The "village" was a pisshole. Â The larders were dry and the townfolk were painfully simple. Â The women were the worst -- they were plain and comely. Sigurd regretted attempting to execute a simple "red blend" distribution contract with the modest tavern tucked in village. Â The townsfolk favored boring, crass beverages. Â How disappointing.Â
Sigurd stood perched against a wooden support beam at the edge of the tavern, a pipe tucked between his lips - puffing on a fragrant bowl of moko grass. Â A brisk coastal breeze carried the scent of the narcotic downwind.
Sigurd stood perched against a wooden support beam at the edge of the tavern, a pipe tucked between his lips - puffing on a fragrant bowl of moko grass. Â A brisk coastal breeze carried the scent of the narcotic downwind.
