[Hollin]

Private Hollin Avery strode through the crowd of festival-goers, with his
best look of official seriousness set on his young, barely-bearded face
(the "beard" in question was right now not much more than a ginger stubble,
bearing a resemblance to the baby fuzz). When he reached the Healers' Hall
he pounded on the door, and announced in voice that was still,
occasionally, threatening to crack, "I'm here on Guard business!!"

[Gnorle]

It had been a somewhat busier stretch than usual in the Hall of late, owing
to the festival.  Perhaps not for the event itself, rather the crowds it
had drawn to Montfort to mark the occasion; raise the numbers within the
town, and the incidences of injury and sickness and mere freakish mischance
would rise in accordance.  Another knock, and where was Killia now?  With
Hasheth himself buried beneath the load, and that able assistant taking up
a few of his duties in the interim, Gnorle found himself perforce striding
across the antechamber to respond, to haul open the hefty double doors that
seemed weighty to all except his captain.

"Guard business?  I am Gnorle, present master of the watch, and ranked
amongst the Healer Guard," he stated brusquely to the young would-be
soldier, a particular stress on those latter two words.  "So then, young
man, just what 'guard' business did you see fit to consult us with?"

[Hollin]

"I am Private Hollin Avery of the Tower Guard," Avery answered, trying not
to wince as his voice cracked on "Tower." He straightened even more and
added, "And I'm here to deliver a summons to a Mr. Brawl."

[Gnorle]

"The tower guard?" Gnorle inquired abruptly, many levels of meaning within
that curt intonation.  "Here in the Healers Hall we already have sufficient
to that end, young man, and we are overwhelmed by order.  We have scant
need for more.  Or are you looking to pilfer our Guardsmen, perhaps?" he
asked then, directing the other a glance of imperious disapproval.  Pompous
and overbearing it was, and overstepping his authority with bold stride;
still, he was master of the watch, and it was perhaps his right.  Though
his thought, however belatedly, recognised the fact: a summons!  For what?

"A summons for Brawl -- what summons?  I'll deal with it," he stated, where
he might have better remarked: "Brawl is presently upstairs in the guard
quarters, drinking ale from a tankard larger than your skull, lad, and I'm
not fool enough to disturb him."

[Hollin]

Private Avery had not long been in Montfort, and he not yet learned the
fragile power structure of the city, but he _did know_ that he did not like
the pompous manner that this _citizen_ was speaking to him in!

"Sir," he said coldly, "I am to deliver the summons in person. As is my
duty as a member of the Tower Guard of the city of _Montfort_."

[Gnorle]

"So you say," he muttered in response.  And bleakly regarded the brazen
youth who stood fully half a head shorter than he, whose years could hardly
be half his own, and whose beard neither half-matched Gnorle's own nor yet
what the lad surely imagined it to be.  Such impudence to his betters!  An
almighty frown darkened his features, as he pondered on how best one might
deal with this vast and gloried insolence.  He seized on sudden
inspiration, likewise the boy's ear, hauling the self-proclaimed Tower
Guardsman (and of *Montfort*, to boot) into the Healers' Hall and across
the antechamber, duly incognizant to the howls and cries the miscreant
might dare respond with.

"Brawl!  Curse your hide!" he shouted up to the heights of the great
chamber, on the presumption that the Captain of the Healers' Guard would
surely hear it, and take due and dire offense thereto.

Outraged the answering bellow was, and swift, as was the mace from
somewhere above, descending to clatter against the stone a scant few inches
from Gnorle's feet.  Paling greatly, he chanced a final glimpse up toward
the landing from whence the weapon had come, on which the greatly-ired
beast now appeared, and leaving the boy to his own fate, vanished in haste.

[Hollin]

All thoughts of charges against Gnorle fled at the sound of the bellow, and
Hollin flattened himself against the wall, clutching the parchment to his
chest like a shield.

