*
After the first five drinks, Caspian’s fingers began to go numb. And after the second round, his head began to spin. His vision blurred, and he could feel the alcohol taking off the edge of his pain.
He was tired, and his eyes felt heavy as he sat at the bar and listened to the dull drone of hundreds of voices all around him, each of them mixing into the other. Someone was playing a flute in the background, and the shrill sound sounded almost ethereal as it wove in and out of the room, curling around the inhabitants and drifting up towards him.
“Another,” he called, sliding his mug towards the bartender. Even in his drunken state, Caspian didn’t miss the slight look of concern on the old man’s face as he picked up the mug. He knew they were whispering about him, wondering what sort
