Thursday, December 13, 2007  Antaria: The Tavern-Master  The
remains of a vicious dragon sat above the fireplace, stuffed
with sawdust and strategically positioned to achieve maximum
effect. It was unknown as to whether the proprietor of the
Wyrm's Roar tavern had killed it himself or had simply won the
trophy in a curious wager, and Wasyl was not inclined to tell
anyone the story.  Artrem drew one hand back, his fingers
covered in cobwebs. "Aran's teeth, Wasyl," he said, "how long
has it been since you cleaned this thing?"  "A while," Wasyl
said, from his perch at the counter.  "You can't expect us to
clean this!" Artrem complained.  Wasyl looked up from his
ledgers and adjusted the tiny spectacles he was wearing. "You
could help Roth muck out the stables, if you'd like. Or you
could clean the outhouse... I'm not sure when that was last
emptied."  Artrem grumbled at that, but went back to his work.
Wasyl glanced back at his numbers. In truth, for all its size
and extensive clientele, the tavern didn't make