BlackAndBlueEyes
09-04-14, 05:26 PM
Solo.
The fire roared inside the stone walls of the tavern while the blizzard raged outside.
Perfectly comfortable in my enchanted sifan cloak, I pulled the edges tight around me out of habit more than anything. I stood at the front windows of the establishment, whose name escaped me at the moment, and gazed with a furrowed brow into perfectly white nothingness outside, my breath slowly fogging up the window.
“Y'know, lass, y'may as well sit down an' 'ave another drink,” the thickly-accented barkeep said from his stool behind the bar. “Th' blizzard ain't goin' anywhere fer' th' time being.”
The squat, balding, mustachioed man was right. I had been holed up in this tavern since... Gosh, since last night, when I had to pack it in, stable my horse, and find a place to wait out the storm.
I had been on one of my first assignments as Maladim's newest Archivist, which saw me head into the northern frontiers of Salvar to acquire a special tome. I was en route to where the book was said to have been last seen when the storm hit.
I let out a deep sigh. Lately, I found myself thinking a lot about all of the weird shit that keeps happening to me. Ever since my family burned down my bookstore in Radasanth, my life has been a blur of changes and transformations. I went from a humble book collector to a mad scientist to some sort of vine-tentacled poisonous plant lady thing and then suddenly find myself back to being someone else's humble book collector, all my human parts restored, and all within the span of months.
It was all too much to try and sort out in my mind, so I ended up shutting it all away in the deepest recesses of my mind. But that led to bad dreams and shit, so I started losing sleep. So then I began adding “personal therapist” to Nell's ever-growing list of job responsibilities as my assistant. She's a sweetheart, and she tries her best to listen; but some days it feels like she would just rather be buried in a book or tinkering at the workbench in our apartment than listening to me lay out my confused feeling to her.
I walked back over to the bar. “How long do these storms last around here?”
“Eh, they're usually pretty touch 'n' go. But sometimes we get a real monster o' one.” He jabbed a thumb towards the weather outside. “Seems like this'll be one of 'em.”
I nodded, muttered a curse, and ordered another drink. Clutching the cold glass mug, I made my way back to the table and took my seat. The tavern was completely barren, save for myself and the keep. He had been nice enough to let me stay the evening on a cot upstairs--chiefly because there was no way I was going to be able to venture anywhere else for the time being.
The two of us sat in content silence for a period. I nursed my ale, and the bartender ended up caving in to his own desires and poured himself one as well.
I had lost track of time long before the front door burst open, bringing with it a blast of cold air, thick flakes of snow, and a burst of wind that caused the roaring fire to heave back and forth on its logs.
A young man's nasaly voice rung from outside. “Hoo boy, it's a bit nippy out there, innit?”
The fire roared inside the stone walls of the tavern while the blizzard raged outside.
Perfectly comfortable in my enchanted sifan cloak, I pulled the edges tight around me out of habit more than anything. I stood at the front windows of the establishment, whose name escaped me at the moment, and gazed with a furrowed brow into perfectly white nothingness outside, my breath slowly fogging up the window.
“Y'know, lass, y'may as well sit down an' 'ave another drink,” the thickly-accented barkeep said from his stool behind the bar. “Th' blizzard ain't goin' anywhere fer' th' time being.”
The squat, balding, mustachioed man was right. I had been holed up in this tavern since... Gosh, since last night, when I had to pack it in, stable my horse, and find a place to wait out the storm.
I had been on one of my first assignments as Maladim's newest Archivist, which saw me head into the northern frontiers of Salvar to acquire a special tome. I was en route to where the book was said to have been last seen when the storm hit.
I let out a deep sigh. Lately, I found myself thinking a lot about all of the weird shit that keeps happening to me. Ever since my family burned down my bookstore in Radasanth, my life has been a blur of changes and transformations. I went from a humble book collector to a mad scientist to some sort of vine-tentacled poisonous plant lady thing and then suddenly find myself back to being someone else's humble book collector, all my human parts restored, and all within the span of months.
It was all too much to try and sort out in my mind, so I ended up shutting it all away in the deepest recesses of my mind. But that led to bad dreams and shit, so I started losing sleep. So then I began adding “personal therapist” to Nell's ever-growing list of job responsibilities as my assistant. She's a sweetheart, and she tries her best to listen; but some days it feels like she would just rather be buried in a book or tinkering at the workbench in our apartment than listening to me lay out my confused feeling to her.
I walked back over to the bar. “How long do these storms last around here?”
“Eh, they're usually pretty touch 'n' go. But sometimes we get a real monster o' one.” He jabbed a thumb towards the weather outside. “Seems like this'll be one of 'em.”
I nodded, muttered a curse, and ordered another drink. Clutching the cold glass mug, I made my way back to the table and took my seat. The tavern was completely barren, save for myself and the keep. He had been nice enough to let me stay the evening on a cot upstairs--chiefly because there was no way I was going to be able to venture anywhere else for the time being.
The two of us sat in content silence for a period. I nursed my ale, and the bartender ended up caving in to his own desires and poured himself one as well.
I had lost track of time long before the front door burst open, bringing with it a blast of cold air, thick flakes of snow, and a burst of wind that caused the roaring fire to heave back and forth on its logs.
A young man's nasaly voice rung from outside. “Hoo boy, it's a bit nippy out there, innit?”