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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
Mynx

Werewolf XL

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Asmenfarmod was a small town, but rarely was it quiet. Industrious, friendly, it was the type of town where children were raised together, secrets were nigh on impossible to keep, and routine ruled the daily lifestyle.

It was also a town, however, that years ago had dreaded the full moon and the beast it brought with it.

An old superstition, and old fear of the lycanthrope from generations past.

Even though the fabled beast had not been seen or heard from for years, the older villagers remained nervous of those few nights every month.

Yet, as the first warm days of spring entered the town this year, it was hard for even the most fearful to remember to lock their doors at night.

In fact, this year, no one even noticed the lunar cycle as it approached another full moon...

 

OOC: You know the drill. 48 hours to introduce yourself and get to know people. In two days, the first NPC kill, and the roles will be cast

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Enipul Mai wandered in his slow aimless shuffle through the streets, his glased eyes watching more than most realised and a sharp mind beneath the fuzz of alcoholism remebering key snippet of things he saw.

 

He paused momentarily at the Door of Preston's tavern, and then once again entered.

 

"Preston, dearest friend, how is the morning treating you? are you going to try and convince me it is too early once again to have my usual and suggest that exessively strong coffee of yours as a better way to begin my day?

 

Sitting at his usual stool by the corner of the bar, Enipul Mai began his day, the token arguements the routine now, and always done with a playful smile.

 

:raven:

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Meanwhile, further along the road, Ahadrion Karios sat on the roof of his strange home, completely focused on a drawing spread out upon his knees. Every so often, he would measure a line, and write something beneath it. Had anyone looked, they would have seen a diagram of a seven-legged chair, with strange symbols marking lengths.

 

As people passed by, Ahadrion did not notice, but then, not many people noticed him any more, as his strange ways had become somewhat familiar over the past few years. Only on the occasions that homes needed to be built was he of much interest.

 

Finally, Ahadrion walked down the sloped roof to the ground. He noticed someone walking past, and greeted them with a hearty "Kiestrasan!", which could mean anything, the way he talked. He then turned, and went into his house. Not long afterwards, hammering sounds could be heard from within.

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Millie peeked out from the kitchen, arching an eyebrow. With a somewhat loud "tsk", she went back in for a moment before coming out with a tray. Unceremoniously she dumped the contents in front of Enipul Mai, a "don't-dare-to-say-no" look in her face.

 

"Good morning, Enipul. Instead of that stuff, what you need is something to warm your stomach in this chilly morning and prepare it for a day." She pushed the bowl towards him, nodded with finality, and turned around to Preston to talk about the need of goods for the day's cooking.

 

Preston smiled, that morning bowl to Enipul having been Millie's random offering for quite some time by now, and turned his attention to Millie.

 

"I need some special ingredients for tonight, I hope there's no problem about sending Cathy to Mrs. Abbot to buy them. Also, we need some white wine; I know you prefer reds but whites will go better with what I'm planning for next days. And you better talk to Joe, the quality of the meat he's sent last time was below the norm."

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After having his breakfast, Jonathan headed for the center of the village to gather news of the world, which meant going down to Preston's tavern and find out what gossips were running around in the village.

 

Upon entering he aproached the counter where Millie was talking to Preston, nodded to Enipul and greeted both Millie and Preston with a smile.

 

"Millie get me an ale."

 

"Preston, before you leave I should tell you about my latest vintage, I have just taken some white wine out of barrel and you should try it."

Edited by Mithrandin

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Another one with ale at this time in the morning... Millie muttered something under her breath, but perked up at Jonathan's next few words.

 

"White wine, you said?" She ignored the ale order, as Jonathan knew she would -- she was proud of her position as cook, and would rarely serve people at the bar -- and turned her full attention to him. "Tell me, is it very strong? Sweet or just mildy or not at all? I need something special for these days."

 

She smiled charmingly at the farmer, apparently ignoring his frown at having his talk to Preston interrupted.

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Preston took stock of the morning happenings and requests in his tavern that was so dear to him. He had worked his whole adult life under its roof, starting in the kitchen, then later moving on to the bar, and finally was able to scratch together the money to buy the place when the previous owner wanted to move on from the business.

 

He listened intently to Millie and her cooking needs, knowing full well that yes, he would get what she needed, as he had managed to land the best cook in the town in his kitchen, therefore he would do what it took to keep her there, after all, business did go up when she joined the team and started putting her delicious food on the tables of his customers. After hearing her list, nodding intently the whole time, Preston turned his head towards Enipul and his bowl of breakfast.

