Curufin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
craftycurvo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eswareinmal2012-01-14 03:34 pm
craftycurvo) wrote in eswareinmal2012-01-14 03:34 pm
[Log post Day 4] To the pub!
Characters: Curufin and Snow
Open? Potentially
Where: Terrace of the Drunk Duck tavern
When: Late afternoon/early evening
Warnings: None as yet
Not that Curufin's feeling particularly sorrowful. Drained, perhaps, from his forays into elementary spellcasting. Feeling his massive sugar rush from the muffins wear off, hard. Tipsy, possibly, from the pint of potent stout he's sipping - he's more used to delicate elven wines, not mortal beer that really tastes like it needs a good watering down if not to make you staggeringly drunk by noon.
He came here, he thinks, to clear his head. His room isn't conducive to thought any longer. In particular, he's dwelling on how real, and yet unreal, his predicament is. The coarse wood bench and the bitter ale seem real enough, but then again he just summoned fire from his fingers. In what land does that work?
Several answers present themselves, none of which he particularly likes. He wonders whether maybe he should ask one of the merry clientele, but is put off by the lack of orbs present about them. It's a specifically hero problem and he's not sure they would understand.
Open? Potentially
Where: Terrace of the Drunk Duck tavern
When: Late afternoon/early evening
Warnings: None as yet
Not that Curufin's feeling particularly sorrowful. Drained, perhaps, from his forays into elementary spellcasting. Feeling his massive sugar rush from the muffins wear off, hard. Tipsy, possibly, from the pint of potent stout he's sipping - he's more used to delicate elven wines, not mortal beer that really tastes like it needs a good watering down if not to make you staggeringly drunk by noon.
He came here, he thinks, to clear his head. His room isn't conducive to thought any longer. In particular, he's dwelling on how real, and yet unreal, his predicament is. The coarse wood bench and the bitter ale seem real enough, but then again he just summoned fire from his fingers. In what land does that work?
Several answers present themselves, none of which he particularly likes. He wonders whether maybe he should ask one of the merry clientele, but is put off by the lack of orbs present about them. It's a specifically hero problem and he's not sure they would understand.
OoC
Re: OoC
...let's assume he takes her home like a nice elf.