09-14-2019, 09:30 AM
Priam Rhodes, age 26. Ostian military veteran. Dishonorably discharged and exiled on pain of death. Incorrigible smartass.
In spite of his very precarious position in life at the moment, he sat, very casually, at the back corner table of The Hearty Sturgeon. Dirt-covered boots on the table, in utter disregard for the glares of the barmaids. Two weeks of scraggly beard scattered unevenly across his chin, disastrously messy orangey-brown hair shedding left and right every time he moved his head. Armor battered as all getout and rusting here and there. Picking his teeth with a fishbone as he glanced around, cool as he pleased. The only lively thing about him was the surprisingly sharp look in his otherwise sleepy-looking eyes.
"Ya know, this fish ain't half what it's cracked up to be," he remarked, with no concern whatsoever as to who might overhear him. "Overcooked and dry as a bone. Got half a mind to ask for a refund."
In spite of his very precarious position in life at the moment, he sat, very casually, at the back corner table of The Hearty Sturgeon. Dirt-covered boots on the table, in utter disregard for the glares of the barmaids. Two weeks of scraggly beard scattered unevenly across his chin, disastrously messy orangey-brown hair shedding left and right every time he moved his head. Armor battered as all getout and rusting here and there. Picking his teeth with a fishbone as he glanced around, cool as he pleased. The only lively thing about him was the surprisingly sharp look in his otherwise sleepy-looking eyes.
"Ya know, this fish ain't half what it's cracked up to be," he remarked, with no concern whatsoever as to who might overhear him. "Overcooked and dry as a bone. Got half a mind to ask for a refund."