 

"You know I'm right... that coffee is much better with breakfast than any ale or whiskey. Besides, how would you make it through the day if it weren't for Millie's fine cooking here?"

 

"And as for you Jonathan, you know full well that the taps aren't used this early in the day, other than special occasions, and this isn't one! Have yourself some breakfast and a good strong cup of coffee, and we can talk about some ale in a little while." Preston smirked as he informed Jonathan of his situation. "Now, as for your wine, I might have to have a good look and taste of that, see if its up to the standards that I need, and will match whatever Millie is cooking up, delicious as I'm sure it will be. I'm sure we can work out a good deal..." Preston turned to Millie "..And by all means, get the ingredients you need, just be sure to get a good deal on them, ok? I didn't come to owning this place by spending my money all over town..."

 

Preston sat down on his stool on his side of the bar and picked up his mug of coffee which was steaming away, drank and took a deep breath. Ready for another day at his home away from home.

Edited by Lord Panther

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After agreeing heartily with Preston about getting a good deal out of her goods suppliers, Millie went to the kitchen. There she checked two rather big loaves of bread, and smiled satisfied at their appearance and smell. She then cut a few thick slices, put then on three plates, and went back to Preston. The smell that came from the plates made everybody in reach almost drool, and Preston looked at Millie with a questioning face.

 

"What's this now, Millie?" He reached for one of the plates, tested the softness of the bread and examined the stuffing, restraining his desire to just take an unceremonious bite out of it.

 

"Just a new recipe of bread, I thought it might be nice to have it for breakfast menu. Please, what do you think of it?"

 

She smiled at Preston's reaction after one bite, and definitely grinned as he almost wolfed it down in a couple more bites.

 

"Delicious! What did you use for the stuffing?"

 

The question was a rhetorical one, since Millie never fully gave her recipes to anyone they knew of, and Millie just glossed over it.

 

"So I think I can go on with the usual way and then start serving it in maybe a couple days?"

 

"Surely you can, Millie -- thank you!"

 

Jonathan and Enipul kept their eyes on Millie, or rather on the other two plates, trying to be discreet -- or not that much, on Millie's eyes. She silently served them, and went back to kitchen.

 

Millie took some notes on ther trusted kitchen notebook, and waited for the rest of the feedback on her new recipe. For this was the usual way she did it -- first serving it to her helpers, who had long since got used to expressing freely their feelings about her food so that she could improve it. After that, going to Preston and whoever was talking to him at the time; and, after getting his approval, sending "samples" to a few selected customers to have their opinion. It usually helped her to adapt the recipe to the more general taste, while keeping its uniqueness, while of course spreading the news around the village. It almost always ended up with lots of patrons in the following week, until everybody got used to the novelty and incorporated it to their habits.

 

Millie quickly cut and wrapped some more thick slices of her new bread specialty, putting them aside while calling Cathy, one of her two helpers.

 

"There, please deliver this to Samuel, Giles, Ahadrion -- yes, the weird architect guy, you know who he is -- and Jem. Do not get lost in the way looking for guys, mind you! Then go to Mrs. Abbott and get the goods, the list is here." She put everything nicely on a basket, tucked the shopping list and the needed money in Cathy's apron's pocket, and wrapped another thick slice of bread in a napkin. "Yes, this is for you to eat on the way. I expect you back in an hour at the most, be a good girl!"

 

Cathy, always striving to be efficient, reassured Millie that she'd be back in time for the pre-lunch kitchen peak hour, and left by the kitchen door in a hurry.

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Enipul Mai, sat watching the morning's activities with his usual enjoyment. The insistance of Millie that he eat would normally have provided opportunity for yet another playfully argumentative exchange, but the morning seemed fuller today, more to do, so Enipul Mai resigned himself to savouring Millie's amazing cooking and partially contemplating the coffee offered by Preston. The bread that Millie presented shortly after was a welcome addition to the morning meal.

 

Eating with the practiced precision of someone who has dined with royalty, Enipul Mai sat and watched the daily tasks unfold around him, It have been many years since he had done much beside contemplate the inside of a tankard of ale, or more recently the contents of the glassware that Preston used to serve his whiskey. The days always seemed to drift into each other, just a blend of routine and the casual interactions that became habitual greetings whenever the paths of the townspeople crossed as they went about their business.

