It was late morning, you could tell through your opened, bare window, devoid from any glass or curtains. Your long brown braid was a mess, with wispy strands free down its long length due to time and the brawl, so you took the time to redo it nicely. You washed up with lye soap in the basin, cleaned your teeth with an animal bristle brush, and changed your clothes.
Your knee hurt like all the Hells combined, as you pulled up your clean black, stalking pants. Yet, it was merely a small flesh wound and the stinging you could certainly handle. But you were afraid of getting bugs from the spit on the tooth. Your mother had always warned of invisible bugs infesting dirty things. Your itchy, tingling eye was worse you knew, yet the thought of a rotten tooth inside your skin, was really bothering you. Adding your wide leather belt, you laced on your shortsword sheath over your right hip and merely slid your dagger through on the left. You tied up your sandals in a criss-cross pattern up to the knee over your pants and went downstairs for a bite to eat.
As you were waiting on your order at the bar, the barkeep pulled you aside from the regulars, with a jerk of the head, to a clear spot at the end of the bar. “I'm sorry about last night Chaosage,” he said apologetically. The owner looked at your black eye and took a deep, fast breath mimicking pain. “No problem and no one's fault. There are men like that everywhere I go. Not just here Alden,” you told the squat, little owner and daytime barkeeper truthfully.
He dramatically pounded his fist into him palm. “Well, they won't be a problem here anymore, because we banned them,” he responded, by telling you something you already knew. Not that the mean drunks worried you much. You just didn't like trouble unnecessarily.
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