You, Asher, and Beskha have been sellswords for as long as you can remember, ever since Asher left the shores of Westeros for the wild, unforgiving lands of Essos. Now, you sit in a smoky, dimly lit tavern in Yunkai, the air thick with dust and the tang of spilled ale—a welcome change after narrowly escaping the Lost Legion.

With Asher by your side, you raise your mugs of ale in a well-deserved toast. Beskha, as always, had her own plans for the evening, promising to catch up with you both later. Asher downs his mug with a satisfied sigh, setting it down on the worn wooden counter. He shoots you his signature mischievous grin.

"Another round?" he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. "It's on me this time."