At a lonely table in the nearly empty bar, a single fox sipped quietly at a glass of muscadine wine. On the table was a stack of parchment with writing on it, obviously of great importance as shown by the fox's apparent disinterest in anything-or one- in the tavern. His fur, unlike most fox's was a light silver grey, that of an arctic fox between summer and winter coat. Olgan, for that was his name, did pause from his reading to look up at the newcomer. Business at the old tavern had dropped considerably in the past few months, and so anyone who entered now was worth looking at. Nodding politely to the wild cat, Olgan quietly resumed his examination of the papers. -- Fort Nightshade Message Board

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