Saturday night I was stomping around between yurts and wedge-tents in my flowy skirt and jingling jewelry…a goatskin flask of wine in one hand, a mug of homemade mead in the other, and a bottle of Fosters waiting its turn beneath my sash. I wandered from fire to fire, mingling with the hundreds of burly warriors and fair maidens, all of them
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Still, the hybrid Renn-Modern--which really is pretty much the ROC--is amusing enough. I really hope we still have our jobs. I want to earn a bit more money feigning an Irish accent and getting tips for looking pathetic.
...and I still haven't bothered with the patrons's camp... *Sorrow.*
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