[A bald, green, rather-manly-by-human-standards girl runs screaming into the front door of the inn, smoking slightly and tossing spells over her shoulders. She skids to a halt at the bar, hand already in her pocket, and slams three silver down.]Bread. Cheese. Stick the second inside the first. Sandwich. Difficult concept to grasp, but I think you ( Read more... )

[Though he wouldn't admit it even under pain of death, Putress -- Grand Apothecary, mind you -- was unfamiliar with a particular herb he found in the fields by the inn. Incensed, he was absolutely positive that the sickly-looking plant with flowers the colour of sour milk simply did not exist in his reality. Since he would know it if he did. Of ( Read more... )