07-28-2015, 10:25 AM
Kyrem is sitting at one of the tables in the tavern, a quill in his hand and an inkwell next to him on the table. There are several sheets of parchment on the table in front of him, the topmost one which has written, "Dear Grandfather Eeten Dorian," and nothing else. Around him, on the floor, are many balls of crumpled up parchment. He holds his forehead in his left hand, leaning on his elbow. With a big sigh, he taps the tip of the quill pen on the opening of the inkwell.