier. Having just put down another cup herself, she carried on with her new favorite pastime of making his day worse.

"You protect the innocent, you love children, you have adoring fans-- Aren't you, like, some kind of modern-day super hero?" She couldn't help but ask, leaning back in her 'chair' a bit as the sound of two kids-- two boys, she guessed-- echoed through her helmet. She couldn't see-- they were behind her a ways-- but it sounded like they were playing with a ball. Or whatever human children did.

"WAIT-- Is the big meanie-face thing an act so that people don't get too close to you 'for their own protection'? Oh, dude-- you're literally like a super hero, aren't you!? Bahahahaha!"

This was fantastic. Kiri would've loved this guy! Probably. It was hard to tell with her; She killed the things she liked, from what Siege knew. She... also killed the things she didn't like, so maybe that wasn't a good measure.

[Goldie]

Snarg couldn't take it anymore. None of this was going how he wanted it let alone how he expected. Today was supposed to be: collect bounty, deposit bounty, leave town, next job. With some quiet alone time to nurse some drink.

Fuck! Facility fucking shit!

He downed another cup, ignoring the concerned glances Ian shot him, but to his credit he didn't try to stop him anymore. And so he glowered, and drank, and drank...

And then, when he wouldn't remember a thing in the morning, Sebastián started to sing. He held up his mug and grinned at Siege as the world lurched and let his rich bass voice rise in a lewd bar song that would have made his grandmother blush.

"Yera good armor..." he said mid-phrase, leaning across the table to knock on Siege's arm, "real good armor!"

[Hyacinthus]

Naturally, Siege was having the time of her life. She couldn't remember the last time a human had done so much-- gone so far-- seemingly just for the sake of entertaining her! So beside herself with glee was she that she hadn't even stopped to consider the negative effects that the alcohol might've been having on the man-- and why would she? She didn't really have a frame of reference for what, exactly, a stout drink did to a mortal vessel-- she kinda just enjoyed the taste, herself.

Mind you, this was before Snarg got up and started singing-- which only caused the already bellyful laughter from Siege at his earlier antics to intensify, her slamming her fist on the table mid-gigglefit as he went on about 'a buxom young widow who still wore her weeds' and so forth. Siege was near-helpless at his hilarity; Practically smitten with this comparatively sillier side of her drinking buddy.

"I AM a good armor, aren't I!" Her sentence was an attempt at defeating her giggles-- they subsided, but didn't leave her be entirely. Progress! "You're the funniest human I've ever had drinks with-- I ought to keep you!"

It was a weird sentence-- one that Siege didn't think about before it came out of her mouth. She was having so much fun-- and he seemed a good enough sort. Honestly... Kiri probably wouldn't mind, would she...?

[Goldie]

Snarg let out a drunken laugh at Siege's pure glee and took another swig of his most recent drink. He was nearing dangerous levels but was hardly at a point where he was making good choices or understood that he needed to cut himself off. Thankfully, Ian was keeping a wary eye on the day-drinker and had started diluting his drinks, but that only went so far and the mercenary kept going.

"Ye couln't handle all this," he gestured to himself, but it was more of an awkward flail than a true purposeful movement, "An I don' belong t'nobody. Essept th'women." it was an odd brag considering Snarg wasn't really one for romance, even at brothels, but Siege had mentioned wanting drink and ladies so it was clearly on his mind.

"So where y'from, M'lady Armour?" he slurred, learning sloppily across the table towards his companion, "Married t'a nice helmet? Or...or....or scabbard? A visor?"

[Hyacinthus]

"Pfffft-- Hahahahaha, oh gods, you are adorable!"

Siege was in tatters-- figuratively, not literally, she was basically fort knox literally. Figuratively. Snarg's antics, however, had carved a niche into her non-existent heart, and she couldn't get enough of it-- clapping and cheering him on with every amusing set of antics he pulled, and goading him further and further with every mug of drink that he downed. If it wasn't already clear, then the next round or two would more than prove that despite his 'aggressive' behavior, the living armor was the real bad influence here.

