“By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule —
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE — out of TIME”
Morrison jolted awake as his cup fell to the floor. Thank the Gods Elrin seemed to have finished – he had sat down on his bench and refilled his cup from a flagon. He noticed that the locals had thinned out somewhat, while the remainder clapped politely. He got the feeling that this was largely due to the fact that some of them paid their rent to him: clearly the man was a very bad poet, and what’s more he spouted line on line of dour, dreary nonsense.
Elrin was drinking moodily now. And then he did something very odd. He covered his face with his hands and uttered an audible groan. Momentarily the room went silent, and Morrison noticed that several of the locals were either shaking their heads or rolling their eyes.
The other strangers, like himself, were somewhat mollified.
“Maybe there’s a financial opportunity here” pondered Morrison. Warily he noticed that some of the other strangers were shifting in their seats somewhat, like vultures about to close in for the kill.