Bloody hell. Bloody Nine Hells. Feh as well.

[Clan Blindhammer]

The door slammed shut, and a light dusting fell from the black ceiling above as Artikerus stumbled his way into his bedchambers. He nearly fell over as he propped a boot on the foot of his bed, the world spinning haphazardly as he gave what little sober concentration he had to untying his laces. Mead permeatted his breath, and crisp white foam, the remnants of his last mug of the night, still lined his beard. With a final grunt, he tugged the last of his sturdy boot off and tossed it against the wall. Well, what he thought was the wall - the boot bounced once and landed heel first in the remaining embers of the fireplace, blinding the surly Duergar king with the sudden illumination as the dry leather ignited.


With one boot still on, Artikerus collapsed into his bed, the soft down mattress engulfing him into a pocket of fabric. He tried vainly to close his eyes and find some rest, however the world seemed to spin twice as fast when he did. No stranger to this, he found solace at staring at the crystal chandelier hanging over his bed twinkle in the glow of the fireplace.

Solace. Peace. Rest. Strange words as of late for the Duergar to attribute to his state of mind. Plans within plans within plans within plans, some hatched, some hatching, some hatching to be hatched after other plans had hatched - the waking hours of the King of Gloomhaven was rarely anything but 'restive'.

Artikerus muttered into his sheets and rolled over. He landed without making a sound as he landed on the hard stone floor. Not much in the realms could wake a Duergar from deep sleep - and a lot less from the sleep induced by high spirits and high workloads.



edit: Forgot that Cirath, Grammar Nazi, patrolled the boards this time of night.... ;)