[Brawl]

Descending the stairs, bearing the look of certain doom, the creature
stepped to the floor on a level with the young man; if indeed the sight had
seemed big at that distance, now the beast was overwhelmingly vast,
towering perhaps twice the young man's quivering height.  Reaching down,
the great brute grasped the mace flung there, and rising once more to cast
a long shadow upon the other, glowered with large and baleful eye down at
the one who had interrupted that last mug of fine ale.  Levelling the mace
toward the youth, the studded head of which paused a scant inch from the
boy's face, the minotaur then saw fit to speak in a voice deep and rumbling
as the blackest abysses.

"Now boy, what was your sin, that Gnorle yonder dared so greatly to have
you smashed flat?  Come to that, what was your purpose in coming here with
such a din in the first place?"

[Hollin]

Several deep gulps later and Hollin was able to speak, though the cracking
in his voice emphasized every other word, "Master.. BRawl, I Am with THE
TOwer guard, AND HaVE been SENT to deLIVer this JuRy suMMOns."

The blush on his face made his ginger fuzz go pale, and he opted not to add
that the porter might be brought up on assault charges. Particularly when
it looks liked "assault" was also in the Minotaur's mind.

[Brawl]

"Summons?"  The mace was withdrawn and the minotaur frowned mightily, as if
in wonderment that any would possess temerity enough to summon *him*.
"Well, let's see it then."

Snatching the section of parchment from the youth's hand, Brawl perused
this document for a moment, the frown deepening at the unusually official
aspect it bore.  Seals and signatures, and what might he make of this?  It
was all new to him; what use in such scraps of paper, when a well-hefted
mace would deal well enough with whatever problems he faced?  "Well, it
looks official enough.  Come with me, master guardsman -- some explanation
is in order here."

Waving the mace in the general direction he was headed, the minotaur led
the way up the stairs, and into a spacious chamber which he presumably
frequented, to judge from the numerous barrels strewn about.  Glimpsing
back at the youth (who appeared none too willing to follow), he grabbed the
nearest tankard to hand, dunked this deep in one vat already broached.

"Hmm, you look unusually pale, boy ... here, drink this."  So saying, he
pushed the mug into the young guard's hand -- hands rather, the tankard of
a size that the boy could dunk his face in the ale should he so choose --
and reached for a another mug for himself.

[Hollin]

~I'm not supposed to drink on duty....~ Hollin recited to himself, staring
down into the liquid depths of the bowl masquerading as a tankard. Nor had
he ever had anything stronger than a shot of his auntie's peach brandy.

He glanced over the rim of the mug and stared at the Minotaur, and decided
that to refuse the gentleman's hospitality could prove lethal. Better to
imbibe and survive.

"THannkKK yoU, SiRR," he cracked and hefted the tankard high (the only way
to actually get a drink) and swallowed deeply; faintly registering that
much of the liquid had gushed forward and was now running under his collar,
and down his tunic front.

[Brawl]

"Good lad!" the minotaur remarked approvingly, giving the other a hearty
slap on the back for that effort, the force of which had the effect of
spilling some more of the ale over the youth.

Downing a goodly portion from his own mug with a practised ease, Brawl set
it aside for a moment, seating himself there, leaning back against one
imposing stack of barrels every part his height, and more.  Retrieving his
ale and downing the remainder, he nodded to the young guardsman in
encouragement, as if the act of sharing ale with him had somehow improved
the minotaur's disposition toward the boy.  "Here, keep at it -- you've
only skimmed the surface yet."

Glimpsing then at the tattered summons (the youth had clutched it perhaps
too closely, in his earlier fear), the minotaur again frowned, reading the
words once more as if to convince himself of their import.  Absently
dunking his tankard again into the nearby vat, he looked to the boy and spoke.

"I read here a summons to this damnable trial of yours.  Who it is exactly,
that we are to be hanging?"

[Hollin]

"A FillIP MenaGREm," Hollin belched out. "They SAyy hE mURdERedd a lAsS."

[Brawl]

"And so I am summoned to dispatch him, presumably."  So saying, the
minotaur slapped one weighty mace against the palm of his hand, as if
expecting that his duty to the community in removing such fiend as this had
immediately come.  Well it would, soon enough.  A noble concept indeed, was
justice, he mused as he threw back another great measure of ale.

