Taking the mug with her, the woman stood. Yes, that was a lot of ale, but a longsword at a belt still meant something in this town. People who were careful would notice that it seen it’s share of use over the years, and she was still good enough to not worry about the addicts.
As she left the tavern, she remembered Reckless younger days. She remembered darkness, and nighttime, and missed it. Drinking during the day still made her feel a twinge of guilt. The stack of letters didn’t help either. But at last, some good news. Sclavo writing of success at the Bluff. And Viggo’s crew had returned with a few new recruits. Still green, most of them, but a day would come when numbers would count.
It was even possible that the vineyard was going to succeed. That was the difficult one. Aristocracy could be very hard to deal with. She tried to remember why this had seemed like a good idea. And as she thought, she realized that she hadn’t been entirely honest after all. While still suspicious of anything smelling of a false promise, she realized that she did have faith, not the usual kind, but faith in him, and his idea. And gods or no, Janiven Key was willing to fight for that idea.
Draining the mug before she tossed it aside, she spoke “here’s to you Arael. I hope you’re
right about all of this.”