 

The bread made for a suitable sponge to mop up the last of Millie's cooking, the bitterness of the morning coffee a plesant cleanse to the palate. Strong coffee awakened the mind too much at times, but this morning seemed fuller somehow, and the day seemed to require a bit more attention to its finer details.

 

As Preston walked past, Enipul Mai raised his coffee, "Preston, sir I agree, coffee is a far better way to begin this day, however it seems my palate has been softened by the splendour of Millie's cooking. Would it be possible to obtain something to sweeten my cup? say some of your fortified mead?" Enipul Mai winked, he knew it was unlikely to be agreed to, but was part of the morning ritual, and somewhat of a game now, Preston's laugh proved it still was.

 

:raven:

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Food. A hastily prepared broth that the kind cook at the tavern wouldn't have served even in her foulest mood. A bowl. Discarded container at the end of a trace of soup on the wooden floor. Footprints. Sticky reminders of the feel of the foul liquid. Smoke. Thick wisps of stench filling the room. A mess. His home was always a mess. Scented candles lay half burned over the floor. One of them had burned a small hole in the bedsheets. Herbs, which elsewhere would have a fetched a fortune from those who liked to soften their pain lay on the ground, trampled and sullied. There was always plenty more. The field was but two miles from his home. Life was good, life never had been so good for Xander.

 

His dreams had never been so messed up either. For the life of him he could not remember painting last night. He could not remember the blurry strokes of a paintbrush, the dark shapes moving on the moon-lit field. He finished stuffing his pipe full of herbs and lit it from his tinderbox. Despite the shakes and the chills he occasionally had his hands still functioned well enough. But each day was worse, each day bringing closer the slow descent into his own personal hell. He had been at the gates for years, but he knew that he was slowly slipping out of control. Soon there would be no choice but to pass the gates, never to look back. The day when his hands weren't going to be able to hold a paintbrush satisfactorily weren't far away. A year...maybe three. Who knew?

 

On a whim, Xander grabbed the painting and threw it in the fireplace. It caught fire fast and in a matter of minutes was reduced to a pile of ashes. The foul smoke the burning paints produced drove him from his home into the fresh morning air. It brought a minor coughing fit on him, which he cured with several long puffs from his pipe. He checked the pouch at his belt, but it was still half full. Still a couple of days before he had to refill.

 

He coughed some more before deciding to make his way towards the tavern. It was the only place which seemed to have life this early in the mornings. And at least if he passed out there, he'd be put into a clean bed for a couple of hours. Lately, it was also part of the morning ritual in that place.

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Samuel examined the twisted chunk of metal that was to become the head of a pick ax and decided it was not hot enough before returning it to the forge. At the moment the town's needs for a blacksmith were low and besides a few broken tools like the pick ax, there was very little work to be done. Samuel scratched at his beard as he examined his mostly empty shop, shrugged, and walked over to his grinding stone. As was his habit whenever he had some spare time at the shop, he began to sharpen the knife he always kept on his belt. In the same way that listening to the waves of the ocean calmed some people, listening to the grinding of the stone and knife centered Samuel and focused his weary mind. Soon his worries over the recent slow in work faded and he forgot about the rising cost of coal that was making it so hard for him to keep his forge hot. His mind let go of the replacement anvil he still needed to buy and the iron hammer, his favorite, that he had broken earlier that morning. But try as he might, for as long as he sat at that stone, he could not forget the head stone at the church yard, and the smaller one beside it, that shared his last name.

 

He stopped and shook his head, trying his best to unthink that last thought, but the image of the two headstones stayed fresh in his mind. The lack of work bothered him not just because he had debts to pay, but mostly because he needed the work to keep his mind busy. He stood suddenly, knocking the chair beneath him aside. He walked quickly to the basin of water on the shelf, splashing his face and rubbing his eyes. When Cathy stepped into the shop water still dripped from his beard.

 

The bread was still warm and it helped a great deal to lift his spirits. He thanked Cathy for delivering it to him and told her to pass along his gratitude to Millie as well. As she left the small shed, he returned to the forge only to discover he had been too inattentive and the pick ax head was now too hot and warped and he would have to begin again. He sighed and dumped the hot metal in a bucket of water to cool and then after a moment went to go get his coat. He would finish the pick ax later, right now he felt like going to thank Millie himself.

