A Quiet Return
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He pulls his cloak tighter about himself, stamping from foot to foot impatiently, trying to fend off the cold. He was almost there. Almost back to his old home. He could see it now. Ale. Rain. Badgers. Oh, how he missed it.
With unhurried steps, he made his way to the North gate, noting that it looked quite fortified from the time that he had left. Jandor's Guards ignored the figure, and he continued into Norwick. The snow crunched under his feet, and he longed for a warm room and a mug of ale. He still had some old Red Army ale from ages ago, he had been saving it for a special occasion. Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn't distinguish it from the goblin gook and orcish brew, and didn't want to take the chance.
His breath misted in front of him, as he took firm hold of the handle to the Boarshead, and pulled the door open, stepping inside to a warm and bright room. Ah, just as he remembered it.. Sort of. He didn't remember the big roast in the center, but it looked apetizing.
He paid a few gold coins and headed up to his room. Tagnar Danvil had returned.
