Aryo popped the bottled rum’s cork. Ordinarily it was in poor taste to drink alone, but this was anything but an ordinary situation. He needed something to help him cope with…everything that had happened. Aryo took a swig from the spirit before putting it down at his side. He didn’t want to drink too much and wake up in the morning with a splitting head – just enough to get a buzz so he could forget his troubles and put his mind at ease.
He sat down at the edge of the docks, his legs dangling above its waters. Aryo was somewhat unsettled by how…quiet the place was. Two months ago, a day for the elf, Arndern’s nightly docks were full of swearing sailors and muttering crooks. Now they were nowhere to be heard. And just when Aryo was getting used to them.
Arndern was becoming familiar to Aryo in a different way though – the stench of blood, smokey air, taste of gunpowder and morbidly grim atmosphere all reminded him of home. Miserable, miserable home. How he wished he could just use his new sorcerous powers to wash it all away. Maybe he could, and didn’t just know how to.
Instead, Aryo decided to take another swig of rum. Then he produced a roll of tobacco and lit it with a snap of his fingers. He was going to enjoy doing that from now on. It felt so cool. Aryo took a drag, blew some smoke rings in the air and stuck the cigar back in his mouth. Then he sat back and stared at the dark blue sea before him, doing his best to relax and purge himself of his senses.