<a class="postlink" href="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc465/saphiraah1/WoWScrnShot_092810_011204.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/>Saphiraah sighed, stretching her back with a groan. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ignore the many kinks she felt there. With a weary glance around the cute little tavern, she tried to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The tables were all neatly scrubbed, the chairs tucked underneath in precise arrangement. The candles were extinguished. The rugs had been beaten, the floor sweeped and mopped. The fire would burn intself out in the mantle without a problem. She walked, limping just a bit, toward the kitchen door. With a nod, she assured herself that the kitchen, with its food and liquor stores were all in order and locked up tight.<br/><br/>"See?" she told herself, "Another successful day. Just take it one at a time..."<br/><br/>Proud of herself for making it though another long day of running the tavern, she climbed the stairs to her small appartment. Stripping off the worn, stained, thread-bare dress she used for tending bar, she slipped into a long, soft  night gown.<br/><br/>This was her favorite part of the night, but she rarely got to enjoy it. Tonight, like most nights, she settled into her bed, propped up on the pillows, and began reading. Barely fifteen minutes later, her eyelids began to itch and droop, then her head bobbed until it rested on her chest. Her fingers went slack and the book flopped onto her lap. She remained that way until an hour later, when she rolled over and burrowed into the blankets without waking.<br/><br/>The next morning, she rose, took the many medications and potions that had been prescribed by the herbalist, and prepared for another business day. She visited the market to buy food for the day's menu, bargained with the wizened old lady that sold liquor from a cart in the city's flea market, and slowly began the treck home burdened by her packages.