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”You wake up feeling as though a large buffalo has
urinated in your mouth, and possibly then walked all
over you as an encore. There is a pounding in your
ears, and as you crack open one eyelid, a blinding
light sends a needle of pain through your head. You
open the other eye and try to sit up, making the world
spin and shake around you. By Sigmar, what did you
drink last night?
This is the hangover to end all hangovers, the black
beast of legend and madness; and still the world
keeps rocking and shaking, still the pounding is in
your ears. Gradually you realize that the world really
is rocking and shaking, and that the pounding you can
hear really does sound like the pounding of hooves.
You turn your head to the sound of dry retching, and
see another figure next to you, looking, you think,
even worse than you feel. Vaguely you remember him,
one of a couple of chance drinking buddies from last
night. You sat and drank wildly with a couple of the
local coachmen, spinning a tale of your bravery, and
much impressed, they’d sold you all cheap tickets
for the stagecoach.
You sit up suddenly. You are lying
amidst a pile of luggage, on top
of a moving carriage, traveling at
breakneck speed through the forest.
A convulsive grab at a handrail. Two
other figures are stirring next to you,
one groaning and muttering in a foreign
language, the other sobbing a little and clutching at
their head. Discarded next to you you see your purse,
turned inside out and obviously empty. Groan. A wine
bottle rolls past you, spilling the last of its contents as
it skitters by. A gentle sob. It starts to rain lightly. You
sigh, and rolling onto your back, look to the heavens.
Could this day be any worse?
As if by magic, an arrow appears in the carriage roof
next to your head, vibrating slightly. If only ... ”