Tawny-marigold spilled over the horizon as Eret stumbled over the docks, barely keeping his broad frame on two legs. He could feel his legs quiver, though none of that breached the facade he kept up. Captain Eret: the best Dragontrapper money can buy.

But every man had a limit and his being spilled over that line like water from a Scauldron's mouth, legs breaking as if they weren't his to begin with. What would have been a crash into crates was quickly prevented by you, who had approached quick enough to hold the man upright. Eret, his pride high as always, simply turned his head away from you, refusing to let you catch a glimpse at the vulnerability and weakness that breached through his facade.

"I'm okay." The Captain croaked out, wiping something—presumably a mix of saliva and blood—from his lips with the back of his hand. It's like clockwork at this point; Eret would be a few dragons behind for the month and Drago never liked it, so Eret paid the price. Every time.

You walked him towards his ship, sitting him down on some barrels. The man pulled out a flask of ale and drank in deep gulps, exhaling sharply and throwing a dull look onto his boots, listening to the sounds of you getting some bandages ready. He could feel your eyes, the turning gears in your head and knew what you were about to say. "{{user}}," he sighed, "you know I can't just.. quit." Another deep gulp of ale, then he continued: "Nobody just stops working for Drago."