Source from Home

Sitting among the loggers, Tarmen felt very out of place. At home, he always had tense relations with the ‘hardworking civilians’ wherever he went. Didn’t matter if it was deserved or through bias, mercenaries always found themselves pushed to the corners in a city.
He wasn’t sure if that weight carried here, but the men he found himself with this evening definitely did not seem to appreciate him around, even with the good brandy he was wasting as a peace offering. The glares towards the head made him tense as well. No one ever asked about it, they always stared. He was getting fed up with it.
Figuring small talk would have little effect and too tired to care, Tarmen went to the point.
“I have been told there is an elixir given out here. Supposed to help you lot sleep, though it has found its way into the city and as far as I am told, is available.”
This earned him a few glares before one spoke up.
“Yeah, you can find it at most pubs. Since your young, I’ll give you a tip, only call it piss water away from the bartender.”
The grizzled man chuckled with his fellows, Tarmen having to suck in his pride at walking into that one.
“I appreciate the advice, though what I’m lookin’ for is a bit better than what is passed for beer at the Drunken Hare.”
Looking to the men’s reaction, he felt like he had passed a small trial or initiation. The man who had spoken, a grizzled, bald man that despite his muscle was outmatched by a few of those gathered, gave him a curious smirk.
“I reckon you would be, to find yourself out here. Humor me this though,” he spit onto the ground and gulped a few swigs from Tarmen’s offered bottle,” your accent, you’re a Kru’ll man. Aren’t you?”
The question threw him off, mainly because of how little it had mattered since arriving. A bit of him had missed that distinction, but he still didn’t trust it here.
“And what’s it to you, eh?”
“Oh, not much. Just sound like one of those rats that run the cobblestones. Wondered if I hadn’t chased you from my garbage when you were a pup.”
For a moment Tarmen was ready to show the man his boot and properly answer his question, but stopped after properly processing the sentence.
“Are you?”
The man laughed, passing the bottle to another logger.
“Who else would the ‘glorious empire’ send to the outskirts? They mourn the loss of any of their own, but-“
Tarmen cut him off to finish a phrase he knew by heart.
“But a Kru’ll man can die any day.”
The following several hours were a mix of greetings between the men and the practice of some of their native traditions. For Tarmen, it was the first night in a while he had laughed so heartily, even with a newly bloodied nose, bruised lip and his side killing him.
After the group had settled and returned to the partially dead fire to revive it, he was brought towards the fringes of the camp by Stran, the bald man.
“Wasn’t sure if you were one of those boot-licking type of soldiers, but a true Kru’ll can always trust their own to not snitch to an employer, so here. Next time you need some, just ask for some Felfar. Anyone who doesn’t know will just think you’re spitting gibberish.”
A vial was produced, though with the night Tarmen couldn’t see what was in it. Stran gripped his shoulder with a light glare, Tarmen grabbing his in return. Five gold pieces passed hands, a final signature in the unwritten contract.
“Don’t need to tell you what happens if any of your soldier buddies see this. Make any excuse you want, don’t take it in your bunk. Your welcome to hang around the fire for the night, get a feel for the stuff. Just don’t bother the lads.”
Tarmen was left to think it over, Stran returning to the others. He turned it over in his hand, though his mind was already made up. No point trudging through the dark when an offer was given.
A true Kru’ll could trust their own to not kill their buyers.