"I don't belong to anybody, either, big guy-- I haven't met a helmet, a scabbard, a visor, a man, who could handle all THIS." The armor raised a metal-plated gauntlet, and slammed it with force against it's own body-- a loud, somewhat empty thud ringing out as she did so.

[Goldie]

Snarg wasn't a light weight by any means. In fact, just looking at him would tell you he'd be able to throw back a large number of drinks before things got questionable. And he had, many times before. You didn't have his life or be in his line of work without drowning your questionable life choices in copious amounts of liquor. Most nights he fell asleep nursing a bottle or something or another.

But now? This? This was different. The sun was still high, the heat of the day only just over its peak, and his eyes were so unfocused he had a hard time leading his hand to lift the drink to his lips. The voice that would normally tell someone to stop had long since quieted.

"Ye'd make a good suit o'armor fer sum'un." He slurred, continuing to pat her hand, and then he started singing again, but this time his words were so mixed that it didn't sound like anything more than odd groans with a hint of pitch. He hadn't even noticed that the last cup he'd been brought was simply straight water, or that Ian and his staff watched warily from the sidelines. They had been in this business for a long time and recognized the danger signs.

At Ian's bidding, a woman came over with a plate of crusty bread and sat it in the middle of the table. She glanced at Snarg, then at the towering siege armor with more than a little trepidation.

"Can you try to get him to eat this?" she asked Siege quietly, "Please? And...maybe find a place for him to sleep it off safely."

[Hyacinthus]

With a bright, wide grin... or what would've been a grin on an actual face, Siege fanned at her helmet, positively pleased with the compliment from her new favorite human. "D'awww, I'm sure you say that to all the full suits of armor you see! But hell, sweet of you to say all the same!" Cooed the massive Iron Maiden, before swatting his hand away playfully.

Siege wasn't particularly used to compliments. More often than not, she was attuned to fear, death threats and the like. And with good reason— despite the feminine voice of the living armor, she was a brutish, heavy-handed monster of a mercenary typically, likely not too unlike Snarg himself in her mind. The difference was that there wasn't a face to her to humanize her in the eyes of others— no "man" behind the mask, so to speak.

Perhaps that was why she was having so much fun— this was one of the first times that someone, anyone, had treated her the way she was being treated.

Likewise, as she turned to take the bit of bread from the woman who'd approached their table, it was also the reason she didn't want their fun to end. "He's fiiiiiiiiine," she reassured the bar maiden, setting the bread on the table, her forearm guard resting with a heavy thud, "He's having a good time! Don't worry, I'll take goooooood care of him. Now— MORE DRINKS FOR MR. BEAST!" She exclaimed happily, her declaration echoing through the nearby seating area.

[Goldie]

By the point they had brought over the bread it was most likely too late for much to be done for Snarg anyways, but anything would have been better than nothing at this point. His eyes were glassy and gazed unseeingly at the world through hooded lids while his lips were pulled in a lopsided smile within his tanned and leathery face. He spoke frequently, but none of the words even sounded like words at this point. Even as he reached forward to once again pat Siege's hand, he missed and ended up tapping the table with his fingers and muttering something incoherent.

None of this would be remembered in the morning and, if the fearful look of the waitstaff meant anything, perhaps he wouldn't even wake after the amount of alcohol he had consumed in a desperate attempt to pretend like he wasn't even there anymore. It wasn't like he was being purposefully belligerent or drank so much before it was something he was wont to do, no, he had only kept drinking as a means of coping. How many people could say they'd handle a giant unkillable suit of armor any better? But not just a suit of armor, a suit of armor that also was a prison from something potentially more terrifying.

Snarg couldn't kill this thing without being killed in turn.

So he drank.

He drank so much that everything went black and he ceased to exist for a time.

[Hyacinthus]

Unfortunately for dearest Snarg, Siege-- though admittedly aware enough of her poor influence on the heroic mercenary-turned-drunk, was comparatively less skilled at toning down the fun and excitement of a party gone off-the-rails than she was at riling them up. Indeed, the longer Snarg drank, and the more she goaded him on in turn, the further out of control their little daydrinking venture went-- With the armor only remembering to make sure he ate something after the second time he'd tripped over his own feet and nearly planed himself into the sun-heated stone bricks beneath them like some upside down flower. Really funny to watch, admittedly!

