He didn’t notice the quality of the table, nor the chair.
His eyes were fixated on the gem. It glittered and gleamed in the pommel of the
other man’s sword, sparkling in the flashing firelight. It would be his. All he
needed was an excuse. He would find one, Stickers always did. A spilled drink,
a girl, anything, and blades would be drawn. That’s how they were. If you
wanted to keep people from taking what you had, you hired Stickers. If you had
something a Sticker wanted though, they would take it. The gem, it sparkled in
the firelight.
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