(By "Darn it, I got influenced by a PICTURE! And my da idle comment in my last fic on how Vrummy acts when he's drunk." Zarla)

Zangulus was young, strong, and filled with the impetuousness and energy of youth. This was a dangerous combination, especially for someone who did not have any real direction in his life. After the death of his father, the only parent he knew of, he had set out by himself. This did not trouble him much in terms of grief, but more in terms of curiousity as to what happened to his father. He had learned his swordsmanship from his father and basic rumours and myths of the world. This was enough to get him started, and he had learned more as he continued on his way. The name of Zangulus was known among mercenary and bandit groups, but was rarely mentioned. It was as if he was far away and not a present threat, and the name of Lina always bore heavier tidings. Unlike Lina, Zangulus did not kill for money or for sport. He only influenced the gangs into giving him what he wanted, something he was good at. Zangulus was remarkably manipulative, something he had also learned at the hands of his father.

At any rate, the youth was around the age of twenty or so when he happened to walk into what appeared to be a great conflict. Not sure of how to react, he drew his sword. It belonged to his father and had a sturdy blade. It had served him well in battle, and he was sure it would serve him well again if this conflict came down to that.

Inching closer to the sounds of wild struggling, short cries, and occasional curses, he tried to figure out who was speaking. He could recognize the harsh voice of bandits, no doubt assaulting an innocent traveler who had happened across their path. Anger burned within him at this thought, it being one of the many deaths that he had imagined happened to his father. After his father set off and never came back, Zangulus had always made excuses that he was not gone. After he accepted it, however, he began to wonder what happened to him. The bandit situation was not one he considered seriously, because he knew that his father was a great swordsman, better then he, and could easily defeat such enemies. But the thought, irrational as it was, still raised anger within him. He brushed his fingertips across the edge of the sword, as if testing it. Keeping to the shadows, he moved closer. He was glad that he was clothed in the simple grey and brown of a traveler and not some of the gaudier clothes he had seen others wear. He shook his head at them silently, wondering what possessed them to parade themselves around so proudly and confidently and stupidly, his black hair barely brushing past his chin, obscuring his right eye. As it was, the long band of hair was more of a nuisance then a preference and he reminded himself for the fifth time that week to get it cut.

Suddenly a bright blue flash illuminated the air. Glancing at the sky, he could see that it was overcast. Perhaps it was lightning?

Shouts from the scuffle removed that thought.

"He knows magic!" A obscenity was shouted. "Tie 'is hands!"

"Don't let 'em get another shot off!"

"Hurry about it!"

Another weaker, frightened voice spoke. Zangulus could tell that this was the victim.

"Leave me in peace! I did nothing to provoke you, but I will defend myself!" the voice spoke with forced confidance, but it was obvious to Zangulus (and to no doubt everyone else) that he was frightened. "I know magic, and I am a powerful sorceror!"

"You're just a boy!" the voice that Zangulus could recognize first said harshly.

"Surrender now, and we might let you live!"

Another bright flash illuminated the area, and Zangulus knew by this time that this was not lightning. There were more sounds of battle, and another short cry of surprise. Then there was another burst of light, followed by a cracking sound.

"He froze him! He froze Burrak, even when he was-!" A horror-stricken voice came clear to his ears.

"You'll pay for that, boy!" the voice which seemed to belong to the leader snarled. "Hai!"

Zangulus could hear the sounds of someone dashing across the ground at great speed and another burst of blue light flashed. Then there was a scream. He could recognize it instantly as the voice of the victim. He heard someone fall to the ground.

Time for action.

Zangulus moved forward, moving about in the outskirts of the clearing where the battle was taking place. Able to see more clearly, he could identify some of the figures. There was a large hulking man, the man who had spoken last, and he was flanked by about eight others. Laying at the roots of a great oak tree was the body of whoever it was the bandits were attacking. He tried to lever himself upwards, but the strongest man, the leader, kicked him back down harshly.

Anger kept building within him, and he lept forth, landing in front of the limp form near the tree. He could see the surprise and fear on the leader's face.

"Who are you?!" he exclaimed.


He managed to say this before launching himself forward. The sword drove through the bandit leader, who was thrown back, dead before he fell. The other bandits looked between Zangulus and their fallen leader, as if deciding what to do, then drew their weapons.

Eight against one were not fair odds. But these were Zangulus' kind of odds. Regardless of the danger, he stabbed, slashed, struck, and parried as if he were a machine. In the end, when only three were left, they ran for the trees. Zangulus did not follow them.

