Cyldreen woke up early in the morning in his hammock. Yawning and stretching, he jumped to his feet and glanced at his surroundings. In front of his 'bed' was the door that lead into halls, and to his right was a simple drawer.
He went to the latter, and scooped up a brown pants and a gray sleeveless tunic. He wore them on and slipped on his flip-flops, then went to the exit.
I wonder how many miles we are from Seyda Neen? Better ask the Captain on that one, I guess. And my gear, too. That smith should repair it like it was brand new, or I'm gonna use my flippy-floppies as brass knuckles!
As he passed and glanced at many rooms that held snoring prisoners, he failed to see an old, but muscled, man in his way. They bumped on each other, and the force of it knocked Cyldreen down.
"I'm sorry good, sir, I wasn't paying attention." the Breton apologised, while at the same time hauling himself up.
This post has been edited by ureniashtram: Jul 30 2010, 06:48 PM
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Djinn: What wish would you like to have, young master? Random dude: SUPA POWAZ! -- Djinn: Is there anything I could make true, lord? Old guy: .. Youth and charisma. -- Djinn: Your heart speaks of wanting. I could make it true, milord. Me: Hmmm. I wish to know what I want. Then you could hook me up in some insidious deal, spirit.
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