Saturday's Storyteller: Flagon
Flagon by Belinda Roddie She had made a potion for Ilva, and she had poured it into the tarnished iron vessel that the goblin always used to drink ale and other elixirs. It wasn't too potent of a mixture - an herbal concotion meant to relax the muscles and release tension in the body. Something to "take the edge off," for lack of a better term. As Ilva drank, Breole watched over the lip of her own tankard, her amber eyes slightly twitching as she attempted to tune out the noise from the tavern downstairs. The innkeeper had been kind enough to allow the two ladies to stay in a room for free. It was a modest space, with two beds and not much else, but that was all they needed for the night before they set out again. After a brief silence, Ilva sighed, set down her flagon, and curled up on her bed, knees close to her chin. Her gray-green skin somehow radiated in the sparse light of the oil lantern. "Feel better?" asked Breole. "The best," replied her comp
