Saryn slobbered drunkenly as he pounded the table, sending one of his several empty mugs clattering to the floor. His head swiveled and bobbed, his glassy eyes hard-pressed to keep up with the motion. Even Gax looked up from his game of cards, the puny parchment things that would certainly win him a few copper rounds clutched in his callused, green fingers.
“You’re placing all wagers on the bet safe!” Saryn roared, slurring his words heavily. Even he seemed confused by the ordering of his words, his face scrunching up. “I say, we talk to Gax!”
Gax, knowing the reputation of this tavern-crawling cretin paid him no mind. Soon, Gax was sure, Saryn would flop to the soggy, wooden floor face-first and find himself tossed roughly out into an alley comprised more of piss and shit than stone. Saryn listed lazily to the side and Gax cursed himself for not shouting a wager that the drunkard was slipping into unconsciousness even now.
“Gax! You big pig of a son! Tomorrow, you win the fairest maid contest, I give you a gold hundred!” Saryn raised a full tankard as he belted his final few words. Half of the ale inside sloshed out and landed either on his own head or on the table. Then, he promptly dropped his head to the table and passed out. Continue reading “Hold my Battleaxe 7 – Gax Almost Wins a Beauty Contest”
“We’re between jobs, low on gold, ain’t got shit to eat or drink, and you’re going out to dinner?” Darsil’eit growled at Gax. She stood with one hand on her hip and one eyebrow arched. Her olive skin glistened from the humidity of the air in their tight quarters.
Keith Edward English, Wordsmith 
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