6726
Writer's balk
1337Sammiches
"Wake up, Richard. Come on, get up. It's closing time." :: I had fallen asleep in the tavern again, thinking of something to write about. I've written compelling novels, riveting stories, and touching books... but now, I'm stuck drifting from taver to tavern, getting drunk and passing out on tables. I've spent the last month in poverty as I try to pay off my debt to banks for the many inns I've stayed in, just trying to find something to write about... all these other people seem to make a fortune off of simply travelling, but I can't afford to move. I have nothing, and I am stuck in a rut. I'm out of money for ale and I'm starting to age. Perhaps I will spend the rest of my life in depression, all alone. Perhaps I will evade taxes and debtors and I will purchase a sword. Maybe then I can venture forth and make a name for myself... :: Two days have passed. I've robbed an armory and made off with a sword and some rations. I need to escape this Godforsaken trap of a city... Maybe now I can make my name known... I'm off to the Verge...