It had come to this at last. One man, a poet and a rogue, with no friends to speak of, no one to contest his banning -- should it come to that.
Even those beside him are no more boon companions than bond servants, summoned by mod powers and privileges, as cold and indifferent to him as that one barrista at the local coffee shop.
...Aaaaand scene!
Even those beside him are no more boon companions than bond servants, summoned by mod powers and privileges, as cold and indifferent to him as that one barrista at the local coffee shop.
...Aaaaand scene!
The curtain rises. Leaves twirl in a vortex. Trees, on the verge of snapping, are bent to the ground. It’s a hurricane or a tornado or maybe just a ban.
You're right, Pig's Mead is more to his taste. Banned for reminding me of that foul brew!
