H.M.Gimlord
Explorer
The debauchery, gluttony, camaraderie, butchery, reverie, litany, continues....
"So. . . um. . . what about your people? Are you from here originally?"
Papolstaanas is not normally inclined to talk about his family, but the drink in him loosens his tongue. “My people,” he says musingly, and his voice takes on a sardonic tone. “My people are from Bacarte. Well, Mother isn’t from there originally, but they all live there now, and the place is surely much the worse for it... I just came here today. Mother... insists that I find a new profession.” Papolstaanas orders another drink, non-alcoholic this time. He settles on a cup of hot tea.
“She’s the one who gave me that book,” he continues, his tone getting even drier. Steam from the cup drifts over his face. “Hoped it would keep me virtuous in a sea of depravity, or something.”
She finally notices the price tag on his backpack and begins to laugh gently, but uncontrollably.
"I'm sorry... no really... When you first... um... so you're just starting out at this? I... I took you for some hardened mercenary. I didn't think anybody else would dare to wear fringes like that." She finally manages to get a hold of herself. "Again, I apologize. I don't mean to laugh at you. I remember how I was when I first joined up. I was terrified and at the same time I thought I was tougher than anyone else in the world. I probably would have gone around insulting strangers too if I didn't have old Orosius around. He always watched out for the recruits. Put us through hell, though."