<div class="floatright">(http://s3.amazonaws.com/cdn.roosterteeth.com/uploads/images/54063e01-6933-4e38-b195-d0fc28595a06/md/2181220-1448930942333-Warrior_Karsten_Face.jpg)</div>Stifling a curse Cerias ripped his eyes off the bedraggled pair of women sitting at the other side of the floor and parked them steadily down into his mead, staring at it like the arch bishop did the collect basket as it passed by the thief’s guild. He made sure to erase any hints of mirth, or curiosity, about the two women that might have snuck into place and fixed his usual scowl into place. It had served to keep the worst of the green horns away from his table. But if he made eye contact that would all be over with. Like starving puppies you couldn’t pay any attention to them or they’d follow you around until you broke down, and gods help you if you fed them.<br/><br/>He’d seen the pair for the first time a couple of days before. When he’d just arrived in this hellhole and found he couldn’t get out of it for at least a week and had parked his ass in the local tavern. Despite misgivings so heavy they could have collapsed the dwarf halls of Vartyr. Not only had every Pegasus imprinted to the next city after The City of ‘Sparkling Fucksticks’ present at the local stables been hired by some bloody herbalist convention, and riding to it would take at least a week, but he didn’t have any other cities or villages added to his allowable flypaths yet. That you had to acquire each license locally was one of those things that seriously had him consider regicide to a genocidal degree. There was no way he was returning to the 'Spitshined jewel of the west' either.<br/><br/>With the choices either being to stay in place, relax a bit and do his best to avoid all ass-fresh adventurers, or do a long trek through god knew what amount of weeping peasants that had just lost their favorite hoe or heirloom watering can, and were just hoping for a hero to come by to just please fetch it for them, he wondered if the third option of accidentally falling on his blade might be viable. But since he had a contract set up with the Sisters of Lumnious Light to resurrect his sorry ass should he happen to get his sorry ass killed, that would not help him at all. In the end his desire to do absolutely nothing won out and he resigned to park his ass in the tavern and not move for a week.<br/><br/>Despite the odd choice of gear, it was very obvious from how they moved that they were both casters, and despite silently wondering why the fuck one of them were carrying a dull ass training blade, he’d paid as little attention to them as possible, apart from a few appreciative glances at the very abundant riches stretching out the fabric of their clothes. Curves that would tempt even the Cardinal of Ulores. They’d been over by the bounty board anyway and his interest in who they were, and why two obviously under geared and hopelessly weak beginners browsed quests for adventurers with at least the merest hint of seasoning, and the faint urge to go over and warn them, evaporated as soon as he remembered the last time he’d taken pity on a couple of beginners.<br/><br/>Instead he claimed a room where he left most of the heavy carapace of thick steel that usually enclosed his thick limbs. It had him stick out like a sore thumb coated in nettles and rammed up the wrinkly sphincter of the priest during congregation. If he wanted any hope of being left alone he’d have to stay in his leathers and leave his scowl to do the rest. His thick, chestnut hair had bleached somewhat from hours and hours of sunlight, and constantly having to wash blood out of it, and it was now long enough to cover his ears. He’d considered having it cut more than once. But that had to wait for the city. Just like his hopes for some blessed silence.<br/><br/>Leaning back in his chair with a ragged sigh, and very pointedly not looking in the direction of the two despondent, and impressively bedraggled, women, he turned his two mile sky blue gaze over to the boys counting their money after their successful rat hunt. It actually had his lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile as he recalled the same rush of satisfaction and pride completing his first couple of quests. Oh how that had quickly soured. One of the gangly boys had even braved his frown and asked for help. Cerias had suggested he find a few likeminded friends instead. Thankfully that was all he’d had to do.<br/><br/>‘Rats. Why was it always rats…’ He mused as he returned to his drink. He’d heard whispers that if you turned in enough of them you’d find out what they were used for. But after tasting the stew here, he already had his suspicions and he was not keen on actually knowing. Trying very hard not to look like the hilt of his finely crafted sword, or the soft shine to his dark Thunderboar hide tunic and pants, marked him as a seasoned warrior, he cursed the light for how it cast a shimmering glamor around him in the dank tavern. Silently he prayed that his momentary lapse of curiosity wouldn’t draw the attention he feared it would and his eyes left the now almost empty tankard to once more pan over the packed room towards where the two women had sat.<br/>