[H1][center][color=440e62]MORGAN[/color][/center][/h1]

November 17 11:47 A.M.
West Commons-Arboretum

     Morgan let out a contented sigh as the wind rushed around him, expertly navigating his old companion through the sea of night life still active in Valdoa centuries of riding taking over and guiding him with the flow of the streets as he let his mind drift, a small frown as marring his visage  as his arm lifted suddenly, jerking his gaze in a dizzying spin before once more he was steadied once more as he readjustment his grip, not wanting to drop himself again.  It had been a good two days after that before he'd been reunited, although that was more because an extraordinarily simple goblin had located him first and believed him an enchanted head to tell fortunes and such.

     Morgan shuddered at the thought, remembering the smells he'd been introduced to. He was brought out of his memories to a place that ushered more distant one. He had once again found himself in the Arboretum, the illusion of true wilds having once more drawn him away from his self created home. Lost in memories of glories long past, here he saw a baying pack of black hounds, the eyes red and alight in the night. In the distance he could hear the haunting tones of the hunting horn, sounding off as they found sport once more. All were upstaged, however, by the shadow of he who led the hunt, a beast of a man, standing heads above any mounted creature in the pack, a wicked grin adorning his face, almost as sharp and deadly as the antlers which rose from his head, far more telling than any masterly crafted crown could signal. The man raised his hand to signal the hunt was on.

     Then, like dew in the morning, the vision evaporated, that Wyld Hunt returning to the memories from whence it sprang. Morgan sighed as he stared upon the night sky, imagining once more that he could hear the horn signaling in the distance. He feared this life was domestication him, as such thoughts always came with the date of the hunt drawing near. Ah well,  he had guests awaiting him back at the tavern, and though he respected...most of his staff, he feared some of them were lacking in the social arts. Still these rides helped fill a yearning for days gone past.  Unsure of how long it had lain there, Morgan lifted his head off the saddle, placing it atop his shoulders for the time being. Gently patting his old friend on the neck, he turned the pitch steed back to the West Commons, a smile coming to his face as he heard some poor beast running through the forest, the thundering footfall of some predator signalling it soon demise.

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November 18 5:36 P.M.
Market 

     Morgan sighed as he finished dealing with he merchant, having finished placing an order with a merchant to resupply the meat reserves for his slice of the West Commons, many similar orders having taken up the day as he had returned to find much of his stores depleted last night as some upstart Lycan had been boasting of taken the "Test of the Serpent," or whatever it was they called that inane attempt for easy power. He had paid little attention to the whelp as he howled and recounted his tales of fury, not bothering to learn his name while gladly taking his coin. If the pup was anyone worth knowing, he'd hear of him after his meeting with the snake. 

    Morgan chuckled at the thought, very much doubting he'd see the youth, an aura of death had hung around the pup and he doubted he'd outwit or overpower fate. Ah well, so is life, or rather the lack there if. He had almost all his supplies ordered, with one last order of buisness before reveling in the festivities of the night, and that could be concluded at his home away from home.