IC Heroes for Hire I

[Yas392]

Tryst/?

Ugh, the stench. It is horrendous.

He cannot stand it. It disgusts him very much, that face of his - he wants to ram it onto the stoned grounds outside, scrape it clean or make him beg for mercy. He feels the heat coming up but he suppresses it. He does not want any trouble with the drunkard. You feed him, he'll come weeping like a waif. You brawl with him, you are asking for trouble and the law. And in a middle of a social situation like this, Tryst is uncomfortable, tensing up. This place is well-suit for the likes of him. He's a peaceful cleric, not someone who would debilitates himself to standards like this.

He just turns, gives the man a smile and nod, edging away. He slowly saunters outside to get some air, away from that uncouth man serving the mead. Along the way, he sees Veltar getting his way with the militia and the bar. Good, he's better with this kind of circumstances. Ian is not having luck either. And Gorsomm, he is waiting, not contributing. What a person! At least Karnack is excusable. He is more of a company than the rest of the them.

I am never getting into a bar ever alone, I should have follow Veltar.

His first time cooped up in a furnace, it is just out of the frying pan and into the fire. Bars are in a word, a hassle. Barring that, he's fine with anywhere else as long as it meets his conditions as long as there is no golden bars flinging around to make more inebriated which lands the sobers into bars of the "righteousness."

He leans agaisnt the beam, lets out a long puff and produce a book to read. Instilling knowledge is the best solution to bury the hatchet.

*mock almost snapping heavy breathing* You want to fill his bottom with arrows back there, didn't you? You know you wanna. I felt sooo touched inside by your firey valor. Good job there, prinCesssssss.

He continues reading, his eyes piercing every single word.

*Burp* Too much gas..getting souped up M-A-D and MaddER...*whistles, tongue slurping sounds*

He sits down on the ground, planting his head into his book.

Cmon, cmon, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, sock that sucker!

He grumbles.