Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Arlin]

---

Arlin stared in the bubbling head on his frosty ale. Even the ale tasted different now. He had been scoping out his old haunts for hours now, and for the dozens of people he saw, he reconized few. The usual suspects such as Martin, Molly, and Gromph were still around. Dymm too, was still alive, and apparently doing well for himself. That was about it for those he could remember however.

He sighed heavily, and threw back his head and ale in unison, draining the iron mug. Definately tasted different. He motioned for the bar wench to fech him another ale, and as he sat and waited, he also pondered. He rolled his shoulders backwards, first the left, then the right. It still hurt him to do so. All those battles he fought, all those scars he had, and all those bar wenches were starting to catch up to him.

Age too, had started to catch up to him. Thirty six years old he was, but he felt twice that age. He snorted to himself and shook his head. He didn't know how long ogres were supposed to live, as far as he knew he could only be a quarter of his way through his life. He also might be on nearing his final days. He smiled at this thought. He felt bad, but not *that* bad...

The wench came over with his ale, and nodded politely. Maybe he had outgrown his ambitions. He had had his adventures, he had his glory, and even now he was still known, and respected in one way or another. Maybe now, he needed to find someplace to settle down, someplace that would need him, and use him, but where he could let others do the hard work.

He sipped at his ale thoughtfully, and it tasted better. He smiled and drank again. An omen perhaps, or perhaps just a new tap. Whatever it was, he had much to think on, and much to learn.
_________________
As the fire fades to night, remember always the ember that started it all.