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Post by wayferer on Oct 5, 2013 3:57:09 GMT -8
A man slowly hobbles his way down the streets of Shallowford, or what he thought might be a street. He frowns slightly at the dirt that is hardly less rocky then the 'road edge,' a slightly risen soil boundary, but not much more. He sighs lightly, ponders a moment if he should hide his long, pointed ears, decides against it, then shrugs a large sack higher onto his shoulder, and hobbles into something resembling an inn. After lowering the large, lumpy bag to the floor nearby the bench, he leans forward on the table before heavily taking a seat. After several deep breaths, he takes a cup from his hip, and placing it on the table, licks his wind-chapped lips.
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