The council of Dragons

[Omegonthesane]

Ewan Brand's son

Somewhere in the corner was a gangly-looking bloke with a cloak over him and a crossbow on his lap, because - for some reason - the Drunken Dragon allowed people to keep weapons at their side. Ewan had to resist snorting at that custom in the first city tavern he went to, when Sairi's lot were still together and drank together; even then, as a youth hardly worthy to run messages from place to place, he had known the stories about adventurers who the whole economy revolved around. And now, his only chance was to become one, with the group rumbled and him on the run; there was plenty of demand for runners, but no one would hire a grown man to do a little boy's job, and it was no step at all from hardcore freelancer to adventurer.

He noticed a couple of elves passing through the doors, replacing regulars, a priest of some kind and a chick with a bow. Hot stuff, but elves were right up there with eunuchs as far as odds went, so no reason to bother. He wouldn't have gone to the bar, but his tankard was empty and he had nothing else to do today, so he put an arm through the weapon's shoulder strap and stepped up. Some coins fell into his hand on the way, and he slapped them on the bar at the first opportunity.
"Another pint of Kord's Finest, please!" Then he saw it... a girl, nearer his age, thought she could get her keep for a song. Cute. "And another for the singer!"