[Carrûn]

Awyrgan awoke early with a solid thump, and picking himself up from the hardwood floor where he had fallen, rose with the morning Sun. He had had an unpleasent dream regarding his departed parents and was rather shaken until he was sure he was awake. He pieced a few of the pieces of the nightmare together, recognized them as a combination of many of his experiences, and pushed them out of his mind.

He stretched, cracking his back and cursing softly as he did so. He reached for his pipe only to discover he was completely out of leaf. This brought a more severe round of swearing from the weathered man and his green eyes flashed as his pipe soared soudly across the room landing with a "thunk" by the stool.

Slapping the sleep from his face, the man shuffled to where the basin of cold water sat on the small table. Splashing his face he managed to procure a razor from one of his pockets, and shaved. It wasn't something he did often, as a beard helped protect against insects while in the wild. He changed into a clean set of clothing, still his trademark black. Pressing his father's ring to his lips he muttered an old singsong prayer, and then moved to clear the barricade he had made in front of the door.

Opening the now clear doorway, he made his way down the stairs into the Common Room. Only a few of the other patrons were up and Awrygan found himself a seat at the corner of the bar. For some reason or another he was in a dark mood and had little desire for human interaction. Still, he made a note to locate the Innkeeper and make good on his end of the bargin. Moreover, he was rather hungry even though he would not admit it even to himself. He did not see the Innkeeper, but assumed that she was somewhere taking care of business and would be around eventually.

The smell of food began to rise from the kitchen and the man had half a mind to tour the back room and see what was available. He changed his mind quickly, remembering that most Inn horror stories had their roots in people tresspassing on a Cook's domain. He shuddered slighly at the memory of the Cooks of Harad. A brutal tale, but it made for good telling when the time was right. One server was making the rounds and Awyrgan stopped them long enough to grab a pint. He sat sipping it slowly, clearing his mind from the fog of the previous night.