It had been three weeks since his gil maker slipped through his fingers. Â Garston Hext paced the small tent he used while his caravan rested in the Thanalan desert. Â Visions of seeing his guards laying dead or incapacitated by those scum made him grind his teeth.
Thousands of gil. Â The beastmen promised him thousands of gil for that bitch and now ... this.
He let out a snarl, kicking over the small stool as he passed it, then bent over to pick it up and flopped down on it to think. Â Yes, he had to calm down and think.
These so called Drifters. Â He had to find out more about them. Â It was total chance he happened to see Asdrellia running down the street while he and his men were at the tavern. Â Of course it was a bad idea, looking back on it now, to have gone after her when he wasn't thinking straight.
He had already hired new guards now, ones better trained. Â And he would make sure they trained. Â No one would get the better of him again.
But what to do? Â He ran both hands over his shaved head, gripping the back of his neck. Â A nervous tell, but it helped him think. Â He would stand out easily in a crowd being a dark skinned Highlander. Â He needed someone who would blend in easily as they went about their business.
Just then a name came to mind, and he grinned, a gold tooth flashing in the sun that streamed through the open flaps. Â Shouting for one of his guards, he gave a stern command and the man saluted, running off.
"You'll be mine before the week is over, Asdrellia."
His laughter bellowed from the tent as he counted all the gil in his mind he would soon have.
