Hiking his pack back up his shoulder, the knight-errant grinned back at Karstone and began to thread his way across the tavern, not fancying having to shout across every other soul in the room to be heard. Pretty much everything that reached his ears along the way seemed more in line with what he had been planning, for everyone and their daughter seemed intent on heading northwards. The idea still appealed; see the ogres, hopefully from a safe distance, and then the eyries of the Flying Men beyond them. After that, if nothing else presented itself, then he could just keep going. Now that he knew to keep a bow handy, for supper’s sake, he didn't really see anything standing in his way.
Ten coins, whatever denomination you like, said Karstone was going in the same direction they were, and they just hadn’t got around to realising it yet. Still, even if he ended up going straight back the way he came, Charles couldn’t see himself turning down the only friendly face he’d seen in months; everything he wanted to see would probably still be here by the time they were done. Besides, if God still had a purpose for him then this was too big a hook to ignore.
“I’ve got the sword arm,” he told the hammer-hefting headhunter when he drew closer, hiking his pack back up onto his shoulder before tugging away the glove on his right hand, “Can't promise the wits are still here." The hand he revealed was as calloused as could be from a life of swordsmanship, with closely-trimmed fingernails, scrubbed as clean as he could manage in a sort-of-clear brook about a week ago. He caught sight of the dirt caked under his own nails, and was reminded of the stains (mainly blood) that refused to budge from his brown tunic or trousers, and his smile turned self-conscious. “How are you? And if you’re offering money, I’ll take a bath and a new shirt instead.” His stomach rumbled insistently. “And dinner, apparently.”
All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.
08-Jun-2015 01:19:56
- Last edited on
08-Jun-2015 01:23:15
by
Loaned Shark