Over the hill appears a black limo, made entirely of galvorn. It pulls up, the door opens, and a cloaked figure emerges. The mystery man walks swiftly past the throngs of onlookers and only when he reaches the door does he turn and remove his cloak. It is none other than The Phantom. He immediately turns and enters the building, but not before throwing his cloak onto the carpet behind him.
"I hate it when he does that" mutters one of the orc guards as he and his cronies try desperately to hold back the crowd, all crazed by the thought of touching (or possibly taking) a piece from one of The Phantom's cloaks.
The Phantom strolls in the doors casually with a playful grin on his handsome face and a bright fire in his stunning blue eyes, ignited by his passion for food, dancing, beautiful women, and the Barrow-Downs, all of which would be present at this single, glorious event.
He scans the long table to his left, which appears to be entirely filled with several types of bread. "Cram" he mutters darkly. But then, his spirits begin to climb as he detects the scent of roasted meat coming from the kitchens. He calls to a nearby waiter.
One minute later finds The Phantom staggering under an overlarge platter of drumsticks and dragon steak. But since an infinite amount of food was promised, no one seems to mind his greed.
His vision much impaired by the pile of meat in his arms, he takes a seat at the nearest table, oblivious to the "Reserved for Moderators" sign. The phantom leans back in his chair (which happens to have a "Reserved for The Barrow-Wight" sign on the back) and proceeds to nibble on a drumstick and eye the other guests as they arrive.
[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: the phantom ]
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