Cazzo had finished with sending out letters. He got up from his desk and went to his wardrobe, flinging it open. Gingerly, he began to pull on the green leather duster from its hanger and brought it over to his desk and laid it flat. The leather had acquired some stiffness while it had hung for the past four years. Cazzo returned to the wardrobe and retrieved a bottle of oil. He poured some on the cloth wrapped around his right hand and returning to his old coat, began to massage it. Pain shot up his arm from the wound on his palm. Arthritis had set into the fingers in his right hand and wrist, and his nerves squealed as he forced his hand to press the oil into the hide. Each stroke was agony, but he pushed on. His vision began to blur and several tears fell onto the leather coat. They were not born of the pain in his hand but of a deeper older pain. " Barbagal left when it was still dark," Stroke , " dili din don dilidon poura mi." Stroke. "W ith his cap o...
We play Dungeons & Dragons 5e at the Board N Brew Cafe. We chronicle our tabletop adventures here.