pubs

“Good morning, ma’am.” The bank clerk gives me a polite smile through the bars.

“Good morning.” I reply, smiling back and sliding one of Cutter’s notes across the counter. “I’d like to cash this, please.”

“Of course.” The man takes the note and holds it up with a frown. “Just a moment, please.” He  steps back from the counter to put his head together with an older man. I am starting to get nervous, wondering what the problem is with the note. Part of me is curious though since if it was reported stolen he ought to be checking a list.

Gåwåin sat down in his chair slowly, looking around his quarters in Acherus quietly for a moment. He slid a old battered Fras Sabi cigar from a box beside him on a end-table and lit it, closing his eyes to rest.

It was a bright day in Mulgore. The sun shone of its glistening gold; the sky,
pristine in its brilliant blue, dotted by the softest of clouds. Bird’s songs swept
through the area; the laughter of children kissed the air. By all accounts it was a
perfect day. But not for Qiu.

        The overbearing druid stood before the grave of his Master. Master had trained Qiu.
Taught him how to channel his emotions; specifically the Beast that dwelled within
that sought control over the young Tauren. Qiu had hated his Master. Qiu had loved
his Master. Qiu had idolized his Master and he had cursed the man's very existence.
Qiu had needed his Master as a child. Master died shortly after Qiu had felt
himself ready to leave. He was wrong. Qiu had needed his Master again just a few
short weeks ago. When the Beast had won.