<div class="floatleft">(https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/339230014895816704/345034611291586563/Redeye-spartacus-war-of-the-damned-photo-galle-013.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Bartholomew Fletcher (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=272443.msg13417230#msg13417230)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Tavern, Seat by the Bar (S9)<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>No one in particular<br/><strong>HP:</strong>31 / 31<br/><strong>AC:</strong>AC: 24, TAC: 13, FFAC: 17, CMD: 17<br/><strong>Passives:</strong>Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1, Init +9, Perc +0<br/><br/><hr/><br/>It was another unsatisfying day for Bart.  In fact, most days these last few years had been disappointing for him.  It had all started out innocently enough, hadn't it?  Another job, this one helping someone escape from prison that didn't belong there.  Bart could remember how optimistic he'd been going into it as he kissed Tika on the lips before promising that he'd be back in a week with nary a scratch.  How wrong had he been.  It had gone bad almost from the get-go as their information had neglected to mention that there had been a recent escape attempt which resulted in a doubling of the guard.  They should've backed off as soon as they noticed that, but the coin had been too good to just pass up.  And they should've passed it up.  Almost immediately they were discovered and every step became a fight.  But Bart had fought and fought hard until they came to a situation that seemed hopeless.  And in that moment, he discover just how close his so-called 'friends' had held him when they abandoned him to his fate and he was captured.  A year of hell followed and he still bore the scars, physically and mentally, of his time there.<br/><br/>The next two years after that had passed with him recovering from his wounds and trying to find a peace with himself.  It was a peace that he never found.  But in its stead, he found a need for vengeance.  A need for those that had left him there to suffer for their crimes.  Death had followed swiftly for them and as he looked into their eyes after killing them, he understood one thing.  Vengeance had not brought him peace.  But it had brought him a reputation and not one that did him any favors.  While some understood why he had done what he'd done, the various adventuring or mercenary groups had no desire to bring on someone who they feared could turn on them at any instant and he had been all be blacklisted from them.  This infuriated him as he held the very firm belief that if they didn't plan on turning on him, they had nothing to fear from him.  For them to fear him indicated to him that they had every intention on turning on him when they believed that it would benefit them.<br/><br/>So he found work.  It was rarely glamorous and didn't pay well, but it was enough to keep him fed, watered, in drink, and with a small room at a nearby Inn.  But he didn't favor their drink or their crowds.  In fact, he didn't favor crowds at all most of the time, but if he wanted to drink, then crowds were something he had to suffer through.  And suffer through them he did as he sat at the bar once more and drank deeply from the mug in his hand.  He was a regular here and had been for some time, but that didn't mean that he was friendly.  And after numerous attempts from the various serving girls to try and establish a friendly rapport with him, they had eventually come to understand that he had no interest in that.  He wanted to sit at the bar, drink his drinks, pay his tab, and leave when he was done.  And so it had been for some time now, him coming in and drinking while he brooded about various things.  Sometimes they were about the job he'd just finished or something that had bothered him earlier in the day or even paying attention to the crowds once in a while when he was actually in a fairly decent mood for him.  Not that that happened often.  It wasn't for nothing that most of the serving girls jokingly referred to him as 'Bitter Bart' and it had nothing to do with his choice of drink.<br/><br/>Tonight, his mind was on his family.  They were never truly far from his thoughts.  And honestly, they weren't even far from him physically.  No more than an hour's walk if he was taking his time.  It would be nothing for him to go and visit his parents and little sister.  But he never did.  The reason for that was simple in his mind.  He knew that they wouldn't like what he had become.  What the world had turned him into.  When he'd left home, he was full of hope and believed that he was going to make it in this world.  Years later, he was hardened by betrayal and anger, struggling to trust or believe in anyone or anything.  It also didn't help that those men that had betrayed him and then that he'd killed were his father's old friends.  He didn't know if his father knew about that or not, but he wasn't eager to find out in person.  Still, he couldn't avoid them completely, so he sent letters.  Letters full of lies.  Lies about how things were going well and how he was far away, working and earning his keep.  They didn't need to know that he was so close or that things weren't as good as he tried to make it seem in his letter.  No, it was better that they believed the lie rather than see what had actually happened to him and who he had become.<br/><br/>So he stayed away and avoided the places that he knew his mother or father might go in town.  And he took whatever job he could in order to make enough money to continue to live out this sad existence that had become his life.  And there was always someone willing to hire his spear for some quick guard duty or something along those lines, but everyone knew the danger of crossing him at the end, which ensured he always got paid.  But it was wearing thin.  He secretly longed for the days when he was younger and still had a chance to be more than a dreg on the bottom of the mercenary barrel.  However, he knew that he wouldn't see those days again.  So he sat and he drank and he did his best not to let the world see that there was still pain under the hardened shell he'd become.  And tonight was no exception to this as he finished what was his sixth mug of ale that day and signaled for a seventh to be given to him as he finally would turn around and take in the bar to see what sort had made their way in tonight.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Dice Rolls</div><div class="spoiler_body">Perception Check to Scan Tavern:  1d20+0=15 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=106502)</div></div>