[img]https://i.imgur.com/dyrGR5P.png[/img][indent]In all fairness, Stein [i]had[/i] waited. He’d stood in that blasted courtyard longer than some of the others.  First, he’d brushed his red hair from his brow, straightened up, and leaned his shoulders back to give the appearance of someone with a lot of self-worth. Yet, as time passed and snow started to accumulate on his “noble” form, he slouched. Slouching led to leaning on his staff, then just lead to him setting his pack down and using it as the lumpiest cushion one could imagine.

He probably would have not endured such rudeness on that part of the king or his court, but he really needed the money. Stein had forgotten what it had been like to be poor, to count his life worth’s in his palm. His life had been far too cushy in the Empire. So, when he fled, he kept living that life, and now he was broke. It didn’t hurt that he turned down jobs that he could handle—with ease—because of the lack of posterity surrounding them. He’d climbed up the cliff of riches and importance, and then hurled himself off of it, bouncing over every sharp rock or steep landing. He’d thought he’d found a handhold in the summons from the king. Yet, here he was, snow capping his head and sliding into the folds of his robe like some decrepit Father Winter. 

“Alright,” he said, to himself. “My legs are numb, my feet sting, and I’ve been insulted for far too long.” He placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. He was out of practice in most, if not all, physical endeavors. He readjusted himself, grabbing the pieces of fabric that crossed over his middle and pulling them up. They’d slid down the corpulent slope of his belly while he had sat. He drew in his coat, catching it on one of his scroll casings, and having to weasel it out of there. He then took to the task of brushing the snow from his shoulders and from his hair. No doubt it would melt and turn him into a soggy mess. More slight on his honor, he figured. He threw the pack over his shoulder and used his staff a bit like a walking stick—his legs aching after sitting for so long. 

Finally defrosting enough to have a normal gait, Stein figured the best place for him was a tavern. If the king decided to pull his head from out of his ass to survey that he’d wasted much time rooting around in there, the easiest place to find his lost adventurers would be a tavern.

He slipped in to all sorts of people. Yet the voice that caught him most urgently was a one demanding a necromancer be removed. Stein hesitated. He approached the couple and turned his head towards the barkeep. “Do not evict her. I’ve hired her, and I have a bit of coin to spare to keep her around. We can both drink [i]heavily[/i].” He eyed the woman with a smile, sliding his own staff out of his pack. Magic users had to stick together, away from judgmental pricks that decided to call them out in the middle of a tavern. Even if they also displayed a paltry bit of magic themselves. He looked down at the necromancer, “I don’t have an endless funnel of money. So, I hope this works.”[/indent]