"Don't I remember you from somewhere...?" Reluctantly, the guildmster helps the burly man on his feet and studies his rustic features in moonlight. It's half-past something in the wee hour and the full moon shines over the town so bright it's enough to make a person go little dizzy.
"Huh, whut? No, ah... I jes' sell meat", Nay says as he wipes dirt and bits of potato peelings off his shoulder. "Thanks, though."
"No, I'm fairly sure I remember you from somewhere."
"I jes' got one of 'em faces", Nay insists. "'Sides, there's so many of us in the ol' Argeledougal clan ye might as well consider us a bloody race instead of a family. Hurh!"
The guildmaster rises his brows and strokes his goatee. The somewhat disoriented, rugged man standing in front of him, bottle in one hand and a roll of mushy weed in the other, might indeed have one those faces one might confuse with a dozen other of his kind, but that monster of a surname strikes a bell.
"Oh yes! Nayrover Argel... Whatever!", the guildmaster exclaims and then lowers his voice - not that there would be anyone listening. The bar across the street is quite loud and there seems to be some commotion at the docks as well. "Hah. I should've know. I never forget a face. Didn't I show you the ropes some years ago? Got your name on our list in our book of professionals. You and that bunch of knaves used to run a guild what was it called again...? The Merry Ballooners?"
Actually the guild was called that, but it changed name more often than its members changed their clothes. The Donkey Brigade, The Brotherhood of the Hand, The Keepers and so forth. They went through names as fast as they could think up new ones. And they had a bar, too. The Lovely Serpent, it was called. One might say it was a 'gentlemen's club', but others would say it was just one notch classier than your average brothel.
"Nah, man... I would nae know nuffin' bout that. Say, could ya borrow a hundred gold? I'll pay ya next week."
The guildmaster winks and taps the side of his nose knowingly. "Say no more, say no more. I haven't seen you. I actually thought you were dead, but since you're still alive and kicking, I'll just make sure you're still listed in the profession."
"No, ah... actually I spent sum time in the slammer. They confiscated me ship an' all. Got pardoned after... Eh, I'd rather not say, actually."
But the guildmaster doesn't listen. He merely flashes a grin as he takes his leave and disappears into the night. "Right, right. Welcome back to the business."
"Oi, wait up! G'damn, where'd he... Whoa, oh, shi-"
That's about as far as the drunkard gets as he somehow steps on his own cape and stumbles head first back into the gutter, landing on something that sounds like a pile of clay plates surrounded by something very moist.
Congratulations, Nayrover. Make your mom proud.