He touched his forehead and could feel a slight trickle of blood coming from a cut on his face. He must have cut himself in his haste. He had, so far, never been injured in a battle by another person. He shrugged and turned towards the captive.

The youth was only a little older then he was, small and frail. This was almost hidden by the loose brown robes he wore, covered further with a black cloak. Somehow, by some inner reserve of strength, he had managed to draw himself upwards and was now leaning against the tree heavily, staring at Zangulus. He had icy-blue eyes, ones that seemed strange and unfamiliar to him. Likewise, the youth's face seemed to be wrong somehow, and instead of a full head of hair he had what Zangulus had heard called a tonsure. He had brown, limp hair that hung about his eyes. Zangulus did not find his appearance unpleasant, as he might have guessed many would have, but more of a curiousity. The youth had a black eye and was bleeding from the forehead. His robes were ripped and around his wrists there was thick rope.

"I'm Zangulus." Zangulus, not sure of what else to do, introduced himself. The youth stared at him distrustfully.

"I have heard."

Not expecting him to be friendly on first terms, he decided to keep trying. "What's your name?"

"My name is Vrumugun. What you wish to gain by saving me from that band is unknown to me, but I would suggest that you tell me quick."

Zangulus could tell that Vrumugun was trying to mask his emotions, but was not doing a good job. He was shaken and frightened and it showed in his eyes.

"I don't want anything." Zangulus wiped his blade on the grass and sheathed it quickly, in hopes this would rest some of the suspicion. It didn't help much, but Zangulus felt better anyway. "I just thought you needed help."

"That is true, and I thank you. However, I must continue on my way. I thank you again for your troubles on my behalf." Zangulus watched with concern as Vrumugun tried to stand, but found that he could not. His body was too weak.

"What's wrong?"

Vrumugun winced. "I am afraid I casted too many high-level spells too quickly. My energy is drained."

Noting that Vrumugun made no attempt whatsoever to continue the conversation, Zangulus was left on his own. "So...where are you going?"

"I am heading for Seyruun. I have heard they have a vast collection of books, which I would like to read."

"I'm heading for Seyruun as well. Want to come with?"

Zangulus walked closer to Vrumugun and noticed the sudden fear flash across his face.

"Get back! Do not touch me!" He raised his bound hands with difficulty, both of which glew a faint blue for two seconds. Zangulus watched in curiousity as Vrumugun then passed into unconciousness.

"That's weird. I wonder why he freaked like that. Oh well." he thought. He walked closer to the unconcious wizard and drew his sword to cut the bonds.

He noticed, to his annoyance, that his sword tip was too large and too sharp to slid between Vrumugun's frail wrists without difficulty. He searched himself, but found that to his dismay he carried no dagger with him. Cursing himself for several kinds the fool for having forgot it at his temporary place at the Seyruun inn, he wondered what to do. Vrumugun didn't look very heavy. Maybe he could carry him.

Shrugging, he leaned down and picked him up. He was surprisingly light. Slinging him over his shoulder, he began to walk down the path to Seyruun.

It was true that he had lied when he had told Vrumugun that he was heading for Seyruun. In truth, he was already there and was planning on moving to the next city in a few days. But he couldn't leave the young wizard out there alone, to die by cold or by wounds the following morning, and the only way to convince him to come along was to tell him they were heading the same way, and in the end this did not fully work.

"I wonder what I've got myself into..." he thought, staring at the road ahead, noticing the clouds above him growing darker.
He walked into the inn, heading directly for the stairs with the bound mage over his shoulder. The patrons knew better then to question Zangulus, as he had passed through this city once or twice on his wandering trails. The innkeeper silently handed him his key, and he headed up the stairs towards his room.

After getting inside, he put Vrumugun down on the bed. After making sure he was secure and safe, his next concern was finding his dagger. He looked at Vrumugun's hands and could see dark, angry bruises welling from around the coarse rope. Finding his dagger, a short, unadorned blade with nothing but leather on the hilt, stashed away in a drawer, he cut away at the bonds. It took awhile, for they were thick and well-made, but in the end they fell away. He put Vrumugun's hands next to his sides, not sure of where else to put them, then sat down on the bed, resting his chin in his hands.

