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First Day, Evening, The Drowning Wench, Limsa Lominsa;
Playing porter, Rotter stood beside the entrance of the port city's premiere tavern, guzzling their finest tapstuff while slanting a brow at the passing adventurers. None of them were worth their salt and he knew it. More importantly, Vandal knew it too. Why the Butcher sent his best scout to sniff at these fishhooked sprats escaped him, especially since he was said scout. His time would be better wasted pawing at some of One-Eye's boys for hire. They could cleanly do what the boss had in mind and they could do it for cheap. Like most veteran cutthroats, they enjoyed the work more then they ever could enjoy the pay. Blood over coin, leather over silk. That's how their world turned, and despite this modern pretense of stability, of peace, of guilds, that's how it would always turn. Throwing back the rest of his flagon, he turned and barreled into the tavern, letting the drink swirl fire in his gut while he staggered towards the tap.
"One more night of this, then it's off to One-Eye . . ." He muttered, throwing his back and arms up against the bar counter with a reckless lean, surveying, scouting.
One more night.
Playing porter, Rotter stood beside the entrance of the port city's premiere tavern, guzzling their finest tapstuff while slanting a brow at the passing adventurers. None of them were worth their salt and he knew it. More importantly, Vandal knew it too. Why the Butcher sent his best scout to sniff at these fishhooked sprats escaped him, especially since he was said scout. His time would be better wasted pawing at some of One-Eye's boys for hire. They could cleanly do what the boss had in mind and they could do it for cheap. Like most veteran cutthroats, they enjoyed the work more then they ever could enjoy the pay. Blood over coin, leather over silk. That's how their world turned, and despite this modern pretense of stability, of peace, of guilds, that's how it would always turn. Throwing back the rest of his flagon, he turned and barreled into the tavern, letting the drink swirl fire in his gut while he staggered towards the tap.
"One more night of this, then it's off to One-Eye . . ." He muttered, throwing his back and arms up against the bar counter with a reckless lean, surveying, scouting.
One more night.