Branric poured a drink — nothing fancy, but clean and cool — and slid it across the bar without hesitation. "
Coin’s coin," he said mildly, "
and your copper spends just fine in here, friend."
Then, as
Tragim delivered his pointed observation, complete with the universal sign for greed, Branric let out a low, dry, weathered chuckle.
"
Aye — plenty of so-called adventurers these days walk past a fallen comrade if there’s no purse at the end of the trail. Lot of 'em came up chasing glory, found out too late it’s mostly mud and scars."
"
But not all," he continued. "
Some still believe in pulling others from the pit, even if it costs ‘em more than it pays. You don’t hear their names shouted in the taverns or sung in the streets. You just find the empty chairs where they used to sit."
He leaned in, tapping the bar with two fingers. "
So, what’re you here for? What do you know and would like to do?"
Branric (Tiny tavern)