Considering Zangulus' nature, he had not considered what to do past this. He only knew to get Vrumugun out of the storm, and to cut the rope. He had not considered what would happen if he woke. He had not considered what he would tell him or how he would explain where they were in terms of the city and present location. And he did not know how to tell Vrumugun that they were essentially trapped, as it had begun snowing outside. He barely knew this person, and already he felt like he was his responsibility. He shrugged helplessly. With the road comes unseen possibilites and set-backs. At any rate, as soon as the snow cleared he would take Vrumugun to his library then continue on his wanderings.

He found himself studying the sleeping sorceror. With a closer look, Zangulus could tell that Vrumugun could be no more then three months older then he was. Yet he talked as if he was worlds older. And he never seemed to use contractions. What was with that?

Zangulus realized he had spoke his last words out loud and chuckled to himself. The cold, paranoid man laying on the bed next to him seemed to be his direct opposite, although their eyes seemed to match in color slightly, although Vrumugun's was more like the color of ice compared to his of the ocean. Unlike his shiny black hair, Vrumugun's was dingy, brown, and lifeless. However, loose strands fell to cover his as it did to cover Zangulus'. Zangulus laughed to himself again. Maybe there was more in common then it seemed at first. Although he was a lot sturdier then the frail man. Now that he thought about it, all the magic users he had met did not have much muscle. Was that required? He had heard something of the Dragon-Spooker Lina being able to use a sword, but he often wondered whether or not she existed or not. She seemed more like legend then reality these days.

He looked at his dagger, plain and simple, and then put it in it's simple black sheath at his side. This had taught him a lesson about leaving his dagger at home. He wondered whether Vrumugun's hands would suffer permanent damage because of this. He hoped not.

At least he saw that Vrumugun was not dressed with the flair and tackiness many magic-user's these days did. Many wore contrasting colors or practically nothing at all. It was annoying, as these kind of clothes did nothing if they were seen easily in the underbrush or attacked from close quarters. Sure, wearing something resembling a bathing suit as mage's wear made them look better and gave them "freedom of movement", but what use were those when a blade is stabbed towards your stomach? He wondered to himself often why people made such stupid choices. It was as if they believed their life was indefinite.

After his father's death, he had knew within him he would die, and he knew this whenever he entered a battle. This made him cautious and, in turn, earned him a longer life. But others, it seemed like throwing their lives away in battle was some kind of sport. He lay back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. Situated as he was, he was laying cross-wise while Vrumugun lay length-wise. Vrumugun's sandals were the closest thing he was to contacting, and he didn't worry that the sorceror would wake up soon.

Of course, the minute you stop worrying is when things strike. And this time it struck quickly.

"What am I doing here...you! I told you to leave me alone!" he could hear Vrumugun's angry voice near him. He sat up to find the smaller sorceror glaring at him, energy glowing in his hands.

"Don't use your power, you'll tire yourself out. Glad to see you're awake, though." Zangulus warned, sitting up straight. He held out his hand in a gesture of friendship. Vrumugun recoiled from it as if he had been trying to strike him.

"What are you planning? Why did you bring me here?"

"I said before, I'm not planning anything, okay? I brought you here 'cause I didn't want you to die out there. It's snowing, you know."

"You trapped me here!" Vrumugun spoke with a mixture of fear and surprise. Zangulus could tell he was trying to convert this to anger, but was not succeeding. He could tell that the fact that he had brought him here had shocked Vrumugun quite a bit, and he was not really concentrating. The light in his hands faded into his body, unused.

"I didn't trap you here, the snow did." Zangulus pointed towards the window. "Go look, if you want."

Without warning, Vrumugun leaped at him. Zangulus normally would have found this an easy move to dodge, but as it was he was not looking at Vrumugun, not suspecting Vrumugun, and at a bad position to dodge anyway. Vrumugun was clumsy, obviously not skilled with using physical ability in any way, and instead of pushing him with his hands, he veered off-target, instead knocking Zangulus down with his body. Both fell off the bed, but by now Zangulus was aware of what was happening. Moving his body to go along with fall, he smoothly grabbed onto Vrumugun's wrists and flipped on the ground. Within moments, he had Vrumugun pinned beneath him, both breathing hard, but Zangulus was more with stress and surprise then physical effort.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he asked, half in surprise and half in confusion.

"Release me! I do not wish to stay here any longer!"

"Why are you always freaking out like that? What's so bad about this?"

Vrumugun closed his eyes and easily broke himself out of the fury he had forced himself into. He relaxed slightly, but was still tense.

