Dressed for success

[Maccen]

His interview with the barman Kiran had gone well. He hadn't really been certain of much when he walked through the door. The place smelled alright. The fire crackled as it always did and the smell from the burning logs was pleasant. The place was clean for a tavern with only the smell of fresh ale and liqour abouts besides that of the fire smoke. He gave a nod to himself and took his seat. He didn't know whom Kiran was but hoped it would become obvious in a manner that would make it seem as if he did in fact have his head on straight.

Time lapsed as he ordered an ale, the gal was alright lookin' to him; not bad to work with. He ran over what he had on him. One herb bag, empty. One coin purse, twenty-eight coin. Two knives, one obviously displayed on a hip the handle of which was made of carved deer antler, the other five inches long but extremely thin with a leather grip was within a slot in his boot. His boots were a rugged and worn brown but the cleanest and least mud stained he had. His pants and shirt where of clean wool, each having buck hide patches sewn in at the elbows and knees for added protection. Over this he wore a vest of brushed cotton. All was in hues of brown like the bark of trees save the green bandanna tieing his hair back. He fidgeted with his clothes and sniffed at a lock of hair; he'd bothered to bathe, with soap, that day.

He finally looked over to the bar girl and asked where Mr. Kiran was.

In the course of that interview he'd managed to secure a job and found he'd get on just fine. Discretion was his job. He might hold the title of bouncer, but discretion would be his job. People "trip" all the time, they can be quietly intimidated, and they can be susceptible to force even when help is at hand if calling for that aid will embarrass them. Yes he'd do just fine if he didn't kill or maim anyone his first week there. Killing things WAS his way of life, though most walked on all fours. He figured any man he killed or had to rough up would be of less value or stature than most six legged creatures anyway. . . an insect.

He smiled to himself puffing on a long hand carved smoking pipe stuffed with Rovanian Thistle. He looked about his cabin as the fire warmed his feet. This job was going to mean moving in with Kobra again, the walk from Altmere to Cove was shorter than that from Windmere. . . not to mention this war. Not good to get locked up in a Vesperian dungeon or have Covians think he was a sympathizer. He was certain it would inconvenience Kobra immensely, put a right big rock in the gears so to speak on the mans sex life. Not to mention free meals and ale when the wife was gone, Abyss he might even take up peeping at her like he did to Kobra's old gals like he did when they were younger. His grin widened greatly and he laughed.

Worth leaving home indeed, oh indeed. He'd be packed by morning.