Erik and Marko in Unicorn of Death (1_97)

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Thrice Told Tale_11
Thrice Told Tale_12

Thrice-Told Tale #11


by Rus Hall

There they were, the three amigos; weaving their way home.  Happy, exhausted and quite drunk.  But could anyone blame them?  It was a time to celebrate.  Dirk's magic cannon lay in ruins, they all had a particularly narrow, if not spectacular, escape, and the south was safe again (for a while).

So, of course, they had stopped into to first tavern on the way home to celebrate.  O.K. it was actually the third; the first having been destroyed by one of the cannon shells, the second being the Sword and the Skull.  Now, after the proper amount of celebration, they were meandering their way home.

"I've got to hand it to you Justin, your timing is impeccable" slurred Erik.

"Don't forget the million kolnas, (burp) you owe me." replied Justin.

"We'll just take it out of the money you've borrowed from us over the years." laughed Marko.

Soon they were passing an old cemetery.  The three happy souls decided to enter and pay their respects to the dearly departed - whoever they were.

"Come have a look over here," said Eric, "it's Michael O'Grady's grave, God blesh his soul. (hic) He lived to the ripe old age of 87. Good blood, those O'Grady's!"

"That's nothing!" calls Justin, a few stones over.  "Here's one named Patrick Morgan. It says here that he was 95 when he died.  (burp) What a hardy fellow.  Bet he could hold his liquor better'n you t-t-two."

Just then, Marko yells out from another marker near the end, "Forget them, you guys, here's a fella that lived to be . . . 145 years old!"

"What was his name?" asked the brothers Greystone in unison.

Marko stumbles around a bit, with a quirky little smile, laughs, "Miles, to Dunfirm!"


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