Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-12599067-20141030025235/@comment-11324811-20141101015506

Realizing the orc did not notice the coins he had been offered, Fried scowled and left the tavern. Perhaps some beggar in the market would take them. If not, he'd at least see what the others were up to. Maybe they'd take them.

Despite the battle being years ago the city was still rank with the memories. He could see people conspiring in allies, whispering in groups on street corners. It was the battle that caused him to take up mercenary work. The new Emperor made a mistake calling himself the Mede heir- Simply announcing he'd took the throne would've been better, in Fried's opinion. Didn't change the fact he wasn't Imperial, though. Imperials had always sat the throne, with the exception of Tiber Septim, though that was debatable.

To Fried's surprise, he found not a single beggar in the city, even in the Marketplace. Years ago they were everywhere. Maybe the dangers of the capital drove them off. He didn't really know and didn't really care either. Unlike many this day and age, he never begged. His pride more than made up for his stature. He was the shortest of the group of mercs he'd met, save for maybe the Nord woman - He doubted that still. Fried plopped himself down on an empty crate facing the plaza, the dark blue cloth and black fur covering his chainmail torso standing out in the bright city. Lowering his face mask and leaning his back against a whitewashed wall, he observed the busy marketplace, tossing the coin purse from hand to hand.