#markshct

The bar wasn’t the ideal venue for him to kill time.

Normally, with a propped up hood, he’d spent time meditating the hours away, establishing a stronger grip on the meager peace he kept with the entity that coursed through his blood and mind. The days he did well in this area were the ones where he woke up the next morning in the same place he slept and NOT feeling so full in his stomach that it caused nausea.

But the Abbey was in no shape to accept visitors. And with neither the coin, skill, or courage to give gambling or... 'companionship' a try, here he was, sipping cheap ale from a clay mug. The barkeep eyed him strangely, but kept quiet, forging a comfortable silence between the two- only broken by the mutters and cheers from a nearby card game.

He’s just eavesdropping for now, but he thinks he may join them another day... If he figures the game out, of course. He wouldn’t have imagined that he would be here tonight, but here he was, enjoying how he was a part of (in a way) of all this. He could sense a camaraderie that flowed through the entire tavern, and though he was in the periphery, he was still included.