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Ezekiel opened his eyes reluctantly as the sun poured in through a small crack between the expensive curtains. He turned around, but still felt the warmth of the sunray on his back, becoming more and more awake because of it, in spite of his desperate attempts to cling to the last remnants of sleep.

 

"Why should I even bother?"

 

The phrase was barely audible, just groaned to himself. Hearing it, however, suddenly made him snap upright as if something important suddenly crossed his mind. With a broad grin he jumped out of bed, saying to himself, "Of course, that's why!"

 

He threw open the curtains, put on the clothes that his servant had laid out for him the night before and went to his study, where he smiled as he saw his breakfast already waiting for him, and still steaming. Knowing Alex, he'd put it there right before he came in. Making a mental note to himself to give the man a nice bonus at the end of the week, he sat down at his desk and started to write a letter while enjoying his breakfast.

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Darkness fell upon the town, and along with it the sounds of villagers turning in for the night. Dogs and cats whined in complaint as they were put outside, children kissed their parents goodnight, lovers embraced...

And as the full moon appeared from behind the clouds, a chilling howl rose in the air.

Most ignored it, or told themselves it was just someone's dog - perhaps catching the scent of a rabbit or a female in heat.

Others suspected, but refused to give into their fears.

As one though, the villagers all told themselves that it was nothing to worry about. Just a noise in the night.

And they believed that until the next morning, when they discovered the body of Johnny Caster, the shepherd. He was lying sprawled in the town square, his throat and innards torn from his body.

No matter how much they wanted to deny it the night before, now the villagers had no excuse but to acknowledge...

The werewolf had returned.

 

OOC: GAME TIME :D We're now in Day phase and roles are being PM'd out. 48 hours to cast your votes...

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The morning felt different, there was a reluctance to work to routines. Enipul Mai sat grumpily in the square looking at the crowd, he didnt like the change of pace, everything was different, and that was never a good thing. Arguements would start next.

 

He watched in silence, wondering what to do. This morning he needed a drink.

 

:raven:

 

(ooc: vote for Samuel - Savage Dragon)

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Once again Ezekiel woke up and wondered why he even bothered. Then he heard the screaming and hurriedly got up. He got dressed before going to the window and looking out, and immediately turned himself away from the window again, fighting back a gag reflex. Normally he'd send his servant out to go and figure out what was going on, but he felt it wouldn't really do this time, so he went out himself.

 

He talked to a few of the villagers and, after some prying and prodding, managed to get one of them to tell him about the werewolf.

 

"Just great. Out of all the towns I could have moved to, I pick the one that's the personal feeding grounds of one of those critters."

 

 

OOC: Vote for Tanuchan / Millicent, because she was randomly highlighted. And who says that that "delicious new plate" doesn't contain some human meat, eh? ;-)

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In times like this Enipul Mai was a perfect example of the strengths of good preparation, he fished around in the folds of his large robe-like jacket and withdrew a flask. Drinking deeply first, then standing and moving through the gathered villagers.

 

"What creature of devistation has visited upon us this morning's visions? What stories are there to be told of it? for it is in the understanding of your foe that you gain insights to victory."

 

The mutters of 'Oh no not again', and 'why now', greeted his words, but Enuipul Mai was well used to his proverbial speeches being misunderstood and often enchouraged the laughter they inspired, and the town needed some laughter now, but more importantly, they needed the focus to see who this creature was and put a stop to this.

 

"It seems my friends that the howling creatures of night have new clothes to hide in again, no longer the fleecy garb of sheep have they, but now the face of friends and foe alike. tell us your stories then, tell us and teach us the ways to victory, let us spend this day preparing for battle and fortifying the hearts of all."

 

He took another long drink, his flask would need fortifying soon, where was Preston?

 

:raven:

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School being closed Giles I. Crane was at the tavern eating some of the delicous bread, having some coffe and pondering the days events.

 

Venefyxatu – Ezekiel Llewellyn, a disgraced nobleman

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Millie was busy in the kitchen, for it seemed half of the village had decided to gather in the tavern to share the news or get some comfort. She prepared a nice batch of warm food, spiced in a way that made some people remember the full spring days; she also put on tables her new bread, and kept an eye on the bar to see whether Preston would need a hand in there -- not that she would go, but she could most of times spare one of her helpers if it got really pressing in the bar. Her kitchen and cooking were well-planned, and she could work harder to make up for one pair of hands less.

