Reality, paging Mr. Wim..

Wim watched as Sir Zane left with his mouth open.
“Father, you bastard,” he said softly in a bit of shock.
Squires started when they were five or six, not his age. He was of noble birth.

To accept that position would make him the laughing stock of the realm. He could see his father and older brother drinking brandy laughing as he shoved out stables and…
By the gods, what other awful things he would have to endure.
He had studied under many of the best Master Crafters of the kingdom.

He turned to head back to he ship to demand passage back home except two thing caught his attention. The first was a group of angry sailors who he had deprived of their drinking money for shore-leave and the second was a pretty young redhead walked past and bounced in all the right ways.

Wim took a breath and let it out slowly and followed the woman into a shop. Priorities being considered. Only to find being a lordling did not fly with they young lady or her father who threw him out of the shop onto his noble butt.

He needed a drink and to gamble to get his mind right. Then nail in the coffin of despair it him, Till might already be plucking the pigeons or spreading the word about him. He headed for the Drunken Hare to drink.