<strong>Westcrown</strong><br/><br/>Callic wasn't used to being sick in the gutter. Well, he wasn't used to being IN THE GUTTER but the being sick from over drink wasn't too unusual for the seventh son of the family. No options, little to do more than the annual crawl down to the former family homestead while the rest of the family played the games of court. So, when he lost his stipend on a game of chance that looked to be not so 'chancy' he spoke up.<br/><br/>A few well placed blows by him had started the fight, but a better place chair by the other man had ended it. The bouncer had kept it from going much further, and had him sitting on the curb of the street throwing up from a mix of ale, wine, brandy and one particularly well placed blow to the gut as he was tossed out the bar.<br/><br/>"Grand..and how ever shall I get the funds back?" He groaned as he wiped his face off and check his possessions. He still had his signet, his rapier and his clothing, so he was ahead. Time to struggle to his feet and head home to the 'old homestead'. Where he was the sole resident, with only two aging caretakers to tend to his needs.<br/><br/>