Funnier still was his incessant and somewhat belligerent defiance against her as she tried to get him to eat. It got so bad-- at least, to the good folk who happened a passing glance-- that Siege eventually had to pick him up off the ground, and hold him tight to her breastplate with one arm, and fight him over shoving the previously-given bread into his mouth with the other. Honestly, highlight of her day, that.

Granted, him spitting most of it right back out didn't seem to help the situation much, but Siege, who still held him in her arms, didn't seem to mind it-- Not as she bid farewell to the barkeep, nor as she went on to wander the small city with the crazed madman of a merc still stuffed under one of her arms-- to make sure he didn't escape and cause trouble, of course. Not because she always wondered what it would be like to take a human for a walk or anything. Besides, after the second or third hole in the wall tavern that she'd dragged him into, he seemed either far more coax-able and docile... or unconscious on his feet. It was really hard to tell with humans.

Such a fantastic day couldn't just end there, though-- Siege wouldn't have it. Good food and drink could only be rounded off with one thing, and one thing only-- KILLING! And thus did she, with a near-unconscious Snarg in hand, bid farewell to the town and it's incredibly worried (for an obviously good reason) people, before heading back out into the desert sands.

---

That was a day ago.

Fortunately, and true to her word, Siege had indeed found a safe enough spot for Snarg to rest, and sleep off the... remainder, we'll say, of his blackout. There was shade, provided by a dilapidated stone rooftop. There was warmth-- after all, the desert sands which had buried half of the abandoned buildings nearby made for fairly good sleeping digs, as long as your head was elevated enough, which she was kind enough to ensure by setting his head up on a makeshift cloth bag of yet more sand that she'd fashioned out of some skeleton's cloth-wear she'd found. There was even water nearby-- though 'nearby' was probably something close to a quarter-mile away, and 'water' was a small lake, seemingly man-made yet ages old with no real maintenance to be seen.

Yes, Snarg had it all... minus one thing. Or, one 'person'.

Instead, were he to wake up at all, he'd be met not with the towering mass of armor, but the cold, predatory gaze of an entirely different 'companion' from across the room... one who's blade stood drawn, and ready to strike in an instant.

Oh, it was good to be back... if only for a little while.

[Goldie]

The ground was hard and cold. It was always that way. Very rarely did Snarg wake up in a comfort so none of this was unusual. What was odd, however, was the splitting headache that threatened to rip his face in half in addition to the chills that wracked him and the pains that churned in his stomach.

What had happened? Had he been in a fight? Was he disemboweled?

His head wasn't working properly. Even his eyelids were heavy and fought against him as he tried to open them. An unwelcome and uncontrolled groan escaped his lips and he rolled to his side on the hard floor. His elevated head slipped from where Siege had laid it and clunked onto the ground. His stomach churned and whatever remained in his stomach fell to the ground.

It wasn't much. He didn't know it at the time, but he had been sick multiple times during his black-out and there wasn't much left.

Then he pushed himself up shakily and began scanning the area.

Where the fuck was he? How had he gotten here? Why was there a suit of armor just plopped int the middle of this dilapidated place?

Armor.

Armor!

Bits of his memory before the drink overtook him began to come back. That was Siege. He had spent the day with her, deciding to drink instead of fight because of the more terrifying spirit that was imprisoned inside of her. And Gods he had drunk a lot. But...he wasn't dead. And she hadn't left him.

"Siege?" he croaked, pushing himself backwards so he could rest his back on the crumbling wall and press his head against it in an attempt to quell the spinning and the headaches, "Th' fuck happened..." it wasn't really a question. He knew what had happened, to an extent, but his memory cut off halfway through the 10th drink and then....nothing. Not even flashes. When was the last time he'd felt like this before? Never?

Shit.

[Hyacinthus]

"Silence."

The voice that answered Snarg was not Siege's, he could at all remember it properly after the night he'd had. It was not a voice of warmth, mirth and boundless naivety; By contrast, it was a cold, almost unnervingly controlled tone. Just as youthful, yet with such a depth of innate bloodlust and hatred that the single word near seemed to cut the air no different than a blade would've.