 

While she cooked, though, her mind also wandered to the morning's find. Johnny Caster had been one of her few close friends, a nice young man who always had fun stories and sometimes gifted her with fleece in winter. She would miss him, and was more angry than anything else that the Beast had chosen this village to harass.

 

 

She had spent the little time she had free in the morning to write a short memorial for Johnny in her notebook, and planned to have it etched on his tomb if she could spare the money. Then, while going to the tavern she had intently but discreetly scanned the people on the streets, and even those she could see through windows. Her mind stored each impression they gave her, and tried to sort out through feelings -- they were, after all, her neighbors and friends, and she couldn't really believe one of them had dared to intrude in that friendly village.

 

"Cathy, give me a hand here! We'll need more of that broth for lunch, the way people seem to have decided to hang around here to talk!"

 

But who could... who...? There were all either born in the villaged or settled in here for so long... how could they avoid this until now? And why now?

 

Millie sighed, and being practical did what everybody else was trying to do -- hoped this would be just a single attack, something that would happen maybe only once in every generation. And pushed firmly aside the image of one of the weirdest person she knew in the village.

 

 

~~~~~~

 

OOC: Accusing Chalice Tantrella/gabrielcharon

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If anyone had been watching Samuel's face when the news of the killing first reached him, they would have noticed a blank face with no expression. He reacted the same way he always had when devastating news came, with no emotion, only a cool, measured response. When he arrived at th scene he began to sweep the crowd for faces he recognized, evaluating both the man and his character.

 

Enipul Mai had spoken first in the crowd, not that that surprised anyone, his lust for attention was as well known as his lust for alcohol. Samuel had always been a little wary of Enipul, but he was more of an annoyance than anything else. He hardly seemed to pose much of a threat to anyone.

 

Samuel was surprised to see Ezekiel Llewellyn actually come out of his house himself to see the carnage in the street. And while he certainly seemed out of place and full of nothing but contempt for the villagers, he didnt really fit the bill of a killer. The rich were always much more subtle with their sins and judging from the few stories he had heard about the man's mysterious departure from the capitol, Ezekiel knew to stay in the shadows of anything sinister.

 

Of course, when he had seen Millie his thoughts turned from his investigation and he instead thought of warm bread and hot soup, delivered with a cheeky remark on the few occasions Millie could be dragged from the kitchen. She looked pretty even though her face was obviously upset and he couldn't help but follow her gaze across the clearing, when he realized who she was staring at.

 

Chalice Tantrella sat away from the crowd, disconnected it seemed. Oddly the smith realized the more he though on it, the more he realized how little he knew about her. He was not even sure where she resided, unusually for a small town like this. Under normal circumstances he didn't like to judge people too quickly, but these were not normal circumstances.

 

OOC: Vote for Chalice Tantrella - gabrielcharon

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Firm strokes by a heavily used pen. A canvas almost hidden in the fumes, which constantly permeate the air in his hut. A ghastly drawing slowly appearing on the no-longer immaculately white canvas. A masterpiece, which shall end its life amongst the flames in less than an hour. Figures from the worst nightmares, bringers of death. In a lovely field of yellow roses. The roses encircle a lonely figure, a bizarre expression...a mixture of fear and joy on his face. His blood a lake of red.

 

The painting's but a pile of ash. None of Xander's paintings from the last three weeks survived his return to a semblance of consciousness. He's thirsty. Famished. Was it just the last day that he had gone to the tavern and then emptied his stomach of the lovely meal that delicious cook had served him. Or was it a delicious cook from a lovely meal. Thinking was hard, thoughts disjointed and a piece of the painting still survived. A blood red rose over a patch of yellow ripples. It was weird. Even for Xander who was way used to weird. He needed a drink. He filled his pipe and mechanically lit it as he examined the painting with his eyes which once could have passed for those of an art critic.

 

It was beautiful. Useless. Masterful strokes of utter horror. It was only a bloody rose over a pool of piss. No artistic merit. He lights it from his pipe. The burning paint stinks. He collapses on the bed, but is up in a matter of minutes, frantically throwing bed sheets and clothes all over the place, cleaning before his mother comes to inspect his room. She's been dead only seven years. Or was it seventeen? His pipe has gone out. He lights it from the fire, but the fire is no longer lit. Disgustedly he kicks at the ashes, covering his clothes and face by the rising gray cloud.

 

