The Adventurous McGurn
"Thank you," you say, smiling. "Now fuck off."
He frowns, and then smiles.
"You're a smart one," he says, pulling a knife from behind his back. "Prepare to die!"
You leap off of the bar stool and pick it up, wielding it as both a defensive and offensive weapon.
"That won't help you now, McGurn!"
"How do you know my name?" you ask as you circle one another. You remember the fat frog-faced wanker from earlier tried saying your name too. "What is this about?"
"You have made many enemies," he hisses through gritted teeth, shirking off his jacket. "There is a bounty on your pretty little head and I'm having it!"
Typical, you think to yourself, a bloody sellsword. You hate mercenaries; they'd do anything for some coin. It's only now that you notice the Bloodaxes insignia on his tie. How had you missed that? They used to be a band of mercenaries formed form dwarves but had relaxed their policies to allow other races in; mostly exiles and criminals. This guy was human but you could tell he'd be a challenge if you didn't handle things quickly.
You continue to circle one another and realise that the bar has cleared out. The sellsword must have paid them earlier so he could claim your head for himself. Great.
Unprepared, you jab at him with the stool as your eyes flick around the room.
He swings his arm in a lazy arc, taunting you, a wicked grin on his face.
He's clearly a twat.
He frowns, and then smiles.
"You're a smart one," he says, pulling a knife from behind his back. "Prepare to die!"
You leap off of the bar stool and pick it up, wielding it as both a defensive and offensive weapon.
"That won't help you now, McGurn!"
"How do you know my name?" you ask as you circle one another. You remember the fat frog-faced wanker from earlier tried saying your name too. "What is this about?"
"You have made many enemies," he hisses through gritted teeth, shirking off his jacket. "There is a bounty on your pretty little head and I'm having it!"
Typical, you think to yourself, a bloody sellsword. You hate mercenaries; they'd do anything for some coin. It's only now that you notice the Bloodaxes insignia on his tie. How had you missed that? They used to be a band of mercenaries formed form dwarves but had relaxed their policies to allow other races in; mostly exiles and criminals. This guy was human but you could tell he'd be a challenge if you didn't handle things quickly.
You continue to circle one another and realise that the bar has cleared out. The sellsword must have paid them earlier so he could claim your head for himself. Great.
Unprepared, you jab at him with the stool as your eyes flick around the room.
He swings his arm in a lazy arc, taunting you, a wicked grin on his face.
He's clearly a twat.