A Chance Encounter

She is not the first Grease-addled beggar you have passed today. Just another shade huddled in the alleys along the wharf. She is not even the first who offered to suck your cock, nor the first to curse your shadow when you refused. But the voice hurling insults does sound familiar, and so you stop and turn. Her eyes have not changed.

When you last saw the False Fusilier, her uniform was in muddied tatters and she was covered in blood. She looks worse now. Her light blonde hair has turned ashen, and her claw-like nails are black from Mash, hunger, and other poisons. Flecks of spittle fly from her yellowed canines and a sheen of cold sweat covers her haggard face.

”What? Gettin’ horny now, you limp-dicked cunt sucker?” She strips back her jacket, rags once coloured army red, and runs her trembling fingers along the sword-less belt. ”Just try something, asshole. Imma gut you like a cat!” She draws a cold steel knife from a brass-studded sheath, no longer hidden among the tattered cloth, and threatens you with the Feybane edge.

You raise both your hands, but you do not need to raise your voice. She snaps to attention as soon as you call her by her name and rank.

”Sergeant?” she whispers and slackens. ”Don’t look at me.” The blade drops from her grip and clatters to the floor. ”I should’ve died on that hill.”

You rush to embrace the sobbing shade. She once saved your life, and you can at least offer her your shoulder to cry on.

A little time has passed

{if The Passage of Time > 95} Your Time in Barenhaven is running out {elseif The Passage of Time > 80} Your Time in Barenhaven is coming to a close {elseif The Passage of Time > 60} You have some Time left in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 50} Your Time in Barenhaven is half-way over {elseif The Passage of Time > 30} You have quite some Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 15} You have a lot of Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 5} Your Time in Barehaven has just begun {else} You are now spending Time in Barenhaven {endif}

Soon grime and snotty tears stain your clothes, and her shaking body feels cold and slight in your grip. She smells rank. You wait for her wails to quieten and help her to her feet. There is an inn around the corner, a cheap wine sink with dingy rooms, but she marvels at the small bed and demurs, begging you to leave her on the street.

”I’m wasted money,” she says. ”Only good for smoking Grease or taking dick. You shouldn’t bother.”

You scoff and order her to sleep. The bartender, eyeing the Taler in his smutty palm with clear suspicion, assures you that she will be bathed and fed. Her clothes will be mended and washed. And there will be a roof over her head until tomorrow morning.

You have lost 1 Taler

You now have {@69 Talers} Taler