yasdnilgoth

Kay and the Peerless The old barkeep glared down on his unwanted guest. He had been laying there since dusk last evening, and already the rooster had cried up the sun. He had an empty mug of mead still clenched firmly in his fist, and halfway stuffed into his mouth was a turkey leg. His red hair was matted to his bulbous forehead, and he smelled like a thrice over dead horse that was rotting in the sun. What made it all the more sickening was that to anyone with an empty enough skull that tried to be sociable they were to refer to him as SIR Kay, ranting and raving about how he was a knight and deserved nothing but the undying undulation of the masses. There was little the old barkeep could stand, but this sort of nonsense only served to drive him into a rage. He marched up behind the man, too drunk and stupefied to notice the oncoming dangerous, and he seized hold of his chair before swiped clean out from under the