-- Naram the Prophet “You can’t wear those rags,” said Keros. “They’re all I own,” Bessus said. They sat cross-legged at a low wooden table deep in a tavern. Low wicks in ship’s lanterns provided the illumination. Slave-girls danced in a sandpit, while two Nebo pipers half-heartedly blew their reeds. Low-grade ruffians, drunken sailors and broken-down rat hunters provided the clientele. Here and there shuffled escaped rat-bait as serving boys, bringing platters of ale, leeks and stringy mutton. Despite his thinness, Bessus had already put away two helpings. “It doesn’t matter what I wear,” Bessus said querulously. “This night, we both shall die.” “A beastmaster must look the part,” said Keros. “That’s only common sense. And I will pay for your new attire.” “Well… if you insist.” Keros paid the score, and they strode down a lane to a bustling wharf. There, they searched for clothiers. Bessus soon tugged Keros’s sleeve and pointed at a fat woman holding out fur garments.
What do You think about Gog (Lost Civilizations: 4)?
