Who: Vogg Naemsson and OPEN What: Vogg is getting drunk Where: The Blue Cow When: Sunday Night
Vogg was not a sad person by nature. Set in his ways, if he were upset, he would push it down. He would turn it into an energy, almost an anger and expel it in a duel, or chop wood, or tend to the crops. But that didn’t work this time, there was too much for him to handle. His daughter was gone, not that he’d been a particularly good father (he just didn’t know how to be), but he had adored her, and her every word left him captivated in a way he didn’t know existed. And then she’d left. Just like Minerva. Like Molly and Godolfr and Saeunn and Godric, the Gods only knew how many times. He’d seen more here than ever before, he’d met knew people, he’d loved and laughed and celebrated with them, and in turn each one of them had left. It was too much for the viking now, and having been unable to find Godric, and unconcerned with his stupid writing book, he’d gone to the pub to handle things as best he could.
He sat at a table in the back of the room, though he was noticable, towering over some even while sitting. On the table were the emptied pint glasses, at least half a dozen in totally, as he worked on the next. He didn’t particularly care how much the night would cost him, what else did he have to spend his money on. In front of him were foods he’d ordered, and though usually his appetite was insatiable, today he’d barely touched a thing. He was staring at the table, his eyes not taking in anything in particular, and his hands, sore from cutting wood for some time, grasped blindly for his drink. He was well on his way to not remember anything.