[Cid had been notably absent the night before and during the last day of the Stormbringer's approach to the Corsair's dock. And when the ship lands and Clive steps off the ramp, the former leader of the Hideaway is still nowhere to be found or seen. Any messages sent will be unread and unanswered.
So, should Clive try to find the old fool, Torgal will be the one to sniff him out in an older, smaller pub tucked away in a back alley at the edge of the city. The "Dragon's Shithole" they call it, not only because it's right near Nogard's tailbone, but because it's rumored to be "the shits."
As in, a place where the drinks are so hard, so potent that one sip and the weak-willed are out. A place where some of the worst gather and not unusual to see a body dragged out to be picked up by another. No one asks if they are alive or dead, no one cares. Ironically, because of how potent the drinks are, fights are not as common because patrons are too wasted and too busy groaning, crying, or passed out to care. But when they do happen, it's a toss up on whether it ends quickly because they can barely stand on their feet, or drags out because someone's temper is able to keep them going.
And somewhere in a dark corner, Clive will find Cid at a lone table with three empty bottles and his head down against the table, a fourth slightly tilted in his hand. Smoke trailed from the half finished cigar resting on the ash tray where a few others already rested, snuffed out. It's clear he's been here for a while.]
< action: first night in nogard >
So, should Clive try to find the old fool, Torgal will be the one to sniff him out in an older, smaller pub tucked away in a back alley at the edge of the city. The "Dragon's Shithole" they call it, not only because it's right near Nogard's tailbone, but because it's rumored to be "the shits."
As in, a place where the drinks are so hard, so potent that one sip and the weak-willed are out. A place where some of the worst gather and not unusual to see a body dragged out to be picked up by another. No one asks if they are alive or dead, no one cares. Ironically, because of how potent the drinks are, fights are not as common because patrons are too wasted and too busy groaning, crying, or passed out to care. But when they do happen, it's a toss up on whether it ends quickly because they can barely stand on their feet, or drags out because someone's temper is able to keep them going.
And somewhere in a dark corner, Clive will find Cid at a lone table with three empty bottles and his head down against the table, a fourth slightly tilted in his hand. Smoke trailed from the half finished cigar resting on the ash tray where a few others already rested, snuffed out. It's clear he's been here for a while.]