The shackles were a problem. The chains were easy enough; Dire's alchemy had made short, sizzling work of them. But the shackles were a different problem. Reinforced titanium and marked with a prisoner's number. And any alchemical solution would likely melt right through Drune's hands.
And Drune liked the use of his hands. That's how he did his skull bashin'.
The long and short of it was Drune needed to get out of the area. Who knew how many more bounties were on his head. He figured signing up for work would take him somewhere he could lay low for a bit, and those who were giving work were often suspicious of a beast in prisoner's shackles these days. Such were the times.
It was winter, fortunately. And though he didn't mind the cold, a layer of furs would obscure his bindings. Dire obliged before she left to tend to other businesses, and the sevenish foot horned and now shaggy behemoth lumbered his way to the nearest civilization he could find.
A city! And a good sized one at that. Drune pondered the riches he could plunder. Shackles first. Then get away. Then return with his mercenary crew, Kraken Company, for plunder. Surely once word got out that he had been sprung the lads would rally back to him.
Drune did better at keeping the thoughts that rattled through his massive head with checklists. Right, back to the city. Drune shook his head and, like a moth to a flame, immediately found the nearest pub.
It was ramshackle at best, but they served beer. Drune checked his satchels and pockets, even though he knew he had no money. The younger voice in his head bellowed at him to just swipe a lantern and fling liquid fire across the wooden structure and just take it you big oaf!
But that was younger Drune. And though he was formidable in a fight, he didn't think he could take on the entire town. Aged Drune tempered the voice and urge.
The bull was drawn to the back wall, to a crowd. A bounty board! Or something similar. A row of tables that sat a wide array of employers greeted a throng of an even wider array of folks looking to make some coin. There were explorers, caravans, merchants that needed protection. Smithys that needed an extra hand for the winter, airship captains promising adventures in far away lands. Drune made his way through the crowd to a the scruffiest looking ship captain he could find. The saltier the better. A captain and crew like that wouldn't care about anybody's past. And an excursion across the water would take him, well, away from here.
Drune huffed. The captain didn't even look up, but rather took another drink and sat a pen down next to a piece of paper.
"Ever sailed before, la—er" he stammered as his eyes went up, and then up some more. "Big thing, ain't ya?"
Drune shrugged. "For ya, I s'pose."
The man nodded. "Answer the question then, cutter."
The minotaur was actually a fine sailor. He started to regale the man about his time leading the entire Horde armada, the cities and ports he'd sacked, the terror he had wrought up on the seas, but the man raised a hand to cut him off before he really started.
"Sign your name then."
Drune furrowed a brow and signed reluctantly. He did enjoy talking about his exploits.
And Drune liked the use of his hands. That's how he did his skull bashin'.
The long and short of it was Drune needed to get out of the area. Who knew how many more bounties were on his head. He figured signing up for work would take him somewhere he could lay low for a bit, and those who were giving work were often suspicious of a beast in prisoner's shackles these days. Such were the times.
It was winter, fortunately. And though he didn't mind the cold, a layer of furs would obscure his bindings. Dire obliged before she left to tend to other businesses, and the sevenish foot horned and now shaggy behemoth lumbered his way to the nearest civilization he could find.
A city! And a good sized one at that. Drune pondered the riches he could plunder. Shackles first. Then get away. Then return with his mercenary crew, Kraken Company, for plunder. Surely once word got out that he had been sprung the lads would rally back to him.
Drune did better at keeping the thoughts that rattled through his massive head with checklists. Right, back to the city. Drune shook his head and, like a moth to a flame, immediately found the nearest pub.
It was ramshackle at best, but they served beer. Drune checked his satchels and pockets, even though he knew he had no money. The younger voice in his head bellowed at him to just swipe a lantern and fling liquid fire across the wooden structure and just take it you big oaf!
But that was younger Drune. And though he was formidable in a fight, he didn't think he could take on the entire town. Aged Drune tempered the voice and urge.
The bull was drawn to the back wall, to a crowd. A bounty board! Or something similar. A row of tables that sat a wide array of employers greeted a throng of an even wider array of folks looking to make some coin. There were explorers, caravans, merchants that needed protection. Smithys that needed an extra hand for the winter, airship captains promising adventures in far away lands. Drune made his way through the crowd to a the scruffiest looking ship captain he could find. The saltier the better. A captain and crew like that wouldn't care about anybody's past. And an excursion across the water would take him, well, away from here.
Drune huffed. The captain didn't even look up, but rather took another drink and sat a pen down next to a piece of paper.
"Ever sailed before, la—er" he stammered as his eyes went up, and then up some more. "Big thing, ain't ya?"
Drune shrugged. "For ya, I s'pose."
The man nodded. "Answer the question then, cutter."
The minotaur was actually a fine sailor. He started to regale the man about his time leading the entire Horde armada, the cities and ports he'd sacked, the terror he had wrought up on the seas, but the man raised a hand to cut him off before he really started.
"Sign your name then."
Drune furrowed a brow and signed reluctantly. He did enjoy talking about his exploits.