To The Night

It looked as if no one important had stayed long at the port, leaving simple guardsmen and bilge rats to handle supplies. With a bit of deflation Tarmen assumed he would have to sell his pitch in the morning with the rest of his fellow mercenaries.
Requiring his name and occupation to properly enter the town, he signed as he always did, simply Frespit and Mercenary beside that. The guard looking over the paper scribbled mercenary out and wrote Sellsword in its place, looking to Tarmen with an untrusting eye.
He still had no clue why the Empire ensured they were always ‘sellswords’. It made them sound like wandering vagrants instead of the hardy survivalists most of them were. Grimacing back at the man, a stern cockiness returned the favor as he was curtly told where to go.
The directions given were not the best, as it is hard to simply head in one direction wherever there are civilized streets. The monotony of the twists and turns would have gotten him turned around, but luckily no building could yet block the sun from view, giving Tarmen his best compass to find the Barracks district.
A small formation of men stood in front of a soldier, Sargent by the looks of his metals. Though he was well into his speech, Tarmen found it easy to simply slip in among the rest.
“For tonight, you are to simply find a bunk and get yourself acquainted with your surroundings. You will report to Stoneshade Keep in the morning. Remember you are under the employ of the Empire, not some ragged group of mercenaries, so you will be presentable, sober, and awake. Any damage to property or persons will be covered with your own pay, so watch the brawling. Dismissed.”

It felt odd claiming his bunk and laying out his few belongings. No one had tried to fight him for it and even after the Sargent was gone, no brawls had begun or knives drawn. He could almost feel the lack of aggression like his bare skin after washing off most of the grime from the voyage.
It put him on edge and he needed a drink.
A light smack on his head made him lash out, a playful laugh dodging the fist.
“Surprised to see you here. Figured you’d head straight for the bar.”
One of the sellswords he had become acquainted with on the ship ducked under another, more playful swing, only to be gripped in a mock headlock.
“I was simply waiting for you, I happen to remember a certain wager of ours.”
The two shared a laugh and a few more blows before beginning their trip into the streets, Tarmen leaving his worries behind as he sought some form of familiarity from this ‘Drunken Hare’. Perhaps a good brawl and a good pint was all he needed to feel at home.