A Kru’ll Man’s World

Something about being among the underground felt right, or maybe just normal, to Tarmen. He had suspected the drunkards that had given him directions to mislead him, maybe try to rob him and give him an easy fight.
While disappointed on that front, the sweet, but strong wine eased it more into a drive to find a real fight.

A few thoughts conflicted with him on this path.
Shouldn’t he be looking for Alexis? He’d had his fun, now he was just looking for more broken bones. Wouldn’t she be tearing this city a part if they were switched?
He also wondered about Silina again and the thought of more assassin’s finding her. The numbness in his left hand attested to their tenacity and if he dwelled any further on it he could truly start to worry.
Not tonight. His fight in the desert had reawakened a part of himself that had been put aside since his arrival. He wanted freedom again. Pure selfish freedom.
His crew had proven mostly resilient, the majority of its founding members still alive (hopefully). And with his current track record, he figured they could handle a night without him.

For once he actually welcomed the glares as he ventured deeper, something else to remind him of home. As long as he showed the right coin, doors would open and spirits would flow. It was good enough for him, especially where the women were concerned. It had been some time since such hungers had been fed and tonight he had already tasted from the banquet this place had to offer. It also helped that the Ozainae had a surprisingly similar outlook on life as Kru’ll, so full of passion and maybe a little too headstrong. Something he had missed being around with all of the more socially blessed people he had been around.

It all led him to some sort of hidden bar, where the glares were a bit harsher and his coin wasn’t quite making the cut anymore. Being this far from the main paths, he had to guess it was where the supposed fighting pit was or just a dead end shack that would suffer his drunken frustration.

Luckily he had picked up the right word when getting directions, finding the bartender and leaning close just in case.
“Kin Rif’ah?”
A lazy brow sized him up upon hearing the foriegn accent, Tarmen taking note of the short sword at the man’s hip, before his head flicked towards a door behind the bar.