DnDOrigins: Aviel, a strong willed, raven-haired orphan in her 20s with a mind of her own and an eccentric personality. She lives in a communal house and bends to no one or listens to advice, even if she should.
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[[DnD: Maybe some more sleep will make you feel better.]] | [[DnD: Maybe some more sleep will make you feel better.]] | ||
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[[Category: Dungeons and Dragons; Your Story]] | [[Category: Dungeons and Dragons; Your Story]] | ||
Revision as of 22:56, 16 June 2015
The smell of beer was not something you needed this morning. You groaned as you rolled onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your hay-stuffed mattress with your elbows. "Who's getting drunk before noon?" You complained blindly. Sleeping in the bunkers with all the drunks was something you were used to, but they were pushing it too far by breaking out the ale before you'd even recovered from last night's...festivities. You wiped the drowsiness out of your eyes and looked around, both glad and worried by the candles that sat on the floor between each cot.
"Ay, the li'l keg drainer's up finally. You've been sleepin' fer hours." You turn and look over your shoulder at the large man that had commented. He had a half empty bottle of watered down rum (the best you could get from those conmen merchants) and was looking at you with a bemused twinkle in his old brown eyes. Grudge had been here since you came as a kid. He was like a father to you, in some ways. A drunk father who always tries to snatch a few coins away from you when your not looking and has a habit of regurgitating and then passing out in it if he gets too intoxicated, but it was the closest thing to a parent you had. Still, you made sure to hide your things in places where he couldn't find them anyway. Of course, this helped with your survival skills, so you don't really resent him for the missing items when you were younger. Of course, if he tried to do it now, you would gladly take off a hand.
"What time is it?" You asked, turning over and sitting on your dirty cot with your legs tucked under you in a squat. The shutters were all closed, so there wasn't any daylight to help you determine the time. Grudge shrugged, belched, and took another swig of rum--probably the most helpful he'd be all day. "Very well," you grumbled, getting up. As soon as you did, you could feel a headache rush you and your ears started to ring. "Damn, I shouldn't have had that fifth ale." You'd probably had more, but you can't remember anything after that swig. It was probably a good idea to head into town and find a merchant selling cheap herbs. You were tempted to ask Grudge what you'd done, but you got the feeling you probably didn't want to know.
DnD: Ask Grudge about last night.
DnD: Forget the window--you need something to get rid of this headache.
