"Walking into a lively tavern at the dead of night, you see a crowd of mixed populace. Dwarves, Elves, Orcs. You even see a few drow skulking in the dark corners, but one individual stands out the most…"

Ellie: Damnit! Why not, shitstain?!

"A cleric, obviously drunk and donning the robes of Markias, seems to be arguing with the dwarven bartender after being cut off. After a few minutes of vulgar yelling and the echoing laughs of onlookers that follow, she sits in her stool and sulks, something more than just ale weighing her mind."

Ellie’s Thoughts: why…why is it always me…? shit…