Mythrael Arrives
Posted: Wed Nov 14, 2007 8:45 am
The raux haired elf steps in with a clatter. Pots and pans rattle restlessly in his sack and the mugs and cups are very upset with being bundled up for so long. All the cutlery were shifting around excitedly.
Let us out they grumble. Mythrael looks around sheepishly and heads towards the kitchen.
Pots to stir, michief to brew, headlines to cook up. SO much work so much work, what a bother!
The bar tromps in as well, lifting up the roof temporarily to allow him in. Having barely survived the conflagration at the old tavern the ancient oaken furniture had hidden out in silverpine forest for days. It had gotten into a fight with a son of argul and had visited gallows end tavern to do a bit of Rp with his friends. I am much too old for this crap he had moaned when traveling on the Blimp.
But the shores of Kalimdor, his ancient homeland were welcoming. For 10's of thousands of cycles he had worked in the Eastern Lands. He had watched all but a few of his mates destroyed or die to magic, rot or shaped into brooms. He had feared that he too would submit to the years or tragedy, lately he had watched his closest companions, the chairs, tables and the tavern door die in fire. His oaken heart ached, breaking a little inside. But this new tavern was one which he could retire in, it was a good place to die.
Let us out they grumble. Mythrael looks around sheepishly and heads towards the kitchen.
Pots to stir, michief to brew, headlines to cook up. SO much work so much work, what a bother!
The bar tromps in as well, lifting up the roof temporarily to allow him in. Having barely survived the conflagration at the old tavern the ancient oaken furniture had hidden out in silverpine forest for days. It had gotten into a fight with a son of argul and had visited gallows end tavern to do a bit of Rp with his friends. I am much too old for this crap he had moaned when traveling on the Blimp.
But the shores of Kalimdor, his ancient homeland were welcoming. For 10's of thousands of cycles he had worked in the Eastern Lands. He had watched all but a few of his mates destroyed or die to magic, rot or shaped into brooms. He had feared that he too would submit to the years or tragedy, lately he had watched his closest companions, the chairs, tables and the tavern door die in fire. His oaken heart ached, breaking a little inside. But this new tavern was one which he could retire in, it was a good place to die.
