Thamior wakes to a dagger at his throat. He's immediately awake, assessing his situation. He wasn’t kidnaped. Someone must of just fallen asleep with a dagger then rolled over, and it ended up at his throat. He’s in a tavern, the rolling barrel? Whatever, something was rolling and he’s about to roll right out of here. He gently pries the dagger from the hand holding it, and then tucks it into his back pocket. He rolls the man’s arm off him, and slowly stands up.
Thamior starts to think back to last night, but only sees a shadowy black. ‘Wow was last night really that bad?’ Thamior ponders out loud. ‘Oh, it was absolute chaos, last night was.’ Mutters a voice from behind him. He turns to see a tall, middle aged, elf bartender, clad in leather and scrubbing a mug with a small black rag. Thamior turns to find his ukulele being hugged by a small man with gnomish features, and his flute hanging from a hook on the wall.
He goes and collects his instruments, and takes the coin purse from a large, unconscious man laying across the table. He goes to take the purse from another person whom is sleeping upright with their face against the wall. but before he can untie it from their belt he slips and grabs their shirt for support. In reaction, he scrambles up and runs, and he doesn’t stop running. Thamior doesn’t necessarily like this life, but it keeps him going. He hears yells from the tavern behind him, and he picks up the pace. If he gets the chance, he would make a drastic change.
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