-----He paused, turning. "What makes you think, that I give even a single f*ck?" the man's mouth sat open for a moment as his tiny little brain tried to think of how to continue. C raised an eyebrow, as if to say ' I'm waiting.' but the man failed to produce a vocal response. He snorted "Thats what I thought." He turned again, pulling his scarf back up over his face and walking off, the sound of his boots reverbing down the long tunnels.
-----By now the man must have swallowed quite a few bugs he though, with how often he left his mouth open like that. He sighed, there wasn't much he could do about it, there were always people like that, just speaking to feel important. He winced as his back started to burn again, a timely reminder that sometimes he suffered from the same issue- and paid for it.
-----He adjusted his hat, rounding the corner to the Den. They were hardly the only ones living here, but they had managed to come to quite the... understanding... with their neighbors. He gripped the first rung of the ladder with his right hand, awkwardly pulling himself up- ladders were a bit of an issue now, but he had managed to work out a way to do most things one handed. He could manage the same with a measly wooden climbing device. At least he liked to think that, though honestly he had probably fallen off this void forsaken thing more times than he could count on his lone hand.
-----Finally, he stepped over the threshold, off the roof and into the back passageway, his boots echoing even louder here due to how clean he had the Crows keep this stretch of tunnel. He moved over to the door- a large thing made of dark mahogany and reinforced with steel bars throughout, set in an iron frame. It had cost as much as a month's supply of Loftoren Gas, but it had proven it's worth, surviving various improvised explosives and an attack from a raging Dakkar. He pulled out the steel key, quickly turning it in the first lock, then he slid it back into the pouch on his belt.
-----Then he reached down, pulling the second key- marked with a red band- out of a hidden pouch strapped to his leg under his sock, using that to disarm the second, hidden lock that would launch shrapnel into anyone who opened the door beforehand. Nasty thing, the chef had come up with it surprisingly, or maybe not so surprising. He was an orc after all, even if his skillset was more inclined to baking. Finally, he pushed the door open, it swung without a sound- it was very well oiled and kept- then it shut behind him with a satisfying click.
-----He slid the bar back in place, the spring lock snapping in place, then he dropped the key back in the hidden pouch, glancing around. He hadn't been down into the base in a few days, he had been busy up top healing up. Fortunately, the healers at the clinic in Blacktower were more than happy to disregard the Bastion's orders and heal his back up. Granted it did take a bit of persuasion, in the form of a hundred regals, but hey, whatever works.
-----The floor needed swept again, it looked like someone had gone through with dirty boots again. The carpet was pretty out of place as well- they must have been moving crates around for something, probably restocking the bar outside. The cell was empty and the door open wide, as per usual. He paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh." his mouth opened, "Oh, f*ck."
-----The floor was coated in blood, pooling around a cold corpse. Flies buzzed around it- he didn't recognize the person, thankfully, but void it was a mess. A nasty, smelly mess. Once upon a time this sort of thing would have turned his stomach. But, he had been in this city long enough that he was numbed to it. Instead, his thoughts were on how he could get somebody else to clean this sh*t up so he didn't have to bother with it... "This is going to be a long... long day..." He muttered.
-----By now the man must have swallowed quite a few bugs he though, with how often he left his mouth open like that. He sighed, there wasn't much he could do about it, there were always people like that, just speaking to feel important. He winced as his back started to burn again, a timely reminder that sometimes he suffered from the same issue- and paid for it.
-----He adjusted his hat, rounding the corner to the Den. They were hardly the only ones living here, but they had managed to come to quite the... understanding... with their neighbors. He gripped the first rung of the ladder with his right hand, awkwardly pulling himself up- ladders were a bit of an issue now, but he had managed to work out a way to do most things one handed. He could manage the same with a measly wooden climbing device. At least he liked to think that, though honestly he had probably fallen off this void forsaken thing more times than he could count on his lone hand.
-----Finally, he stepped over the threshold, off the roof and into the back passageway, his boots echoing even louder here due to how clean he had the Crows keep this stretch of tunnel. He moved over to the door- a large thing made of dark mahogany and reinforced with steel bars throughout, set in an iron frame. It had cost as much as a month's supply of Loftoren Gas, but it had proven it's worth, surviving various improvised explosives and an attack from a raging Dakkar. He pulled out the steel key, quickly turning it in the first lock, then he slid it back into the pouch on his belt.
-----Then he reached down, pulling the second key- marked with a red band- out of a hidden pouch strapped to his leg under his sock, using that to disarm the second, hidden lock that would launch shrapnel into anyone who opened the door beforehand. Nasty thing, the chef had come up with it surprisingly, or maybe not so surprising. He was an orc after all, even if his skillset was more inclined to baking. Finally, he pushed the door open, it swung without a sound- it was very well oiled and kept- then it shut behind him with a satisfying click.
-----He slid the bar back in place, the spring lock snapping in place, then he dropped the key back in the hidden pouch, glancing around. He hadn't been down into the base in a few days, he had been busy up top healing up. Fortunately, the healers at the clinic in Blacktower were more than happy to disregard the Bastion's orders and heal his back up. Granted it did take a bit of persuasion, in the form of a hundred regals, but hey, whatever works.
-----The floor needed swept again, it looked like someone had gone through with dirty boots again. The carpet was pretty out of place as well- they must have been moving crates around for something, probably restocking the bar outside. The cell was empty and the door open wide, as per usual. He paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh." his mouth opened, "Oh, f*ck."
-----The floor was coated in blood, pooling around a cold corpse. Flies buzzed around it- he didn't recognize the person, thankfully, but void it was a mess. A nasty, smelly mess. Once upon a time this sort of thing would have turned his stomach. But, he had been in this city long enough that he was numbed to it. Instead, his thoughts were on how he could get somebody else to clean this sh*t up so he didn't have to bother with it... "This is going to be a long... long day..." He muttered.
