[color=f26522][b]"Where's my money?"[/b][/color]

Loam's empty fist flashed across Marlo Daubin's face. The Pyresian merchant spun away with the force of the blow, but he never landed. Instead he sprawled against an unpacked crate of goods; the wind leaving his lungs added to his already bloodied nose. Loam never gave Marlo a chance to answer, he just hauled the thin, twig-ish man off his feet to shout at him.

[color=f26522][b]"I just dragged your ass across these gods forsaken plains on the promise of fifty silver. I don't care if you had to 'pay off the guards' when we got here. You promised me the money and I'm here to collect. Now, where is my goddamn money?!"[/b][/color]

Loam knew, in his heart of hearts, that at best it was a verbal contract. If Marlo called for help then the knights might get involved and that just wasn't worth it. A Screamer like him wouldn't get any kind of a fair shake. As the alarm sounded, Loam resolved that he'd just have to make sure Marlo was too afraid not to honor the deal. He dropped Marlo to the ground and smashed his sheathed sword into the merchant's fingers with a few satisfying snaps.

[color=f26522][b]"I'm going to go see what's going on out there. If you don't have my money by the time I get back, I'll cut the weight of that silver out of your hide."[/b][/color]

Loam exited the tent only to find a battlefield. Dead of both sides and the possibility of him joining them soon. With an exasperated sigh he joined the line of the defenders for the coming of the second wave.