Post by Young Grimwold on Dec 18, 2013 18:39:07 GMT
[OOC: Continued from Deposit.]
*Young Grimwold is in the back room of the Crazed Heifer. He was asked about his absence - but with only vague memories of the floating brick and no recollection at all of the Light Void, there was little to be discussed, especially with more recent happenings taking precedence. When he returned to the tavern, an alternative memorial service for the casualties of the fire was in full flow, with a renowned tavern monk leading a celebration of their lives. YG lingered for a while, listening to the eulogies and anecdotes, unsure whether to mourn those he knew who were merely presumed dead (in part because he still resented the false grieving he'd been tricked into during the Battle Royale), and even less sure how to respond to those who congratulated him for being alive. Eventually, fearing that he might start to enjoy the cheerful wake, he retreated.
He stares at the walls, wondering whether to feel protected by them or contained. He closes his eyes. Opening them, he sees the walls still there. One... two... three...
Someone is calling Young Grimwold's name.*
[OOC: Continued in Mediaeval Zone.]
*Young Grimwold is in the back room of the Crazed Heifer. He was asked about his absence - but with only vague memories of the floating brick and no recollection at all of the Light Void, there was little to be discussed, especially with more recent happenings taking precedence. When he returned to the tavern, an alternative memorial service for the casualties of the fire was in full flow, with a renowned tavern monk leading a celebration of their lives. YG lingered for a while, listening to the eulogies and anecdotes, unsure whether to mourn those he knew who were merely presumed dead (in part because he still resented the false grieving he'd been tricked into during the Battle Royale), and even less sure how to respond to those who congratulated him for being alive. Eventually, fearing that he might start to enjoy the cheerful wake, he retreated.
He stares at the walls, wondering whether to feel protected by them or contained. He closes his eyes. Opening them, he sees the walls still there. One... two... three...
Someone is calling Young Grimwold's name.*
[OOC: Continued in Mediaeval Zone.]