Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26872802-20150626021425/@comment-26062370-20150626034739

Twain sits in his chair, observing the roaring fire. He removes his pipe from his mouth. He shifts to watch the snow, though ferocious, fall gently upon the ground. He turned, and decided to rest. He rose, and shambled over to a bare wall. He positions his fingers into two slots, and pulls, letting a small bed attached to chains fall. He clambers into the bed, and falls into slumber.