It was a vaguely familiar voice, which at long last had a face to match it— the voice of the one who resided inside the armor.

Snarg had seen true; Armor lay sprawled across the sand-coated ground , some plates of it half-buried in the shifting sands, the rest too large to meet the same state. Scattered and discarded as it was, no doubt Snarg still recognized its massive scale and familiar design. Yet there was no life to be found in it; the armor was properly empty now, and collapsed accordingly.

The sun's glare shifted harshly in Snarg's direction. It didn't suddenly shift; the steel of the blade poised at him from across the room tilted slightly, as if the young woman holding it was calculating the best possible angle from which to cross the room in a single flying step and take the disoriented man's head with. Hypothetically.

"Gather yourself. Catch your bearings. Do not raise your voice, or I will kill you." Her voice was little higher than a whisper, but it was crystal clear all the same. Somehow, regardless of the words she spoke, regardless of the volume of her tone, one thing was clear— the wrong move, the wrong word, the wrong look— anything would be enough for the swordswoman to strike at the moment.

[Goldie]

Snarg must be dreaming. He had drank so much the previous...day? Week? Night? How long had he fucking been down? It certainly felt like he was dying so that must mean he was still alive at least, or perhaps his life was so horrible that his afterlife was going to be one of pain.

He opened his eyes just a slit to try and figure out what voice he was hearing. It wasn't the same jovial timbre he was used to from his unfortunate drinking buddy, but he couldn't understand who else it would be unless they had been beset by bandits or something. But the armor wasn't moving. It was just...a pile of dead metal. If this was the voice of a bandit, siege would have never let them get this close.

So...

He jerked up, eyes flying open as realization slowly dawned on him. He had heard this voice before!

The movement was too much. His head spun dangerously and another bout of nausea coursed through him with such intensity that he slumped to his side and retched into the sand once more.

This was bad. Bad bad fucking bad!

Yet he didn't move. The drink had ravaged him completely and even if he could muster up the strength somehow he knew he would be no match for some anxiety warrior spirit.

"Go on, then." He groaned, getting a mouthful of sand but not even caring. At least if he was killed now he'd feel better.

[Hyacinthus]

TW: Vomit


"You dare challenge—"

Her words alone likely could've taken his head, but they fell short— just barely reaching his neck before the unexpected happened; The woman's blade, pointed clear at Snarg, faltered.

No, that wasn't entirely right. It was more accurate to say that she faltered; dropping the sword entirely and stumbling forward into the sandy cobblestone... and emptying the contents of her stomach all over the floor. Very little of it was of any color— as if she was having trouble holding down water... or liquid otherwise.

She heaved once or twice more, before scrambling for her blade once more— retreating backward into her corner. The sunlight gave clarity to much more of her features— her comparatively flawless skin, unsuited to the persona of a 'cold-blooded killer'. Her long, raven-black hair which she nearly got tangled in as she retreated. And perhaps most important to the current situation, her unfocused, weary gaze— like that of someone who'd suffered sea sickness for an entire night straight.

...That, or like a hangover.

"...Th-that damned... ugh... cursed armor..." She muttered, trying to avoid the sun's light. Her eyes couldn't take it, not at the moment.

[Goldie]

Snarg must have been incredibly lucky that day for the warrior spirit lady thing to be seemingly just as ill as he was. He had honestly thought this was going to be the end of his life. But no, the Gods still had punishments in store for their least faithful servant so of course his life wasn't about to be cut short any time soon. Instead, they would leave him to suffer on this forsaken Earth until he was shriveled and couldn't go on any longer.

Hell, they'd probably find a way for him to live forever so they could torment him even more.

And he deserved it.

The fact that the spirit was affected by Siege's drink was fascinating and in any other instance he might have taken some time to ponder those implications, but instead he just felt bad for her.

A quiet chuckle that turned into a moan escaped his lips and into the sand that pressed against the side of his face.

"Not fair." He rasped after catching his breath from the last bit of nausea, "That you get the negative effect of your prison's bad choices....Why th'fuck did I drink so much...."

This was what dying felt like. It had to be.

[Hyacinthus]

"I'll thank you not to... ugh... patronize me..."

