Belariath

Stormwind moves from the bar, carrying his tankard of wine, and meaning to head to his usual table, but something catches in the corner of his eye and makes him stop. He paused, and read the graffiti that some, meaningless fool had carved into the booth's tabletop with the point of a dagger. He scowled, and shook his head. Why did no one seem to give a damn for the quality of good work? He had no idea who or what a "Folville" was, or why someone thought valincia belonged to them, nor did he care. He dipped into his leather pack, and found a sheet of grit and a sanding block. He wrapped the grit into place and slid his fingers into the grip, before beginning the long, slow strokes that would soon have the table top sanded back down to even, erasing the letters and leaving the table top flawless and mostly new looking again. That done, he drained his wine, cast clean on the tankard and the table top, and turned his feet toward home again.

The table on the other hand, was in a foul mood and would be screaming at the top of it's lungs if it had any lungs that is, after it was carved into by the daggers point. The table knows who did it, but couldn't relay that information to anyone because like the aforementioned lungs, it also lacked a mouth in which to speak. When the dark haired Chirot finally noticed the deep scarred wound carved into its surface, it smiled...or smiled as much as a piece of furniture could smile, and relished in the attention and care given to its wooden body. As its surface was sanded down, removing years of ale and sex stains it would moan out in orgasm...well, it would have, if it had lips. Once cleaned it would offer Stormwind, a silent thank you...and then tries to tell him that it also needs a new coat of polish...but its request was unheard as the Chirot left. It was sad..till later that day a Moriel was raping a catgirl on it and it got a good polishing.