A silvery light washed over his room, ever so slightly illuminating the barbershop Momentarily, the moon’s light caught Flint’s straight razor, and the man set the blade down on his table with a light clunk. The day had been long, and he’d spent hours cutting hair and sweeping it out of his working quarters. Normally, such work wouldn’t seem so tedious. He was making money, his reputation ensuring a steady stream of hairy customers. Today, however, hadn’t brought much talk.
Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the alignment of the stars. Flint had once heard of how these things could affect the mood. Today, most of his customers had barely mumbled a word or made a grunt. Sitting idly by as Flint glided a cutthroat blade across their heads, they boasted of no tales of heroism, recounted no abnormal experiences or once in a lifetime encounters. It was all average, all lifeless.
Days like this drained Flint on a number of levels. As he looked at his reflection, the man was met by a face not as attractive as he had once thought it. His eyes were lined with a couple of bags each, his lips and brow contoured to a frown. Today had been far too normal for his liking.
Fortunately, Flint was not a man to give up so easily. He’d always found something to be impressed with, each day, no matter how small. Today was no different. So the man adjusted his waistcoat and left his quarters into the cool night, ensuring he had a few coins in his pocket before locking up and heading for the tavern.
What a night for the tavern it was. The glow of lanterns beckoned him onwards as he made his way towards the place of music laughter and alcohol. As he drew near the smell of hearth smoke invaded his nostrils, and a warmth hit him as soon as he entered through the old wooden door. The tavern itself was quite full, men dwarves and elves alike drinking in merriment, some singing along to the music that came from the back of the tavern. Flint made his way for the counter, ordering a beer and taking his place at one of the stools. As he lifted the drink to his lips, a light smile sparked to life upon him. He sat for a moment, ready to be impressed.
Rainie
Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the alignment of the stars. Flint had once heard of how these things could affect the mood. Today, most of his customers had barely mumbled a word or made a grunt. Sitting idly by as Flint glided a cutthroat blade across their heads, they boasted of no tales of heroism, recounted no abnormal experiences or once in a lifetime encounters. It was all average, all lifeless.
Days like this drained Flint on a number of levels. As he looked at his reflection, the man was met by a face not as attractive as he had once thought it. His eyes were lined with a couple of bags each, his lips and brow contoured to a frown. Today had been far too normal for his liking.
Fortunately, Flint was not a man to give up so easily. He’d always found something to be impressed with, each day, no matter how small. Today was no different. So the man adjusted his waistcoat and left his quarters into the cool night, ensuring he had a few coins in his pocket before locking up and heading for the tavern.
What a night for the tavern it was. The glow of lanterns beckoned him onwards as he made his way towards the place of music laughter and alcohol. As he drew near the smell of hearth smoke invaded his nostrils, and a warmth hit him as soon as he entered through the old wooden door. The tavern itself was quite full, men dwarves and elves alike drinking in merriment, some singing along to the music that came from the back of the tavern. Flint made his way for the counter, ordering a beer and taking his place at one of the stools. As he lifted the drink to his lips, a light smile sparked to life upon him. He sat for a moment, ready to be impressed.
Rainie