<div class="floatleft">(http://i67.tinypic.com/312tu7p.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Wenceslas "Winnie" Bordeaux</strong></span><br/>Chronicler, Journalist, and World Traveler.<br/>Character Sheet (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1738830) HP: 30; AC: 14.<br/><br/>We arrived in Ordellia on the morning of the Fourth of Arindor.  Though it is a part of the City of Monuments, the district is proud in its dissent and rebellious of Magnimar’s governance.  In my short stay here, I have met all sorts of politically-minded people, from anarchists to satirists to tories and liberals. The air is thick with their anxiety.  The din of protest is unending.  Unrest is everywhere here.<br/><br/>We could not escape the commotion in the common room of our tavern.  It seemed like the Drunken Dog was the main battleground for high-minded arguments between locals.  It was difficult to find a moment’s peace to write, or to read, or to ply one’s profession, as people ranted and raved in half-drunk spurts of reason.  Still, some of my companions found ways to eke out a living.<br/><br/>I noticed that Oldret, the bartender, was especially keen on escalating arguments or embroiling innocent bystanders into philosophic arguments.  I avoided him as best as I could.  When I couldn’t, I insulted him.  “This ain’t a tavern, you rat-faced mongrel!  It’s a barn.  It smells like shit!”  It put him off something fierce.<br/><br/>I found myself sitting outside near a compost heap, inhaling smoke from a damp cigar, trying to just exist.<br/><br/><br/><br/>