Kiri, under any other circumstance, would indeed have reveled in her current freedom. The Siege Armor that confined her was a work of art— an opus of her family's magical arts, now lost to time— it was unyielding, undying. It never decayed, never rusted, never relented even when it wanted to. It was truly her prison eternal— her soul not even spared from damnation through the wages of time, keeping her preserved in that very moment she had been locked away.

Had she been a coward, or any less of a warrior besides, she'd have taken her own head, or pierced her own heart the moment she was free. Yet here she was, crouched and curled up into the corner of the half-destroyed room of a ruin probably a little younger than her— her blade never leaving her hand even as she attempted to block out the sun with her knees and forearm.

It wasn't working.

"Was this your plan...? Hers? Why would you—" A dry heave forced its way out of Kiri, who did everything in her power to hold herself together. Truly, this was her lowest. "...Willingly poison yourself... Like this? Have neither of you heard of 'moderation'?"

[Goldie]

Snarg groaned again, not feeling up to the task to make this person...Kiri? Was that her name? Fuck, he didn't really care at the moment...he didn't feel like making whatever her name is feel better about being hungover. Maybe he should have felt bad for her since she was feeling the effects of something that wasn't her choice but....

Fuck all he felt like death.

"Never drink before?" His voice was muffled by the sand and was getting into his mouth. Not that it mattered, his mouth was already dry as sandpaper so what was a little more sand?

"I'd think you'd do it all the time being forced to live with that can."

[Hyacinthus]

"'That can' is..."

Kiri shuddered, another wave of nausea overtaking her before she turned away-- preferring not to so disgracefully show her weakness again. No, this time she managed to puke her guts out onto the wall behind her, and the floor of the corner she'd been sitting in, rather than out in the open. Truly a marked improvement-- she only slightly felt like the cold of death had embraced her in the middle of this sotted desert, this time.

Wiping the undesirable taste-- and texture-- of her own stomach fluids from her mouth, she continued in a slightly calmer tone-- less disheveled, slightly more spiteful. "...'That can' is the reason I will never touch such swill. Why should I, when it so graciously lets me experience it firsthand... Every chance it gets?" There was a seething sarcasm beneath her words. Well-deserved, one might think, given the annoyance that was her circumstances. She paused, and turned her gaze back on the mercenary-- seemingly sizing him up, as if judging his worth in some regard... before sighing. Her blade, which had not left her hand since she'd gotten her bearings, lowered a bit before ultimately being sheathed in it's holster.

And then she began to walk, directly toward Snarg. Her pace and gaze gave an unnatural sense of urgency, considering how weakened and flimsy she seemed earlier, stumbling about. It was a brave face, to be sure; But after reaching the man, and grabbing him by the belt around his waist with her dominant arm, the 'bravery' seemed like less and act, and more a... well, just who she was.

Why?

Probably because with that one hand, and that one, dominant arm, Kiri-- a young woman of 5 foot and 4 inches with a fairly thin frame, hoisted the dehydrated man up and over her shoulder by his belt-- letting him dangle over her right shoulder like the human equivalent of a duffle bag. A duffle bag larger than the person carrying it. "Come," She 'ordered' in a disgruntled tone, still reeling from the effects of the alcohol poisoning... though she began walking away from their shared 'room' and away from the ruins. "There is a river near to here. You'll not die such a pathetic death as 'self-inflicted poisoning' in front of me."

[Goldie]

Snarg had closed his eyes, no longer caring that the warrior was in front of him and could easily take his life. In fact, he secretly wished that she would. At least then he would be able to rest – truly rest. He didn't like to admit it out loud or even to himself but he hated this life. He hated who he had been forced to become.

But he deserved it.

And if he wasn't going to die now, that just meant more suffering was required of him in this life and he would just have to keep pushing through. No one would mourn him if he died. No one could care if he lived. He just existed and that was his lot in life.

He groaned and dry heaved as strong arms lifted him up and tossed him like a bag of grain across shoulders. His eyes opened a slit, expecting it to be some other person coming to destroy them both but...no. It was the woman he had seen before somehow miraculously pushing through her own pain to carry him. To carry him! He towered over her and weighed at least twice as much as she, probably more, but she just hoisted all of him up and over like he was nothing.