When he gets to the tavern he doesn't look much different than usual. Ashen face, disgustingly dirty clothes, paint all over the front of his shirt, mixed in with the remains of some sort of weird meal he had had the night...day...whenever before. And the blood stains covering his left sleeve.

 

He takes his usual place, the farthest from the bright lights of the fireplace as possible. Someone mentions his bloody sleeve loud enough for him to hear. A genuine look of surprise fleets across his face as he glances at it. Could he have ran out of red paint yet again?

 

OOC(ICishly): No vote...yet...too stoned to remember who lives in the town

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Upon waking, Jem was pressed into service by his mother. Word of the attack reached the household, and Jem was, of course, cautioned to stay inside. But he just had to see for himself. Rushing through his chores, he escaped the house as soon as possible. With his usual exuberance he ran down to the town square. What he saw there brought him to an abrupt halt.

 

The carnage was just being cleaned up, and for a moment, Jem wished he'd obeyed his mother's warning. All the usual characters were already present, talking amongst themselves. Enipul Mai's words seemed nonsensical as usual, and Jem spared a thought of annoyance for the man. To Jem's surprise, Ezekiel Llewleyn was in the street, interrogating various villagers. While it was unusual to see the nobleman consorting with villagers, he genuinely appeared not to know anything of the attack.

 

Jem slipped into the tavern, his usual source of information, looking for someone who might know what was going on. It was crowded today, and he found himself in a less than optimal position in a corner. Grumbling, he began to elbow his way towards the fire, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red. Turning, he found Xander, looking as disconnected as ever. Jem stared at the artist's left sleeve. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like it'd been drenched in blood.

 

"Xander." He couldn't catch the artist's eye, and Jem raised his voice to be heard. "Xander! What's that on your sleeve? It's blood, isn't it? Why is there blood on your sleeve?" Jem eyed the man somewhat nervously, his imagination easily jumping to conclusions.

 

 

OOC: Vote for Patrick/Xander

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Blood...paint...roses. He lifts the bloody sleeve, and with the obvious gash on his forearm confirms his own suspicions about the cause of his injury. Time to get more red paints...or find the ones that he had misplaced somewhere in his home...his mess. The cook, or some maiden looking suspiciously like her passes by.

 

"I'll not want any food today Millie. Wouldn't want to meet it again like I did yesterday. This establishment does not deserve my vomit fluidly grazing its cleanly polished surfaces." He puffs on his long extinct pipe, bringing a small taste of herbs to his mouth. Are roses herbs?

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Preston was shocked, as it appeared that most of the town, if not all of it, was with the events of the day. Definately not the norm around here, at least not in recent years. But now that he was at his post behind the bar, Preston had other worries, and as much as he tried, he couldn't quite get the gory images out of his mind. Who would do such a thing? Why would they be here now? Both questions that, with the tavern being so busy, he really should replace in his mind with ones like, Is the kitchen putting the food out fast enough? Is there enough coffee? Is there enough ale?

 

Scanning over the unusually large crowd in the Tavern, Preston decided that indeed his crew was doing well, everyone seemed pleased, despite being on edge over the night's happenings. All was well, at least those things that he had control of under this roof. His mind continued to wander back to the biggest question of all. Who was the killer?

 

OOC: no vote yet.

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Finally awakened by the commotion outside, Ahadrion Karios opened his front door and yawned, before seeing the horrific sight of the mangled corpse, surrounded by villagers. Through the small crowd, he saw a red-stained sleeve, and although it seemed to be Xander's, in that brief glance he could not be certain. Where formerly he had seemed uncharacteristically tired, he now gibbered energetically in his strange tongue, stepped back and slammed his door. He spent several hours hammering reinforcement planks into his walls, and installing brackets for a bar for his door.

 

When he was finished, Ahadrion very cautiously opened the door and walked on to the street. Almost jumping at any noise, walking as far from others as he could, he came to the tavern. He walked over to the bar, and said to Preston, "Kilon treik sqwa", pointing to the kitchen. Although the words were different each time, Preston knew by now that Ahadrion wanted food to take home, but this time the foreigner kept motioning for more. When finally he was satisfied, he put a large, gold coin onto the bar with the clang only the purest gold gave. Before Preston could argue about overpayment, Ahadrion grabbed the bag and turned, speaking to no one else on the way out, looking at each person as though they could be dangerous. On the way home, he went at a pace not far short of a run.

 

 

 

OOC: I vote for Xander.

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