J
John Mograine
Guest
Virgil was getting too old for this.
The owner of the Shattered Skull propped the door open with a knee and heaved the heavy cask atop his shoulder. It wasn't so much that he was old, he reminded himself with a grimace. The first grey hairs had only begun to show in his temples, and that haggard face still bore some semblance of the soldier he had once been. But he could feel the weariness weighing down on him. Crushing. Sapping at who he was.
It was time for a vacation.
The sound of patrons and bards beat at his ears. Some idiot who thought himself a dandy strummed some obnoxious tune that made Virgil's ears bleed. Winter had driven the locals indoors, into taverns such as these. While he appreciated the patronage, he certainly could use the money, he no longer had patience for the people. Vacation, he mused. Magincia would be nice. In not but a banana hammock sipping from a coconut.
He shuddered. The thought was enough to make him cringe.
"Tessa!" he barked. Where was that wench? Tugging on the moustache of another merchant again. He slammed the cask down on the table.
"You," he pointed. Greta stopped in her tracks, her golden braids swinging as she turned. "See that the table in the corner gets their Dire Wolf." She nodded without a word and scurried off to the bar. Fookin' Northerners. He could see his reflection in a nearby mirror - a mask of menacing rage - and tried to stamp down the welling amusement. If this is what it took to get his employees to do what he wanted, he would need to wear it more often. He scrunched his brows in the mirror...
[OOC: Feel free to join in.]
The owner of the Shattered Skull propped the door open with a knee and heaved the heavy cask atop his shoulder. It wasn't so much that he was old, he reminded himself with a grimace. The first grey hairs had only begun to show in his temples, and that haggard face still bore some semblance of the soldier he had once been. But he could feel the weariness weighing down on him. Crushing. Sapping at who he was.
It was time for a vacation.
The sound of patrons and bards beat at his ears. Some idiot who thought himself a dandy strummed some obnoxious tune that made Virgil's ears bleed. Winter had driven the locals indoors, into taverns such as these. While he appreciated the patronage, he certainly could use the money, he no longer had patience for the people. Vacation, he mused. Magincia would be nice. In not but a banana hammock sipping from a coconut.
He shuddered. The thought was enough to make him cringe.
"Tessa!" he barked. Where was that wench? Tugging on the moustache of another merchant again. He slammed the cask down on the table.
"You," he pointed. Greta stopped in her tracks, her golden braids swinging as she turned. "See that the table in the corner gets their Dire Wolf." She nodded without a word and scurried off to the bar. Fookin' Northerners. He could see his reflection in a nearby mirror - a mask of menacing rage - and tried to stamp down the welling amusement. If this is what it took to get his employees to do what he wanted, he would need to wear it more often. He scrunched his brows in the mirror...
[OOC: Feel free to join in.]
