Sting Scurrihoard
Sting had been on the road for the past few days, he didn't know how far he had walked or direction his meanderings had taken him, his thoughts had been occupied with grief, the loss of his mentor ha effected him deeply. As he had walked he had constantly asked himself how it had came to pass that the kings men rampage across the country without the guiding hand of royalty, the guards in his nest had never once stepped out of line and terrorised the workers, so why here, among the lands of men, had things turned out how they did. In his musing he came to one conclusion, the problem wasn't the people, it was the king and since the king could not go his job he must die. Or if there was no king he would become it and correct the issue. He had his mission now he just had to find a way to pull it off, but before that he needed to find a way back to his country.
He stopped walking and looked around, the sounds of talking and singing signalled that he was near people. He tended to keep off the roads so that people didn't throw rocks at him while he waked but he couldn't help walking past isolated pockets of civilisation every so often, humans tended to make large nests everywhere and anywhere they could. He pulled on his cloak, making sure it covered most of his face, straightened up best he could and stepped closer to the sound. It was a tavern, seemed busy. Ordinarily, he would have never have decided on going inside, there was far too many people for his liking but he hadn't eaten, drank or slept properly in a couple weeks and someone inside might know his way back home. He got as close as he could without being spotted then shifted into his human form, he dispisde having to rely on this flesh vessel but when needs must. He took a pair of trousers out of his pack and put them on, it felt so weird.
He walked inside, his movements lacked finesse and he felt like he had just gained three hundred pounds. As he did so he bumped into a dark elf who was kicking some poor guy,
"Sorry." He remarked gruffly, not used to speaking with this flappy tongue, then thought nothing more of it as he made his way towards the bar. Each step was a hassle, he was lucky he was amonst drunks otherwise he would have been called out immediately. He final made his way to the bar, his head flicked about rapidly as he tried to compensate for the human eyes and their lack of coverage.
"One honeysuckle rum." Even speaking was a chore, luckily it was a lot easier than trying to force words out of his mandibles so there was that silver lining. He paid for his drink with the few coins he had left then moved to sit in one of the corner tables. He crossed the room while concentrating hard on not spilling his drink, thumbs were difficult, humans had no idea how lucky they were sometimes. He sat down near the door to the back, he could drink up and later slip upstairs for a nap without anyone noticing.
Reply
