A smile creased Ramzi's face as he saw the little show they'd put on for him. "Now, lads, you know how I feel about drinking too much" he joked as a pint-glass of warm ale was clumsily placed into his hands. "Ah, g'won, it's the last time we'll see ya in weeks!" smiled Barkin, giving him a clap on the back. 'G'won, do the thing!' The older man held the glass to his lips, took a deep breath through his nose and allowed as much liquid down his throat as possible. A small group of guards encouraged him with shouts of 'Chug it, mate!' The warm ale was soon drained in one go and the glass was put back down onto the table with an audible bang. The men cheered loudly and Ramzi, embarrassed at all the attention, waved it off. As another round of drinks were fetched and the guardsmen dispersed from around his table, he found his thoughts on the journey tomorrow.

Some said it was looking to be a cakewalk, a cushy job, one for green-eared new boys and old men. Others told tales of hordes of greyskin barbarians looking to descend on isolated caravans. Either way, it was looking to be the first journey he had taken since his injury during the defence of Belencrest. The thought of being among his comrades, walking among the long grasses or trotting atop a stallion excited him. It had been two years since he had seen any action (outside of the bedroom, obviously) and he honoured that his higher-ups would consider him in any jobs, even if it was a small one such as this.

As he scratched his beard and pondered on the next day, another round of drinks was headed to the table. "Here you go, Ramzi!" grinned a guardsman as he handed him yet another glass of ale. Ramzi nodded his thanks but placed the glass on the table, content to take small sips of it occasionally. In his younger days, he had been able to drink half the guard under the table and escape unscathed the next morning. But in recent years, the horrific hangovers had started to make up for lost time and he had taken to drinking less and less. While the younger men around his table excitedly chatted and drained their glasses, Ramzi noticed his old friend, Three-Finger Finn, enter the pub, blankly glancing around.

"Ah, Finn, good evening" smiled Ramzi, beckoning him closer. The old mercenary dragged up a stool to the table and the two shook hands in greeting. "Ayyyy, Ramzi! How're you?" grinned Finn, still clutching his friends hand. Ramzi couldn't help but notice the two fingers (index and middle) taken from Finn's right hand, a source of many rumours and discussions among the pub. "Not bad, friend. Will you be travelling with us tomorrow?" "Nah, mate, I've got forms to fill out" sighed Finn, placing both arms on the table and crossing them. "Besides, I reckon they've got enough old sods going as it is!" Ramzi snorted into his drink and Finn chuckled as he watched his dark-skinned friend wipe piss-orange ale out of his beard. "Will you at least share a final drink with me?" said Ramzi, lifting his drink. "Nah, sorry mate, I can't go in with another hangover tomorrow". "I hear that" murmured a guardsman with a mouthful of ale. Ramzi shrugged and went back to his own drink while Finn greeted another friend.

Three-Finger Finn had been friends with Ramzi since he was just Finn, with all five fingers intact. They had gone through a lot together over the years - be it the training, the battles or the Belencrest Defence, they had been through it all together. Now, as a pair of veterans in the White Guard, they had often found themselves mucking about the library or standing about for hours in the cold on guard duty, which had only strengthened their friendship more. In his youth, Ramzi had harboured thoughts about Finn that were often about more than just friendship but they had mellowed over the years as it became clear that Finn wasn't interested in members of the same sex. Finn was not aware of Ramzi's thoughts either, as far as he knew.

After he had finished his drink, the older man stood and announced to his table he would be turning in early. He warmly shook hands with Finn and the other men sat around him, promising them this would not be the final farewell. He often found the banter among younger men tiring and the droll silence among older men boring, so early nights came often when he was in the Finnic pub and were of no surprise among his fellow mercenaries. After flicking a coin at Orvil, the brew master, and bidding lieutenant Thorpe a good night, he stepped out into the darkness of Belencrest, scratching his beard and looking forward to a night in bed. He briefly considered popping into a brothel and hiring a boy for a few hours before waving off the thoughts. It looked like he would have to go a few weeks without company in his bed but that was nothing to be concerned about.

As he began a slow walk outside the Finnic to his home, he noticed a woman. Younger and covered in belts, she looked quite familiar - it took Ramzi a few moments to remember this woman was in the White Guard and would most likely be travelling with him the following day. Her name was..Edele? No, it was Adele. His walk slowed as he approached her until he came to a stop beside her, shivering slightly from the cold.

"Good evening" he greeted. "Why do you stand alone out here and not inside the Finnic, comrade?"