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Narys

Internal Monologues: II - "Burn it all to the ground."

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

I don't think I've ever felt like this. Not truly. Not even with Tailia. My own fucking wife could not evoke such disdain, such hate. Yet this woman did. This fucking woman. Who the fuck is she? Was anything ever real? I doubt it. She made her decision.

All kinds of awkward

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Found:

Resolve.

 

He stole my bedroll. He stole my bedroll! I laughed until tears leaked from the corners of my eyes when I realised that.

Brigands, Bloodshed, and a Bow

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(Related to this story: http://laurelinarchives.org/node/42091)

Reclamation

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The moon shines down over the crumbling ruins of Ost Baranor, the abandoned fort several miles east of Bree-town. Known for regular infestations of Blackwold activity, it is here that two silent, shadowy figures creep over a cleft in the broken wall, slipping past tents and dying embers of campfires, in search of a most prized possession.

Sorry is, indeed, the hardest word

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Internal Monologues: I - "Nothing quite like the kick of whiskey, eh?"

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Nothing quite like the kick of whiskey, ah? Nothing quite comes as close anymore, ‘less I have a blade in my hands.

Bloodlust and Truculence

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Full moon. Midnight. A few ragged breaths shake their way out into the crisp air of Bree. Spring was in full bloom. There was a lightness to the usually turbulent town. Talk of the upcoming festivities had lightened those whose moods had been soured by the recent civil unrest.

Questions

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The Big Decision

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Deep in the night, in one of the rooms at the Pony, Taraborn lay awake in the dark. A warm, soft body is curled up against him, her coppery hair splayed across his chest and her breath light and faint. Narys’ presence would normally be enough to help him sleep almost instantly, especially after the rigorous fun they had had not long ago. But not tonight.

Wounds of the Dead

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Wandering through the markets of Bree-town, Dagramir perused the wares with keen eyes. Scoffing at the brazen proclamations of "The best swords in all of Eriador!", and stifling back laughs at the weird and wonderful items on display of the stalls of Bree. He took in the fresh air, hands clasping comfortably behind his back as his mind would drift to memories of old.

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