Whatever fate may be, it will see the undoing of us all. Let that not sequester the truth: that we were born to live and die.
In the Rusty Anchor, a burly specimen of a man stooped low over the edge of a round table. His name was Sid, and he'd been a regular sight at the inn for as long as anyone cared to remember. Illuminated by the dimness of candlelight, Sid recited a story to his fellows sitting opposite him, wide-eyed and hooked on his every word. His voice was low, but as rough as his whiskers in his old age and it held a whimsical cadence that betrayed his good nature.
"One balmy evening, somewhere along the Asgarnian shore, a child was found wandering with naught but a torn fisher's net wrapped around her shoulders and seaweed laced up her legs like a pair of fine sandals. Sea foam, the color of her skin, clung to her as if she'd emerged from it only moments prior. The water was quiet that hour, still as black glass, which was an oddity in itself as-"
"As the sailors who'd come to port that morning spoke of rough waters abound," a lighter, silken voice finished for him. Casindra slipped up to the table from behind him, a wry smile putting a crease in her cheek. Sid returned her grin in earnest, bearing her teasing with a bellowing laugh. He'd always delivered that line with the same gusto as every telling that came before it--it was a crowd pleaser. She leaned across the table and filled each of the near-empty flagons with another helping of amber ale. There were four of them, one for Sid and three for the patrons who sat around the table, near torpid from the drink they'd already taken. Even in such a state, they offered no complaints to another round.
Perhaps all we can do is hope to have the right regrets.
Roleplayer | Mage | Incorrigible collector of boots and crossbows
12-Jun-2019 22:58:57 - Last edited on 13-Jun-2019 01:50:56 by Casindra†Rin