(( Fine, it's just going to be you and me for awhile, Ms. Flogging Molly! ))
Ugly head turning to catch sight of the brusque elezen, Rotter shook a twitch from his hand and let flagon drop, the cheap crock rolling hollow on the tavern floor. Swinging his legs to cut a jagged approach, the man greased palm with spit and gave it a slick run through his balding scalp, wiping the phlegm and raked fleas on some passing wastrel's back. Easily, he shouldered a path through the swaying throngs, falling beside the long-ear with an introductory belch and the slamming of knife into the counter, the blade sinking into the grain like hot metal through butter. Cordial scowl making a grim ruin of his face, the man said,
"You got the look of a blade to you. Them strict angles and steely complexion. What says you to some cutwork, louse-ear? Or are you whore already to One-Eye?" Tongue wagging thick, boastful, he ventured, "Or mayhaps your curves be looking to have a pretty sit on Old Rotter's miserly lap? Answer a man straight, none of your vixen coy."
Sporting a studded cuirass of an old, simple fashion, he kept himself with the air of sellsword, his bravado plain, blades dangling in their oiled scabbards. His skin was more hide then flesh, cured thick, notched with scars, threaded with fresh suture wire. Piggish eyes swollen and menacingly dark, he roamed a hard stare, jaw tightening as he discerned her next move, eager to come to blows.
Ugly head turning to catch sight of the brusque elezen, Rotter shook a twitch from his hand and let flagon drop, the cheap crock rolling hollow on the tavern floor. Swinging his legs to cut a jagged approach, the man greased palm with spit and gave it a slick run through his balding scalp, wiping the phlegm and raked fleas on some passing wastrel's back. Easily, he shouldered a path through the swaying throngs, falling beside the long-ear with an introductory belch and the slamming of knife into the counter, the blade sinking into the grain like hot metal through butter. Cordial scowl making a grim ruin of his face, the man said,
"You got the look of a blade to you. Them strict angles and steely complexion. What says you to some cutwork, louse-ear? Or are you whore already to One-Eye?" Tongue wagging thick, boastful, he ventured, "Or mayhaps your curves be looking to have a pretty sit on Old Rotter's miserly lap? Answer a man straight, none of your vixen coy."
Sporting a studded cuirass of an old, simple fashion, he kept himself with the air of sellsword, his bravado plain, blades dangling in their oiled scabbards. His skin was more hide then flesh, cured thick, notched with scars, threaded with fresh suture wire. Piggish eyes swollen and menacingly dark, he roamed a hard stare, jaw tightening as he discerned her next move, eager to come to blows.