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"Man, what a drag..."5,000 crowns. A hefty amount of debt for any man to find himself in unless you were an aristocrat or their son, such as young Lucas Leos, third of his name. The problem being, even a rich noble's inheritance has a limit. And that limit passed some time ago, along with a half dozen bottles of spiced wines that now littered the table of his own personal estate. Everything had been sold at this point to pay off the debt. He even had taken up alchemy solely to sell whatever make shift concoction he could sell off to those living in the streets.
A knock at the door soon echoed through the halls. Loud heavy thumps that seemed less like knocking and more attempts to break the fine mahogany down for entrance. Bottles lining the table are knocked by the Aristocrat youth with a swift kick of a foot as they try to uneasily rise to his own two feet. "Gimme a day...One more day, you'll get the money-" The door was knocked down as three men entered.
"You've got until the evening." The roughest of the trio says, drawing up phlegm and spitting to the side. "Plus interest, remember! If you don't show, master Perude says we get to have some fun with your beanpole body. Pfahaha, bet a single knee to the back would snap him in two." Knuckles were cracked during the statement while the "beanpole" in question rolled back onto his seat, trying to wave them off. "You'll get the money...Now, would you mind? You're disturbing my hangover nap." He grunts while rolling to face his back to them.
"Tch, this'll be good. See you in the evening, underneath the bridge as always." The trio leave, but not before breaking a few of the knocked over bottles by kicking them aside to allow the sharp impact to grate on the aristocrat's ears. Once it seemed clear they were gone, Lucas pulls out a ticket from within his dishevelled coat's pocket. "Looks like i'm taking that "Business trip" sooner than i thought. War-torn continent can't be any worse than having my face caved in and my limbs broken in three spots." A coy, bitter laugh.
"Time to pack up my...Hmm, right. Sold everything. Save the clothes on my back. Ah well, it'll be fine!" A nervous laugh as he slowly rises and begins to head out. Esshar awaited the aristocrat lout. Perhaps he can finally do something worthwhile in his life instead of binging on wine all year round now that he has to work for it.
"You've got until the evening." The roughest of the trio says, drawing up phlegm and spitting to the side. "Plus interest, remember! If you don't show, master Perude says we get to have some fun with your beanpole body. Pfahaha, bet a single knee to the back would snap him in two." Knuckles were cracked during the statement while the "beanpole" in question rolled back onto his seat, trying to wave them off. "You'll get the money...Now, would you mind? You're disturbing my hangover nap." He grunts while rolling to face his back to them.
"Tch, this'll be good. See you in the evening, underneath the bridge as always." The trio leave, but not before breaking a few of the knocked over bottles by kicking them aside to allow the sharp impact to grate on the aristocrat's ears. Once it seemed clear they were gone, Lucas pulls out a ticket from within his dishevelled coat's pocket. "Looks like i'm taking that "Business trip" sooner than i thought. War-torn continent can't be any worse than having my face caved in and my limbs broken in three spots." A coy, bitter laugh.
"Time to pack up my...Hmm, right. Sold everything. Save the clothes on my back. Ah well, it'll be fine!" A nervous laugh as he slowly rises and begins to head out. Esshar awaited the aristocrat lout. Perhaps he can finally do something worthwhile in his life instead of binging on wine all year round now that he has to work for it.