It was amusing that despite their physical states that both of them didn’t have the impulse to get their wounds treated. But that had no bearing on the current situation as the both of them went to a stall. Apparently the same stall were the tray that dealt the finishing blow to their fight, he rubbed his jaw as he winced ‘ One day I’m gonna pay him back for that’ Kreig chuckled internally at the idea and made sure to file away the thought for a later date. “Can’t say I blame them for not venturing into the swamps , the wildlife of our world don’t exactly take kindly to trespassers.” He remarked as he leaned against the stall.
While he was unfamiliar with the swamps, it was a general rule of thumb that any place where Civilization’s touches has yet to reach tend to be deadly places where you don’t walk out if you’re unprepared. If the mercs that Lancaster considered ‘good’ didn’t venture there then it certainly meant there was something there that merited plenty of fear. Now Kreig, being the sort of sod to toss himself into Danger whether he means to or not, found that intriguing and thus more eager for this ‘job’.
He gratefully accepted the glass of rum and gave it a small sip, savoring the taste and smell as it he brought it to his mouth. It was fine stuff, that was to be sure….. He could hate a lot of things about this city but that didn’t mean he could deny the quality of this stuff even if it did bother him. He gave a quizzical brow to Lancaster when he asked his question, in truth Kreig had no inkling of the Rujaro.. probably in passing but the name spurred no memories or knowledge.
He shook his head to the Fist before setting down his glass gently on the table as he turned to him fully “Well, sorry then…afraid I’m about to discomfort you” It was an interesting name, Rujaro, it sounded something like those tribes in the old stories a tale spinner would bring up about faraway lands or some sort of beast in the same vein. Lancaster clearly showed his distaste for these so-called ‘bastards’ and one that sounded a bit more personal, or at least his opinion of them came from some sort of experience with whatever they were.
“So, again sorry for discomforting dear gent, but who or what are the Rujaro?”
x
While he was unfamiliar with the swamps, it was a general rule of thumb that any place where Civilization’s touches has yet to reach tend to be deadly places where you don’t walk out if you’re unprepared. If the mercs that Lancaster considered ‘good’ didn’t venture there then it certainly meant there was something there that merited plenty of fear. Now Kreig, being the sort of sod to toss himself into Danger whether he means to or not, found that intriguing and thus more eager for this ‘job’.
He gratefully accepted the glass of rum and gave it a small sip, savoring the taste and smell as it he brought it to his mouth. It was fine stuff, that was to be sure….. He could hate a lot of things about this city but that didn’t mean he could deny the quality of this stuff even if it did bother him. He gave a quizzical brow to Lancaster when he asked his question, in truth Kreig had no inkling of the Rujaro.. probably in passing but the name spurred no memories or knowledge.
He shook his head to the Fist before setting down his glass gently on the table as he turned to him fully “Well, sorry then…afraid I’m about to discomfort you” It was an interesting name, Rujaro, it sounded something like those tribes in the old stories a tale spinner would bring up about faraway lands or some sort of beast in the same vein. Lancaster clearly showed his distaste for these so-called ‘bastards’ and one that sounded a bit more personal, or at least his opinion of them came from some sort of experience with whatever they were.
“So, again sorry for discomforting dear gent, but who or what are the Rujaro?”
x