[Some stately, press printed fliers are tacked about in neutral and Alliance towns.]
Flier Wrote:
Who are you?
Are you a soldier? A laborer? A hero? A villain?
Are you certain?
Doctor Edgar Leer wishes to cordially invite you to a investigation into the mind. A venture into the world of morality.
One person per entry, one entry per person. The infirm need not apply.
Will you be our guest?
[Below there is a list of different post boxes for contact, both in neutral cities and Alliance ones.]
[[This is an IC advertisement for a series of events I am holding; it is basically a puzzle-oriented event, one person at a time. The length ranges from a few minutes to about an hour. Contact me over PMs to reserve a spot; otherwise I will be asking in-game whenever I have the time to run one.]]
A haggard looking freckled priestess in a relatively drab brown tunic and pants with green accents and long white sleeves can be seen in Hearthglen finding each of these advertisements and tearing them down.
She asks a guard to keep an eye out if anymore appear.
She then retreats into her home. There is a sudden crash as if a chair was kicked across the room. Then silence. Perhaps if one listened very intently, their ear pressed to the door, one might hear the quiet sniffling associated with tears.
Pygan lightly bit at her tongue while she strained to keep the small knife curving. She was sitting on a stool infront of one of the many unlabeld kegs of the Growling Rat Resthouse, silently hoping she wouldint cut to far. She didint want rum all over her, and the idea of how pissed off Rensin might be if she carved too deep and ended up making a hole was worse.
She let out a long sigh when the 'm' was finally completed, though the line was a bit...crooked. Not the best lettering in the world. But she was satisfied. She set the knife down on the counter and shook her red hair away from infront of her face, only to almost fall off the stool when she heard a sudden loud bang just outside the tavern. She let out a startled yelp, sliding off the stool to duck behind the bar while peeking over the top, trying to spot any trouble at the door.
The roaring laughing of dwarves outside made her relax, and she stood, rolling her eyes. Figures, another group of drunk dwarves no doubt. Rolling her eyes, she stomped her way towards the front, and tried to look out the window to see them. Only, she couldint! Her view was blocked by a flier that was hanging from a nail above the window. She simply walked by the window, and opened the door instead, looking around the area until she saw three dwarves standing in a circle next to the tavern. One of them was holding a blunderbuss in one hand, and a flask in the other. The gun was still smokin. Pygan gulped, waiting at the door while she waited for the nerve to say something rose.
"If you damage the front, you're paying for it!" She finally yelled, shaking a finger not-so-menacingly at them. They all slowly turned there heads and stared. Suddenly feeling that was -not- the best course of action, she quickly moved to the window and swiped the flier from the window, and scurried back into the door, adding one more daring comment to the drunks. "And windows are not where you out fliers!"
She ducked inside and slammed the door behind her, fearing they might shoot her in their drunkeness. She pressed her back against the door, expecting them to come after her, and waited... She was panting out loud from the fear after about ten minutes waiting, then she finally started relaxing. She was sweating, and lifted the paper to fan herself. She tilted it to read the front while waving it infront of her face. Hmmm...sounds like counseling... She stopped waving the flier, and looked at it more seriously. It'd be nice to know what to aim for now that i'm out on my own...
She folded the flier up neatly, and set it down on the counter back in the bar, and got back to work labeling kegs.