From within the black corners of the cold and dank alleys of the docks of Lake Town, frequented by water-rats and filth - fires blazed and danced their forgotten light upon sad beggars from which the stench of raw fish, salty, rotten and fermented, emanated in sour and sorrow-filled neglect; and its dim light lit upon revelers, filled with the debauchery of night, richly in pursuit of the noteworthy pleasures of better drink and even better women; and its ruthless flicker illuminated dark dealings done behind well hidden corners where easy threats were made, followed through with easier deaths. Its peculiar light - for according to Gorlen, every town's light be strange - fell that night also upon a dimly lit room.
Well and on his way to becoming decently plasterd, the lack of sleep not helping much either, he thought back on Bree. It's strange, he thought then, how a few weeks, even a month can stretch the imagination of time.
Taking another drunken sip, reminiscing of his stay in Bree - he never meant to stay, but now worries and frets about the slightest thought of him making it back. Evangelline he missed her more than he'd care to admit, has been thinking of her much, but she'd be fine. He needed to believe that. The Bloody Dawn, the infernal horse; there was a lot one avoid thinking about when on that glorious precipice of intoxication.
The lass, ample-blossomed and rather pleasing to look at, leaned forward over the lone figure at the tavern, enquiring about rooms, coin, and surely prospect of more. In all honesty, the lone figure would not have minded, but he was tired.
"Just the room" he ordered. The trip to Lake Town was long, and he needed the rest.
