Snippet #2190586

Logen shivered, his thin cloak doing nothing to fight off the increasingly colder nights. His head ached, nothing new there. This was one of his good days, nothing a couple of beers couldn't fix. He entered the Tavern, the chorus of semi-drunken rambunctiousness a familiar replacement to the dull throbbing of his head.

A nod to the waitress, who probably knew his usual by heart, and Logen was off to dimmest lit corner, where the phantom hum of Magefire wouldn't bore its way into his skull. He had drained the lantern that was responsible for lighting that section a few weeks earlier; thankfully nobody ever complained about the lack of light in a tavern.

He smiled and winked at the waitress as she brought him his glass. She always afforded him a free drink. Brothers-in-arms and all that. "Any plans for tonight?" She asked, seemingly innocent, but Logen knew the intent behind it. But it was a good question. Could he go for a raid? He looked around the tavern, taking in the pleasant atmosphere, along with a great chug from his beer. He shook his head. "None at the moment, hotstuff. I'll let you know." Again, casual flirtation on the surface, but the women got the message. She gave a quick nod, laughed, "I'll bring you another glass than. Perhaps a bigger one?" and took her leave.

Logen shook his head, trying to shake the last fragments of pain away. The alcohol had already dulled his nerves down quite a bit. Sweet, sweet alcohol. He was going to make one hell of an alcoholic one day.

Logen caught the glint of gold. Now Logen wasn't exactly money-hungry, but he did have a fascination with shiny things (he liked to think it was the Fae in him, but truth was he was probably just simple-minded). And gold was certainly shiny.

He walked over to the table, eying the deck of cards and the man behind them. "Is this seat taken?"