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A merc.'s last call


A lone mercenary sat in the corner of a bar. He was wearing a vest and kilt with combat boots. On his right sholder was the brand "M.G.", signifying him as the mercenary known as Gamblin. At his side was an axe with ancient scriptures on it. He had been on the run ever since his last mission, where he was forced to destroy an entire village in order to stop his enemy. He knew that even now, 2 years since that incident, a bounty hunter was chasing him to bring him to justice.

Victor the drunk got up from his stool that was at the bar, and just noticed this strong individual walk in. He approached gamblin looking at his insignia on his shoulder which he was curious as to what it meant. In a moment however none of that would not matter.
"I don't like you," Victor said vigorously drunken. And without thought, Victors hand swept through the air wobbly, and it came to create impact on Gamblin's Face.

Gamblin caught the mans hand as it swung at him. "Why do you not like me, you haven't even spoken to me for five minutes." he said as he placed a small bottle in the mans hand. He could tell that this man had already had more than his share to drink, but thought that if he had a little more, he would fall asleep.

Victor looks at the drink then looks at Gamblin, then looks at the drink, then looks at gamblin, "Whhy ar yough inn a bar, iffsh you have youuur ownn drinks!?"
As Victor distinctively views his kilt, "iff yoush reallly wan oo know whyy I don's like youu, one yoush vary uggly, two you are--are-- wearing a skirrt like a pansymannnugh *hiccup*

"I came to restock, that was my last bottle. enjoy." He said to the man before sitting at one of the tables towards the back of the bar and signalling the bar tender for a drink.


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