We were fifteen miles outside of the Elven city of Everhome when the Evercrack started to kick in.
I was driving. The wagon had four wheels, four horses, my companion Mr. Baggins, and non-specific number of dwarves in the back guarding our rations.
We were on a quest. I didn't know what the quest was. It wasn't my job to remember. Nor was it Mr. Baggins's job. The dwarves could remember. THEY were only consuming ale. In titanic amounts, no doubt, but it was only ale. It was their job to remember. Mr. Baggins and I had another job entirely. A stressful job. A frightening job. A job so stressful and frightening that it mandated the use of some of the most remarkable substances and magic available.
"It's like this!" I shouted to Mr. Baggins over the racket of the wagon. "The path before us is crooked with mystery and danger. It is bent and twisted and even knotted. To face this challenge, we must bend OUR minds to be the same shape as the path before us. And nothing, I mean NOTHING bends minds like the wonderful pleasures of Everhzzz... Everblllt... *URP* EVERHOME."
Mr. Baggins nodded vigorously as we passed over an extra bumpy stretch of the road. Then continued his good-natured bouncing, a look of sheer bliss on his face, and drool on his chin. Good chap! I like to see a man, or hobbit, facing the challenges head on. When I told Mr. Baggins that we would need to bury our minds in the intelligent stupor of the truly enlightened, he had attacked the challenge with an uncanny gusto.
"My dear Mr. Baggins, tell one of those dwarven chaps to pass up another pint of that ale. The Evercrack in my pipe has lost its edge."
This would be my twelfth pint since taking the reins, but I had only managed to consume about five and a half pints. The other six and a half pints, and the mugs containing them were littered along the road for the past twenty miles, there for the woodland creatures to discover and marvel at. By some earlier sounds, I think a full cask or two might have joined my mugs as well.
Mr. Baggins flopped around in his seat, fighting the effects of the jouncing wagon, his own portliness, and if I could guess by the green blotches on his eyes, some of the more potent mushrooms in our collection. He peered suspiciously into the back of the wagon as if he was trying to remember what a dwarf was.
"What dwarves?" he said.
"Why, our body guard. Those fine stout fellows with the beards and the axes."
"Oh!" Mr. Baggins cried. "Those dwarves."
He wiped his eyes before continuing.
"They're not there."
"What?!" I exclaimed, relinquishing control of the reins and whipping around in my seat. Sure enough, no dwarves remained. I knew with certainty that there had been dwarves. I had made the wise decision to lay off anything hallucinagenic until we reached Everhome. I had remembered the last time I went on a quest and got lost before leaving my village because of the strange visions I had, brought on by a potion of extreme potency. I did not complete the quest, but the journey back to my privy was an epic adventure in its own right.
Thinking quickly, I considered that the dwarves had abandoned us. But then I noticed the three full casks of ale still strapped to the wagon bed. No dwarf ever left any amount of ale behind, unless it had taken a trip through his gullet.
"They must have been kidnapped." I muttered to myself, before I was nearly thrown from the wagon. I grasped onto the side of the wagon, my feet dangling inches from the rushing dirt road, and looked forward again.
"There's noone driving the wagon!" I exclaimed. "Quick, Mr. Baggins, take the reins before the horses run us off the road."
Looking groggy and dopey, Mr. Baggins slowly assimilated what I was saying. Then he looked toward the horses, and the reins. I could watch the thoughts moving through his head. Each one took a few moments to maneuver its way into his mind. Then it had to slowly maneuver its way out again to make room for the next. Eventually he understood. He grasped the reins and gave a mighty pull. The front pair of horses nearly did a backflip, his pull was so strong. And I was flung violently forward, landing in the dirt a few yards ahead of the stopped wagon.
Mr. Baggins. "Your enthusiasm is welcome, but a more delicate touch is required to maneuver such fine beasts as we have harnessed to our chariot. I will take over the reins from you. But first, that ale..."
I wandered around to the back of the wagon and almost fell over. I was stunned to see two of our dwarven companions clinging to the back of the wagon.
"Good chaps! I like your diligence. Didn't let yourself get kidnapped by the ravens like your fellows. Well, don't worry, we'll rescue them on the way back. Have some ale."
The dwarves hauled themselves back into the wagon as I ambled back to the front. One of them vomited violently over the side of the wagon. A good idea. Makes more room for the ale. I reminded myself to purge before the festivities of Everhome commenced in earnest.
I slapped the reins, and the wagon jolted to a start again, knocking the full pint of ale out of my hand and onto the road. I looked forlornly down for a moment, then remembered that I must persevere.
"Mr. Baggins, another pint of ale, if you will. And some more Evercrack for my pipe."
Indeed this would be a trying quest, and I would need all of my wits about me.
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