Snippet #1867883

Ophelia arrived in Cirdore boarders, half draped over a horse in the dead of night, naked, blood spattered, smelling like burnt flesh, and bleeding profusely from bullet wounds as was her custom, she was immediately rushed to a doctor in service to her family, much as the rest of her custom dictated. After having three bullet wounds, two stab wounds, and a hearty lecture from an old woman she was given an hour to gather whatever belongings she felt like carrying, and was told to be outside and sober to greet a waiting carriage. Typical of her father, get a little too bloodied and suddenly the king himself requests you take some time for R&R in the middle of nowhere, and this time nowhere meant Adas. Grabbing attire she felt was casual for a noble, and a spare pistol she'd given in to the silly demand, begrudgingly though, and under some heavy sedatives she'd climbed into the carriage and promptly fallen asleep. The driver was very kind to wake her before kicking her out once they arrived in a little market place.

From there, she'd staggered into a near by tavern, gotten piss drunk, started a brawl with every man there, and ended up leaving them all picking teeth from the floor at the cost of a busted lip, torn stitches on all her wounds, a collection of new bruises, and a hefty tab. As per usual, she'd blown all her money on drink and passed out in the market square as if it were common place for a lady to do, and between the smell, clobbered men from last night, and the big pistols slung on her hips, the villagers had been more than happy to leave her there in a pool of her own blood.