"Well, for one thing, I know nothing about you. Another, I do not know where we are. I do not know what you want, I do not know what you plan to do, and I do not know how you plan to use me. Also, you are strong enough, easily, to overpower me. This, understandably, makes me nervous."

Zangulus considered for a moment, thinking over each of the things he had stated.

"Well, I told you before, but my name's Zangulus. I'm...a wanderer, I guess. Ever since my father died, I've just been walking along with no purpose. That's basically it. We're in Seyruun's Inn, the nearest to the edge of town. I had a room rented here and it was closest. I don't want anything, I don't have a plan, and I don't plan to use you for anything."

Vrumugun remained silent, staring at him with the icy-blue eyes.

"You have not responded to the last statement."

"Well, I admit it's true, okay? I'm a swordsman, it takes muscle to swing a blade around. I can't help it if you're a weak mage."

He realized the error of his words when Vrumugun's eyes glowed. He retracted the statement quickly.

"What I meant was physically. I mean, really, look at yourself. You're thinner then straw."

"I am not." Vrumugun spoke with the first trace of real emotion, one that wasn't anger, fear, or resentment. It was sulky denial. Zangulus looked at him with what he hoped was a look of disbelief.

"Anyone could snap your arm like straw. Really."

"You say you lost your father." Vrumugun abruptly changed the subject, apparently unhappy with talking about his physical body. Zangulus started at this abrupt switch in mood.

"Yes I did, a long time ago. I don't know what happened to him, so I've been left alone."

"I am also alone."

"Really? You're parents dead or something?" Zangulus said with his usual lack of tact. Vrumugun simply stared at him, trying to perfect the emotionless mask he had tried to use earlier. It did not quite work, and Zangulus could see pain in his eyes.

"Would you kindly get off of me?" he spoke quietly, again changing the subject.

Zangulus paused for a moment, then realized the position he was in. Hoping that no one would walk in on them at the moment, he swiftly rolled to one side. Vrumugun, seeming not to notice or care what they had looked like, levered himself up with his elbow. Trying to use his hand, he found his wrist sore and un-responsive. Zangulus reprimanded himself for having gripped the mage's fragile wrists so hard.

Vrumugun tried to put more pressure, but in the end the pain was so sharp his wrist gave out, and fell on his shoulder with a short cry. This simple gesture reminded Zangulus of the fact that for all his emotionless words and seeming lack of emotions, Vrumugun was still a person, much like himself. He could feel pain. He just hid everything.

Zangulus, without asking permission, walked over and grabbed Vrumugun's free elbow, lifting him easily off the ground. Vrumugun gave a un-controllable gasp of surprise, but tried to hide it. He stared into Zangulus' eyes.

"I did not ask for your help. I could have gotten up myself."

"Whatever. Listen, we both need to relax. Why don't we go down and have a drink?"

"I don't drink."

Zangulus looked at him, then shrugged. "I'm sure we can get something non-alcholic then. Maybe some fruit juice?"
"I didn't mention the kind of fruit..." Zangulus smirked to himself as he stared at his wine glass. The bartender had easily fallen for his ruse of being twenty-one (he looked old enough to be twenty-three) and had given him one bottle of wine and two glasses. Seeing that she had noticed his companion, he had ignored the stares he got from the other patrons. No doubt rumors had flown about the unconcious youth, hands bound, that Zangulus had dragged up the stairs. Let them talk. It was no matter to him.

He found it quite amusing that Vrumugun could not tell the difference between fruit juice (of any kind, he would wager) and wine. He also couldn't tell he was drunk. This presented an interesting side of the silent mage that he had not seen before. He was much more talkative now and used a lot more emotions. Zangulus found that when Vrumugun was smiling, it was hard to notice his..."different" physical features.

"This is very nice." Vrumugun smiled at the wine-glass he held in his hand, unaware of how close he was to spilling the contents. Zangulus still marveled at the fact that he could talk clearly while drunk out of his mind. It seemed that he talked clearly no matter what. At least he formed the words correctly as they came from his mouth. That was more then most did. Zangulus himself, however, knowing his limits, slowly drank about two glasses, not noticing he kept filling and refilling his glass without conscious knowledge of doing so.

"So tell me, Vrumugun, you mentioned something about your parents..."

"Oh yes, Mother and Father. Died, you know. To this day no one knows what happened. I do not remember anything, anyway. Just someone came and killed them, I guess. This is good stuff." Vrumugun stared idly into his glass, unaware of how much he was actually saying.

