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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ftr" data-source="post: 5141630" data-attributes="member: 88732">point of view:  AaerdonI spent hours before the party started getting my gear in parade order.  I spent some of my precious last bit of hard coin on polish and a trip to the barber.  A shave and haircut later, fully kitted, I left for the party. It wasn't far.  The tavern hosting the shindig was The Limping Gith, one of my old stomping grounds. I cut quite a figure, I thought, marching in the setting sun.  The reddish light cast a hellish glow on the scales of my armor and the wide blade of my spear. I could only hope it was enough to get me a new post.  There was always work for a guy like me in a city like this.  But I don't want to become part of the increasingly tense machinations that make up our city's politics.  I grew up on the streets and in a gang and Ive done a stint as a household regular.  The only difference in this city is the uniform.  ButI'll be damned if I go back to the streets a failure and begging for a job as an enforcer.  I'll leave the city first.Bringing myself to my full height and snapping my spear straight, I try to use my great size and choice of kit to make an impression as I come in view of The Limping Gith.  The crowd is huge.  The partyhas spilled out of the tavern and onto the adjacent wharf.  I trade one of my few precious silver coins for a tankard of something cold and look around for familiar faces.Faces from the past are everywhere.  There are a few members of my old unit and units I've had contact with scattered through the crowd.  They talk of old times and judging by their wild hand motions, relive old fights, as well.  Taking a deep breath, I put on what I am sure is a good imitation of a smile, and begin to mingle.It seems the story is the same. "Good to see you, Aaerdon.  What unit did you end up joining?" Then the awkward silence when I reveal that I haven't been able to actually get hired on. The conversation gets uncomfortable and breaks up.  After I've managed to disrupt a half dozen of these side conversations, a strong hand grabs my elbow and pulls me aside.  I am shocked to see Kolban. the ranking sergeant from my old unit."Aaerdon, my boy, you look good." The grizzled vet leads my closer to the pier at the party's edge.  "I've been watching you fall on your sword all night.  It ain't going to work.  You're not going to find work here.  After you got your men killed on your first command gig, you gotta rep.  Yer either bad luck, which no warrior wants a bit of; a stupid leader, which no warrior wants a bit of; or you were set up like you claimed, which makes you a marked man and no warrior wants a bit of.  The fact that you still ain't got hired on despite your size and skills means you ain't fixed that bad mojo.  Do yourself a favor and give it up.  Your a freelancer now, whether you like it or not.  If you don't start acting the part, you're gonna starve or end up back in the gutter."  With that he left me standing by the pier, fighting the urge to throw myself into the river.</blockquote>

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