As difficult as it is to type, I hate writing by hand and have work that needs doing, namely the creation of a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Farsight is the base town for the adventurers, a sleepy hamlet of drunkards trying to forget.
This wasn’t a town that got up early. As the sun rose over the forest to the east, bakers and blacksmiths alike pulled blankets up and rolled away from windows, groaning quietly with clenched eyes. Chamber pots were always close to the bedside in Farsight, and no one rose before midmorning. They would stumble blearily to the Djinni’s Den for the miracle cures that got them through the day, combinations of pork fritters and eggs any way you liked them. Farsight was renowned for its meats, largely because its residents had such a devout interest in protein-based hangover cures.
As the light sparkled off dewy grass cropped close to the ground by wandering goats (their herder wouldn’t be up for another two hours), a young elven man scratched his head, enjoying the feel of hair between his fingers as he looked upon the town from the westward road. No smoke rose from the chimneys and even the children were still abed, having learned that breakfast would arrive only when it was good and ready.
Hitching his pack over his left shoulder, the elfling pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and regarded the scribbled address with a grin. A new adventure was waiting just down this road.
As soon as it woke up, anyways.