"Really? No brothers or sisters?"

"Not a one." Vrumugun stared off into the distance. "...I remember, anyway. Everything is a little fuzzy right now."

"Don't blame you. Anyway, I don't have any either. So we're even I guess."

"I guess."

Zangulus had never seen him so cheerful. He guessed that the only way to make Vrumugun forget about himself and how to hide was to give him a way to release everything. Knowing that this was NOT a good way to do this, he vowed that he would, after this, limit Vrumugun's amount of glasses. It did not occur to him why he thought there would be a next time.

"You are a swordsman, right?" Vrumugun asked suddenly. Zangulus smirked.

"Yes, I said it before."

"Oh yes, that is right." Vrumugun laughed to himself quietly, then stopped as if in surprise.

"What's wrong?" Zangulus was concerned at this change in the sorceror's manner.

"I haven't laughed in a long long time. Since my parents died, really. How long ago was that? I can't remember." his words, despite his best efforts, began to slur together. "Ha! If I talked like this back then, boy would I get it. Heh heh."

"Don't you find anything funny?" Zangulus was surprised at the fact someone could not laugh for more then a week. Vrumugun shrugged, accidentally spilling some of the wine on the floor.

"Not then, I think. But everything's a lot funnier now. Can't explain it really. Must be you, Zangulus. I never laughed with anyone 'fore now."

"What do you mean 'back then'? Why would they get mad at how you talk?"

"Back then, I had teachers. Mean ones, really. Couldn't use contractions, had to talk in full sentences, think 'bout every word. Strict stuff."

Zangulus could see that Vrumugun was getting a little out of hand, but he was beginning to think of the sorceror as more of a friend then a burden.

"Say, since you're going to pass out soon anyway, let's cap it all off by saying we're friends now, okay?"

"Friends?" Vrumugun blinked at what seemed to him a unfamiliar word. "With you?"

"No one else around, right?" Zangulus ignored the fact that the inn was full of customers and all their eyes were on him and his strange-looking companion. "Sure. You know about me, I know about you. You're a nice guy, really. I'd like to have you as a friend."

Vrumugun looked shocked at this, then burst into tears. Zangulus looked around nervously as he sobbed.

"Vrummy?" Zangulus thought of the first nickname that came into his head. He cursed himself afterwords for thinking of such a stupid one, but only for a moment. Vrumugun looked up at him, eyes full of tears, then shouted loudly,

"Yes, Zangy! Yes!"

Zangulus yelped in surprise as Vrumugun threw himself across the table and hugged him. Zangulus could feel himself blushing as he could feel the eyes of the crowd on him. For all they knew, he could have proposed marriage. Zangulus again warned himself on ever getting Vrumugun this drunk again. It had dangerous consequences against his reputation. Vrumugun, of course, was entirely oblivious to everything, having passed out in his arms.

Sighing, he corked the remainder of the wine (which wasn't much, I might add) and payed the bill for it. He picked up the sleeping mage, who still seemed to weigh next to nothing, although this time he did not sling him over his shoulder, instead carrying him in front of him. As he stumbled up the stairs, his face burned. He was REALLY giving out the wrong impression now. He looked for all the world like a newly-married groom carrying his wife across the thresh-hold. His entire face flushed red with embarrassment as he managed to make it to the top of the stairs and out of sight.

As soon as he was, frantic, loud, and outrageous rumors began to fly. Zangulus began to wish he had truly told the truth when he said it didn't bother him. At any rate, he somehow, most likely by a miracle (having had a few too many glasses of wine, more then he intended, and carrying a completely passed out person in his arms), managed to open the door to his room and slam it behind him.

Well, at least he got Vrumugun to open up. There was more to the mage then appeared. He put him on the bed, where Vrumugun curled into a ball and began to sleep. Puzzled at his strange position, Zangulus shrugged. At any rate, the snow kept falling and falling, and by now there was no chance of leaving this inn for another day at least. Sighing, he went into his normal routine of pre-sleep preparations. Pulling off his gloves, his coat, and his hat at first, he then pulled off his boots and undid his hair. He shook his head for a moment, letting the shining black hair fall back to where it had naturally been on his head. It only grazed his shoulder-blades, but he knew it would get longer someday. He pulled off his shirt, yawned, then turned towards the bed.

It wasn't until he realized that Vrumugun was fast asleep on the bed that he now had a number of problems to solve.

