[Past] Ninety-Nine Bottles of....One Bottle of Bad Whiskey

Riftan had asked him to not do one thing, play cards with the locals. Boring. Dull. Cantankerous dwarf who wished to keep this trip one of their worst in some time. He hated Antiva. Surprising his closest hammer wielding friend. It was warm. They were having a better time of it here than in most places. There were plenty of specimens that the elf could chase, but Ruth grumbled the entire time. He was no fan of cities, but continuously having to be sure there wasn’t a Crow in his bed was exhausting. He preferred living, as dull as an existence was, patching up Riftan and their ragtag mercenary band.

He’d been trying to drum up a game, a few bodies already gathered, but the person in the corner could be their final body for helping fill the elf’s coin purse. Approaching, the healer laid a tankard down on the table. “I’m hesitant in asking, because you seem so.. Lost in thought, but.. We’re about to play some cards and a body short.” Flashing him a grin, he’d add, “You don’t even have to talk, since.. Your face is enough of a poker look to soil the other boys' breeches.”