43rd of Vhalar
It's early evening, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon when Duncan shoulders through the tavern door, inside dim, but quiet, few patrons and regulars to be seen. He's worse for wear, his hair longer than he likes it, stubble grown into a unkempt beard. The skin under his eye's are dark, a combination of fading bruises and lack of sleep, and his knuckles are still healing from a brawl days earlier, scaly scabs dry and flaking. Usually he would blame his appearance on the travel, but he'd been in Ne'haer too long for that, and so the cause could only be his own negligence; too much alcohol and self pity for his own good. He knew the reality of it well, but couldn't bring himself to really care, raising his hand when he reached the bar and ordering a glass of bottom shelf whiskey. He pins the barman with a glare when he stops at two fingers, and Duncan doesn't avert his gaze until the glass is full. Grunting in satisfaction he opens his coin pouch, gaze flicking back to the waiting barman as he counts out his coin. "You know of anyone lookin' to hire an extra set of hands?" He asks, setting down the coin for the whisky, fingers pausing as they dip back into the pouch, a brow raised. The younger man shrugs, shifting uncomfortably. "There's a bounty board outside one of the... cheaper taverns. you could find something there?" He replies, swiping the coin from the counter and moving quickly on the the next customer. Glowering after him Duncan closes his pouch, shoving it back into his pocket.
He'd seen the board already, considered a few of the jobs, but for the most part passed them by. He was after something more profitable, a long term job to fill his pockets with coin. He'd left Viden with enough to make his way, enough for a small apartment and more than enough to keep a buzz going, whether he was fueling it with alcohol or drugs. But he knew that his funds would run out soon enough. The last long term contract he'd taken had been Alistair, a string of bittersweet events that Duncan cringed away from almost instantly. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about any of it, not adulterous nobles or fickle twins. Andaris and Viden were behind him, and as far as the mercenary was concerned, the past could stay in the past.
Duncan downed half of his whiskey in two swift gulps and stood, the knots in his shoulders unwinding some as the warmth of the drink twisted through him. Casting his gaze around the tavern he found an empty table tucked into a corner and took a seat facing the door. He settled in for the evening, happy enough to drink his fill before he went in search of something stronger to soothe him.