Shrugging, he decided that he would grab some blankets from the closet and make a makeshift bed on the floor. He would sleep there and leave the bed for Vrumugun, who was going to need it with the massive hang-over he was going to have. Also, he was sure that Vrumugun did not want to sleep with his clothes on, but found the thought of such disturbing. He shrugged again. He didn't have much choice.

He pulled off Vrumugun's sandals, which luckily did not draw much attention. Vrumugun was so deep into his drunken-stupor that he probably wouldn't even notice if he was stripped naked and thrown out the window. Zangulus laughed at the thought, but sobered (odd choice of words) quickly. He noticed that Vrumugun was one of the few people he knew that did not wear gloves. Almost everyone he could think of wore some kind of glove, but Vrumugun did not. This gave him some reprieve from the removal of more clothing, at least.

The long black cloak was next. It gave the impression that Vrumugun was taller then he really was and wasn't as thin and frail. It also covered the tonsure, something that Zangulus was sure bothered the mage. He knelt over him, undoing the ruby clasp from underneath his practically-unconcious friends chin. Then he was faced with yet another problem. As Vrumugun was now sprawled on one side, the cloak was trapped beneath his body. What to do?

Zangulus returned back to his previous thought. Well, he probably won't notice. He hoped he wouldn't, anyway. Or else...

He shuddered at the thought of what an angry, drunk, and confused mage would do to someone who was caught trying to remove their cloak. Well, he hoped for the best. He crept on the bed and slowly began inching the cloak out from under him. Vrumugun did not react, save his hand occasionally twitching.

Finally freeing the cloak, Zangulus was about to celebrate his difficult victory when another problem presented itself.

He sat up straight, holding the cloak above himself, when Vrumugun, who was turned on the side away from him, abruptly turned onto his back. This caught Zangulus completly off-guard, where he recoiled sharply, bounced once, and fell on the floor with a loud thump.

He could guess what those downstairs were thinking of.

At any rate, he had the cloak free at least. He tossed it in with his own clothes, assured he would wake before Vrumugun and wait for him to wake, then explain what happened.

Was there something he was missing...?

He turned towards the sleeping form, one arm bent above his head, the other above his side, sleeping (or perhaps passed out) peacefully. He noticed the glint of white at his waist.

His belt.

"I bet that thing is tied really tight." Zangulus thought to himself. "I can see the creases around the cord. Maybe it's stifling him."

Shrugging again, he moved again towards the bed. He would loosen it, that was all. Then he would go to sleep on the floor and clear his thoughts.

So again, he bent over Vrumugun's sleeping body, studying the complicated knot in front of him. Who could tie such a thing?

"Vrumugun, that's who." he answered his own question, smiling. "Oooh boy, if he wakes up now, he'll REALLY kill me."

He slowly began working at it, not sure of where to start. The rope went in and over and about itself, and he constantly kept looking at Vrumugun to see whether he was awake or not. So far his luck held out, and he finally held the two ends in his hand, the knot undone. Instantly Vrumugun breathed easier, and he smiled at knowing that he had been right. He looked at Vrumugun.

And found his eyes staring right at his own.

Too startled to speak or even to move, he dropped the ends of the cord. Vrumugun looked at him with uncertainty, as if someone is deciding what they're going to say.

"You know..." he said slowly. Zangulus hoped to any gods there were that he was still drunk and did not realize what was going on. "I can't imagine any kind of juice that ever made me this sleepy. I think you got a bad deal, Zangy."

Zangulus was about to reply, but Vrumugun slipped back into sleep (or unconciousness, whatever). Zangulus sighed deeply in relief, then walked to his own mat on the floor. Flopping down, he let the stress take over him and fell into a deep sleep.
Zangulus was, unluckily enough, the second to awaken. And not pleasantly either. What greeted him when he opened his eyes was Vrumugun pointing a knife at his throat.

"What is the meaning of this?" he held out his cloak at hand's length, reminding Zangulus about last night. At first, he could not remember any of it, but now it came flooding back.

"You got drunk. Really bad. I'm sorry, it's my fault. Anyway, I took you up here, put you in bed, and went to sleep."

Vrumugun sat down slowly, as if thinking. "How in the world did I get drunk?"

"Not the right juice." he said, wondering whether or not Vrumugun would catch his meaning. He did.

"Did I do anything?"

"Only things I hope you don't regret."

He held his head, and Zangulus could see the remains of a major hangover still hovering over him. "I do not remember anything...anything past going downstairs. What happened? I was warned not to do this."