The weathered man took in the proceedings as he entered the Inn, noticing with some amusement the many stares in his direction albit they tried to hide them.
Old indeed I must seem to them. I wish I was old, for then peace would be closer.
The man worked his way over to a bench near the fire and sat down next to another. The fire glinted off of his green eyes beneath his dark hair and for a brief moment revealed a jagged scar along the side of his face.
It is a constant reminder to me of my failure.
So many races all together here. A welcome change from my travels.
Food can wait. I need a pipe and then sleep.
[ January 05, 2003: Message edited by: Carrūn ]
[ January 05, 2003: Message edited by: Carrūn ]
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"Dic, hospes, Spartae, nos te hic vidisse iacentes dum sanctis patriae legibus obsequimur."
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