Back In The Cage

Recovery for Tarmen was….. well it was shit. He couldn’t find any better way to put it.
Zane had called upon Alexis for the report for starters. While true that she had been the mission leader, he felt he had contributed enough to warrant whatever speech he had prepared. He had also hoped to give his own little speech.
It didn’t help him that he came ‘home’ to little fanfare. Ester had visited him soon after he had been sent to be patched up, though only to see he had lived.

“Glad to see you still kicking. Heard where you were sent and was sure you’d be a dead man.”
He had hoarsely laughed while holding his side, knowing he would have said the same thing. Her face had then scrunched up in a way he knew too well. She didn’t have good news.
“Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, you’re gonna have to keep to your own bunk now. Maybe once your well enough”, she gave a suggestive look to his groin,” we can see about picking things back up, but I got someone fillin’ that need right now. Plus I’m still waiting for those bets you owe me.”
They had laughed it off, but there was still that pit in his gut after she left.

It didn’t really bother him, he fully agreed with it in fact. They had been in an agreement. Nothing set in stone.
With all of this free time however, he found himself thinking. Of her, of Zane, of all this madness he had found himself in with magic and imps and campfire witches.
To turn off that white noise for now, he looked over his newest trophies. No one had thought much good of it, remembering several curses and prayers from The Hogue’s crew. He never paid much mind to sailor superstition, especially seeing how well it had done for the sailor, already forgetting his name.
It had been a hassle figuring out where to put it. He always carried his trophies with him, but having two heads hanging from one neck was not an option. The torc he kept as well, wearing it on his arm to honor the natives. They had earned his respect in their tenacity and skill with magic.
He had already begun shrinking the head, which was great for a distraction. Between this and work at the leather worker’s stand, the days he had off were gone and he almost gladly returned to constructing the wall.