Fuckin’ Hell… Damned traitors...

Thats what goes through Wulbren’s mind as he drowns his troubles in some pathetic just a few miles out of Baldur’s gate. He’s been living here for a few weeks now, wasting his gold on drinks and his shitty bed that CLAIMS to have feathers in it all because his friends turned his back on him.

He slams his tankard down on the bar, drowning in self pity and anger. He’s not drunk… yet.

“Another…” He grumbles to the bartender, ale dripping down his lips.