"Hmm, drink up lad, you've barely tipped the mug."

[Hollin]

The young private shook his head, and mouthed around the deep mug, "No,
SIrr, Thisss is a jURy TRiall. HE is InnOCENT Until proOven gUILty."

After this brief act of bravery Hollin took a deep swig and commenced to
choking on the sharp brew.

[Brawl]

"Ridiculous!" the minotaur declared on the instant, downing the last of his
ale and waving the empty mug at the young man to emphasise his point.
"What an archaic notion that is!  Whatever happened to a trial of arms --
now there's a sure method of proving his sins.  Else, just throw him into
the sea (or perhaps one of these vats would do) and see if he drowns; if
not, he's guilty."  Indeed, the tried and true methods were often the best.

Further dark mutterings at such nonsense continued in this vein for a time,
as his young guest coughed and spluttered.  Trials?  Proof?  As he saw
matters, it seemed merely a glorified excuse for some fool to don a wig and
other such outlandish garb.

[Hollin]

"Well....eerrrr...," Hollin managed, "....There is A KIng's enVoy in
tOWN..." For the lack of any greater insight he took a deep swig of the ale
and began vehemently choking.

[Brawl]

"A king's envoy?  Ah, that explains it perhaps," the minotaur stated,
nodding a horned head an acknowledgement for what seemed quite a valid
reasoning.  "Sure enough, one can never judge the nobility by sensible
standards: they're given to foolishness, every last one of them."

Frowning slightly at the boy's display, he shook his head now, in an
unusually quiet disdain; a little spluttering was natural in the course of
drinking, so he had beforetime observed, but this?  "Boy, drink it -- don't
drown in it."

[Hollin]

"Ummmpphh," Hollin started, but finally managed, "SoRry...not USed to
STRong spIRITs."

[Brawl]

"Indeed so," the minotaur acknowledged easily enough.  "This much is
evident, moreso when it is in fact *ale* within your tankard.  That
particular brew was shiped from the farther reaches of the Vathainde, lad,
and a very fine brew for that.  A certain lord Bavault owes me considerable
debt for reason of prior service as a mercenary within his domain, and he
sees fit to redeem it by sending along a few barrels of this from time to
time."

[Hollin]

"SoRRy, Sir......," Hollin managed, all the while hoping that he wasn't
about to get pounded for the offense, "I don'T REalLY kNOw them WEll."

[Brawl]

"I didn't presume that you would, boy," the minotaur intoned in a voice of
booming disapproval, "not when you can't tell spirits from ale in the first
place."

Giving the summons one more cursory and dismissive glance, Brawl seized up
a knife which lay to one side amongst a pile of like implements (equipment
of the Healers Guard, for the most part) and pinned the scrap of parchment
to an empty vat, where it would inevitably catch his eye.  This done, he
looked back to the young Tower Guardsman, shaking his horned head and
wondering what the world was coming to.

"There lad, finish that and you can be on your way.  I've kept you here
long enough, and I assume you've like business to attend to."

[Hollin]

"Yesir," Hollin managed, "And th....AN..k youuu foR The SAle, SiRr!" He
tried to make a sharp, professional turn, but found that the world spun too
fast for him and he stepped straight into a wall. The mug dropped loudly
from his hand.

[Brawl]

Perhaps an inevitable end, Brawl mused absently as he set his own tankard
to one side and surveyed the sprawled heap in which the aspiring Guardsman
had ended.  No damage, fortunately, as ever seemed the case with those
given some strange immunity from all such harm by an excess of potent brew,
though that selfsame condition all but precluded the lad's staggering to
his feet and making his own way from the Hall.

Restraining a sigh for what was becoming an all-too-familiar pastime (in
which he was often called upon to play the beast of burden) the minotaur
reached down and hefted the boy, slung him like a laden potato-sack over
one shoulder, and proceeded from the chamber.  Down the stairs he went,
through the antechamber and out into the street, pausing for a moment to
gain his bearings.  He had never seen occasion to visit the Tower from
which this self-proclaimed Guardsman hailed; now was perhaps a fine time to
do so.

