Post by Gabrielle Viaris on Feb 26, 2009 7:44:51 GMT 1
Gabrielle went into the inn, hoping they had a vacant bed. She hadn't been able to find the blacksmith, so she'd try again tomorrow but for now she was tired. She had been up the night before, writing what felt like a mile-length letter to her sister.
She could have visited the Guild herself but she never seemed to have enough time to stay for long, so she had gotten into the habit of writing out a letter for Artemis then either dropping it at the Guild if she went there to check quests or giving it to someone who was heading that way.
She found herself an empty table and sat there, taking a book out of the large pockets of her oversized, hooded grey coat and finding her page. The book was made of thick parchment, with extra pages struck iin here and there, and was sewn together badly. The front pages were marked with crudely done letters and numbers from her first attempts at writing two years ago.
The later pages were a horribly spelt but faithfully kept log.
She studied it for a few moments then sighed and put it away. She couldn't do anything with it right now since she had no ink ready. She leant back in the chair, looking at the others in the inn. It was a slow night and it was half-empty, which was good. It certainly improved her chances of getting a bed at least.
She watched the other pub-goers idly, twirling her fingers in the air absently.
She could have visited the Guild herself but she never seemed to have enough time to stay for long, so she had gotten into the habit of writing out a letter for Artemis then either dropping it at the Guild if she went there to check quests or giving it to someone who was heading that way.
She found herself an empty table and sat there, taking a book out of the large pockets of her oversized, hooded grey coat and finding her page. The book was made of thick parchment, with extra pages struck iin here and there, and was sewn together badly. The front pages were marked with crudely done letters and numbers from her first attempts at writing two years ago.
The later pages were a horribly spelt but faithfully kept log.
She studied it for a few moments then sighed and put it away. She couldn't do anything with it right now since she had no ink ready. She leant back in the chair, looking at the others in the inn. It was a slow night and it was half-empty, which was good. It certainly improved her chances of getting a bed at least.
She watched the other pub-goers idly, twirling her fingers in the air absently.
