After being thrown in a cell for taking a loaf of bread from the upper quarters’ market you’ve been given a month of jail time. During this time you’ve endured torture by listening to some fishy old man in the cell next to you whistle and talk when you’re resting.

One week before you left, he slipped a key in your pocket and left in the night. As you escaped back into the streets you could see him waving, calling you like an old friend.

“Heeey! Ole’ pal! Wanna go grab a drink? My treat!”