11-14-2018, 09:49 PM
[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 60%; font-family: georgial; font-size: 11pt;"]It'd been an unholy amount of time since Feliks had willfully entered a tavern. He'd forced himself to become a non-drinker following an increase in skeptical thoughts, whilst his liver and kidneys certainly thanked him for holding back on the alluring poisons of alcohol, his head wasn't so inclined to be grateful. Stress was a horrible demon, with too much of it the only place it could be relieved was by taking it out on others as opposed to indulging in bad habits to wash away the sorrows. Trusting the Typhoon to treat him well if he was wasted was too much to ask for, even still the Privateer felt like it was time to stop being a worrywart when it came to spirits and rums. That was the reason why, opiates in his bloodstreams be damned, he was more than happy to repair the tavern.
The fire would've been nothing more than an ember if he'd been around and strong, a statement that went past delusions of grandeur and one he'd resonate with to the grave. Nothing could stop the past now though, the time had come to move on and figure out how to fix up the charred old tavern before his peers became rowdy. A sign had been placed in the center of camp by the male, a wooden thing with barely legible writing kept in place by becoming Loki's perch. Cl3anin up the drink3r's d3n, h3lp want3d. When aforementioned help (or 'h3lp' if one couldn't mind the backwards 'e's), did arrive, they'd find the door to the Capricorn Tarvern busted open, barely hanging on it's hinges following the vicious fiery assault. Oh, and Feliks was there too.
In the gryphon's mouth was a broom which appeared to have engravings of it's own in it (though one would have to get close enough to realise that they spelled out 'Sweepiks'), soot and glass broken in the hurry to flee being swept towards one corner of debris. A horrific smell was wafting from the upstairs, the Privateer wisely choosing to avoid exploring the area where some must've been trapped until others arrived. A body or two missed in the initial search, he wished only to focus on the simpler tasks until he'd worked up the energy to seek out the identities of the lost souls. For now that just meant cleaning the floors, restocking the rum and fixing up the tables.
Goodness that would be hard to do alone.
The fire would've been nothing more than an ember if he'd been around and strong, a statement that went past delusions of grandeur and one he'd resonate with to the grave. Nothing could stop the past now though, the time had come to move on and figure out how to fix up the charred old tavern before his peers became rowdy. A sign had been placed in the center of camp by the male, a wooden thing with barely legible writing kept in place by becoming Loki's perch. Cl3anin up the drink3r's d3n, h3lp want3d. When aforementioned help (or 'h3lp' if one couldn't mind the backwards 'e's), did arrive, they'd find the door to the Capricorn Tarvern busted open, barely hanging on it's hinges following the vicious fiery assault. Oh, and Feliks was there too.
In the gryphon's mouth was a broom which appeared to have engravings of it's own in it (though one would have to get close enough to realise that they spelled out 'Sweepiks'), soot and glass broken in the hurry to flee being swept towards one corner of debris. A horrific smell was wafting from the upstairs, the Privateer wisely choosing to avoid exploring the area where some must've been trapped until others arrived. A body or two missed in the initial search, he wished only to focus on the simpler tasks until he'd worked up the energy to seek out the identities of the lost souls. For now that just meant cleaning the floors, restocking the rum and fixing up the tables.
Goodness that would be hard to do alone.
WHERE SECRETS LIE IN THE BORDER FIRES
———————「 typhoon / [color=black]tags / griffon / @ PYRO 」 ———————