Dax rubbed his aching head and sat up on his rough straw cot. The movement, as it always did, sparked a bout of hacking coughs that, as it always did these days, made his aching head pound. His mouth tasted of blood and bile. He spat the bloody phlegm into the corner without looking at it.
He dragged himself to the chamber pot, relieved an aching bladder (mostly accurately), and then began stretching, joint by joint and muscle by muscle until he could move nimbly.
He coughed again, more softly this time, and wiped his hand savagely across the back of his mouth. He hated his own weakness.
He pulled a ragged and stained shirt over his head, scratching at his broad chest through the thin fabric. Although large, the shirt was tight across his broad chest. Scratching his crotch for good measure, he picked up his bow and strapped it to his back, and then surveyed the green and black hooded cloak lying on the floor.
A month ago, it had been a suit of full plate. He pawned it, piece by piece - greaves, then gorget, and so on, until nothing was left. He'd pissed the money away on fine brandy and potions, then whiskey and curatives, and then ale and purgatives, until finally he'd more or less pissed away any credit he had left with the inn on cheap rotgut and forgetfulness.
Breakfast, served by the tired-looking innkeeper's wife with a side of impatience and the beginnings of resentment. He made a clumsy grab for her equally tired-looking bust, but his heart wasn't in it and she evaded him easily and shot him a tight lipped scowl.
Dax drained the rotgut, ate the sawdust-and-rat sausage, picked moodily at the black horsebread, and waved her over for another clay mug of drink.
"Why don't you try some work instead?" she asked savagely. "Some captain or other's calling for some work at Sandpoint. You can pick up some coins and drink yourself to death on your way to the arse of Mwangi instead of my storeroom."
Dax sat back in his chair. Maybe she was right? It'd be the long way around, but it might get him enough coin to get his life back, get home, and make good his vows after all these years. The muscles in his jaws tightened and his teeth ground with remembered pain and frustration.
Yes. He'd have his vengeance before this black crab ripped him apart, or he'd die on his feet like a man.
Feeling suddenly much jauntier, the big human returned to his room, strapped on his weapons and strode out to Sandpoint.
