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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Eluvan" data-source="post: 2812912" data-attributes="member: 24812">Garrick stalks through the wet night, his anger almost palpable. To think that the guards had the gall to throw him out of the inn. Him! A devoted servant of St. Cuthbert, doing his part to enforce the law. He'd had a couple of drinks, he'd admit to that. And maybe it wasn't completely responsible of him to join that card game. But he wasn't stupid - despite his crude and brutish appearance - and he knew when somebody was trying to swindle him. And those men? They'd ben trying to swindle him. It had started off subtly, with veiled insults and jokes at his expense. He bore it, his iron discipline holding him back from assaulting the idiot fops as they deserved. But when he caught one cheating - well, that was an excuse. He'd swung the first punch, granted, but he'd swung it in the name of justice and fairness. If he swung it with satisfaction and prejudice too, then... well, that was his prerogative.  The watch didn't see it that way, when they arrived on the scene of the brawl. They turfed him unceremoniously out of the inn, hauling him bodily out of the door and threatening him with drawn swords when he railed angrily against their injustice. He had had no choice but to leave, and so now he was forced to walk the streets looking for another place to stay. His eyes postively burn with frustrated self-righteous anger from under his heavy brow, and anybody with any sense gives him a wide berth. He doesn't even notice the rain that is permeating his coarse mane of hair and seeping under his collar.  When he hears the scream, his most immediate thought is that this should signify an excuse to vent his anger. No guardsman could possibly object to him dispensing St. Cuthbert's wrath upon one who would prey on innocents in darkned alleyways. Drawing his long, curved sword he pounds his way towards the source of the cry, his frustrations forgotten as he readies himself for a fight.</blockquote>

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