Cyren wanders out to the mailbox of Sword Swamp, looking for news of her friends and family, hugs and kisses from her sworn enemies.
She finds this:
There's parchment: "We tried contacting you awhile ago about your low interest mortage rate.
You have qualified for the lowest rate in years..."
She looks in disgust. There's one of these for every hour of the last 13 years.
"Oh for cryin' out loud...who gave them this address!?"
She drags years worth of junk mail, solicitations and reminders of political elections long past. There are a few about sexual aids and she tilts a few of them in the fading light, squinting at them. "Damn, what will they think of next."
She sets it all on fire in the fireplace, yelling "Heads up!" up the flue to give the bats a chance to vacate.
She pokes the charred remains with a rusty sword leaning on the wall.
Sitting in the tavern alone in front of a glowing fire is nice, she decides. A few not-so-bright bats disagree and plunk into the flames, sizzling and little wings charbecuing. "Sorry, I did try to warn you. You should listen to me, that's your problem."
She smiles and takes a nap in her hammock, her lullaby the sound of the unwelcome and the mundane burning.
Aaaaah. Home.
She finds this:
There's parchment: "We tried contacting you awhile ago about your low interest mortage rate.
You have qualified for the lowest rate in years..."
She looks in disgust. There's one of these for every hour of the last 13 years.
"Oh for cryin' out loud...who gave them this address!?"
She drags years worth of junk mail, solicitations and reminders of political elections long past. There are a few about sexual aids and she tilts a few of them in the fading light, squinting at them. "Damn, what will they think of next."
She sets it all on fire in the fireplace, yelling "Heads up!" up the flue to give the bats a chance to vacate.
She pokes the charred remains with a rusty sword leaning on the wall.
Sitting in the tavern alone in front of a glowing fire is nice, she decides. A few not-so-bright bats disagree and plunk into the flames, sizzling and little wings charbecuing. "Sorry, I did try to warn you. You should listen to me, that's your problem."
She smiles and takes a nap in her hammock, her lullaby the sound of the unwelcome and the mundane burning.
Aaaaah. Home.