And then they were moving. He wouldn't have been able to sleep if he tried as each bouncing step sent another wave of nausea coursing through him. He tried to talk, but found his voice came out as a tiny rasp and nothing more.

Dammit he wasn't going to drink ever again. At least not with Siege. No. Not with anyone. He would drink be himself from his little flask in his own room with the door locked from here on out. Drink just enough to dull the senses and find sleep.

"Why....why save me?" he finally mustered up the strength to push through the sand in his mouth and speak.

[Hyacinthus]

"You are a warrior, are you not?"

Kiri frowned. As they wandered out into the open sun from the 'protection' of the old, crumbled walls, the sun assaulted her in full force; The squinting glare that she was forced to make-- both from her radiating headache as well as her overall disdain for how bright the sun's light was after... gods, had it been years? Decades, since she'd last seen it? She was so used to heightening her senses through magic to visualize the world outside of her animated shell of a prison-- she had yet to fully adapt to actually 'seeing' once more.

The poisoning didn't help.

With a slight shift of her shoulder, she adjusted Snarg's weight a bit-- making it a bit easier on her hand as she continued carrying him along. "A warrior dies on their feet, on the battlefield; A dog dies destitute, in the street." Her tone was almost lecturing-- almost. More than anything, she sounded grumpy... which made sense, given the circumstances. "I know not what rhyme or reason you had for indulging that... thing, but I'm neither a judge, nor jury-- I'm a warrior."


The trek wasn't particularly long, but it was grating all the same. The sand-crested wind hit her bare skin-- the course pebbles scratching at her arms and midriff, irritating her further. Yet onward she walked, Snarg in hand-- and before long, the two of them had reached said river-- which reached a solid half-mile across, and stretched from one distant gaze to the next. Having reached their destination, Kiri gazed about, verifying that there were no threats in the immediate vicinity.

And then she unintentionally tried to kill him.

"Drink," Was the only warning she gave. With the same show of nonchalant force that she'd carried the man thus far, Kiri lifted him somewhat slightly off of her shoulder... and then tossed him into the lake.

Not far into the lake, to be fair. Just far enough that he wouldn't die from slamming into the riverbed unceremoniously. After which, Kiri herself stepped a few steps into the river herself, before kneeling gracefully and taking a drink from her cupped hands.

[Goldie]

Snarg didn't even have the chance to reply, whether because it was just that quick of a transition or because he had blacked out for a moment, he couldn't be sure. All he knew was one moment she was asking him if he was a warrior, the next he was being flung into the river. A large river, at that. One that, one a bad day, had currents that could sweep someone away faster than an arrow flew. Today, it would seem, Snarg was in luck because the water was calm and the banks lower from drought.

And so, Snarg sunk beneath the surface but stayed generally in the same location where he had been thrown. The water was cold and pushed the nausea away as clarity returned. He felt awakened and alert where before he had been dull. He still felt horrible, to be clear, and let himself simply exist beneath the surface where silence reigned. It was peaceful. He could just remain here on the silt bed and let sleep take him and it would be a gentle way to go in his estimation. Silence that begot silence. Calm and opened the door to serenity.

Yes...he could just let it all end here. Gods knew it would take more effort to swim up than to just exist.

And so he remained there for a time, not terribly long, but certainly longer than anyone would do by choice after being thrown in against their will. Perhaps Kiri would think he was too sick to swim? Perhaps she wouldn't even notice.

Snarg was a decent swimmer and could hold his breath for a few minutes with a nice gulp of air. He could probably hold it longer than most, even now when he hadn't been submerged with full lungs.

You don't deserve peace a familiar voice broke through the silence. And Snarg knew it was true. He would never make amends. Once he died he would be tormented in the afterlife.

And so, he needed to live.

He shifted beneath the water and pushed himself up until his head calmly broke the surface and he stood, for the water wasn't terribly deep where he had been tossed and he was quite tall, and scooped some of the water into his hands and drank deeply.

If he was to die, perhaps the warrior would be the one to dispatch him. She was right, dying on your feet was a much better end.