Wrong Kind of Thirst

After his recovery from The Pit, Adam had been a little aimless. He'd gone to Ludo and gotten his drinking horn, sure, but that had been a mission for all of a day and had left him once again without purpose. He had always been a drifter, but here he was trapped. Wandering with nowhere to wander to. He'd just been in the Rathskeller (somewhat pointless to visit a bar now that he had the horn, but he liked the atmosphere) and had stumbled out sometime in the early evening, going to sit on a pew and stare at the altar for a while, ponder whether there being Gods here massively changed his theological outlook. It should have done, probably, but the great weight of apathy on his mind made it hard to feel the impact of the revelation much. Sinking down in his seat, feet sticking out in front of him on the stone floor, he wondered where his fuck buddy had gotten to. Maybe he'd heard about him being kidnapped..maybe he thought he was dead. Oh, that'd be fun. He always liked coming back from the dead. Adam swirled the horn about as it refilled and took a sip, stretching and yawning. adam Mistreat your Altar Boys long enough and this is what you get Sad and angry... can't learn how to behave Still won't know how in the darkness of the grave