Without further ado, he adjusted the hardly-redoubtable one on his
shoulder, and continued down the street away from the Healers Hall.

[Private Jereminah Inleay]

Jereminah was just approaching the Healer's Hall when she glimpsed what she
_thought_ might be a guard uniform; a uniform covering a body, which was
thrown over a Minotaur's shoulder.

She approached carefully, and as she came closer she could recognize the
green residue on the bottom of Hollin's boots.

"Is there a problem?" she calmly asked, looking up at the Minotaur.

[Brawl]

"Not that I'm aware of ..." the minotaur stated, doubtfully, a moment
passing before the livery the young woman bore impressed itself on his
recognition, as that of the Tower Guard.  One representative of which was
presently slung over his shoulder, in a well-sotted state.  "Ah ... the
Guard."

Belatedly realising that it might look somewhat amiss, his carting a
Guardsman about thus, a symbol of the local authority hefted like an old
potato-sack through the streets of Montfort, he dropped the drunken youth
to the earth beside the young woman.  "I believe this was one of yours?  He
came and delivered to me a summons, of all things.  Who'd credit that --
one with the temerity to summon a minotaur?"

[Jereminah]

Private Inleay first looked down at Avery - then up at Brawl, and said,
"Just doing is his duty, Sir. And, afterall, as a citizen of Montfort it is
your duty to come to jury duty."

Though they hadn't ever gotten many non-humans in Bleckner Jereminah had
faced down one or two large half-breeds in her day, and knew better than
let size intimidate her; though she stayed ready to move quickly - if the
minotaur took offense.

[Brawl]

"Duty or no, he interrupted a measure of fine ale," the minotaur declared,
with a certain outrage; who, in all sanity, would care to do such a thing?
Further, did he not have prior commitments to the Healers Hall, and all
that this stern duty implied?  Already he could see chaos and tumult to no
end within, the mood of the festival having raised the need for vigilance
vastly.  "But this aside, I shall be there, if only to see this 'summoner'
for myself, and to state on no uncertain terms my precise opinioning of
such things."

As a citizen of Montfort, indeed.

[Jereminah/Hollin]

Private Inleay shook her head - Judge Gilford and the lawyers were going to
have their hands full. "You'll have that option, sir," she said, and turned
her attention to the Guardsman laying at her feet.

She bent and hoisted the moaning lad to his feet. To Avery she said, "I
don't even _want_ to know how you got in this state but we're going to find
you a cure before we go back to the Tower."

"BiG MAceeee..," Hollin hiccuped.

[Brawl]

"Hmm."  Giving the two a doubtful glance, the minotaur frowned deeply (a
mighty frowner, was Brawl) and produced a silvern flask.  "You might try
this," he offered then, handing the container to the other, deigning it the
better course to ignore the somewhat dubious look she returned him.
"There's something to rouse him, I assure you.  It won't sober him much,
but he'll be lively as might be, rather than half asleep on the walk back
to the Tower."

What he conveniently neglected to mention was the precise content of said
flask, a potent and incendiary brew the like of which would set a trail of
fire and brimstone down the drinker's throat.  A trail which only the
consumption of many a measure of ale over the subsequent few days woud
likely remove.

[Inleay/Avery]

Private Inleay studied the flask. She had heard nothing ill of either the
Healers' Hall, nor of Brawl, but on general principals she was loath to
accept any potion from a stranger. A lesson she was hoping to teach young
Hollin Avery from this experience. "No offense meant to you, Master
Brawl," she said, "But I've made a rule never to accept unknown potions -
except from a friend, and sometimes that's even questionable - or from a
Watch healer."

She got a more secure hand on Private Avery and continued, "Though I thank
you.....As for this one, I'm going to detour a little and introduce him to
one of my 'cures.' One bequeathed to me by my old Watch Commander - sure
to put a guardsman back on his feet and ready for duty - even if he's been
on leave a week."