@absolutionem -> ALTERNATIVE ALLEGORY
Nothing wrong with a fresh start. As he slinks down a rain-dark street, past lurid window displays trying to tempt him to part with money that he doesn’t have, Garrett Hawke repeats this platitude to himself in the vain hope that he’ll soon start believing it.
Truth be told, there are some upsides to being lost in an unfamiliar city. No guards who recognize him, no pinch-faced harridans gawking at him in the market square. There goes Malcolm Hawke’s lad. What a shame. Poor Leandra, to think she married into a tainted bloodline…
Yes, he thinks, anonymity does confer certain advantages. Things were getting a bit hot back home, after all. That little mishap with the Calishite horse-trader had drawn undue attention, and the Ilmatari, infernal busybodies that they are, had dispatched one of their paladins to bring Hawke and his fellow brigands to heel.
(You accidentally body-swap one horse-trader with his prize stallion, and suddenly everybody is out to get you. Figures.)
Well, Hawke is certainly not afraid of some hair-shirted zealot with delusions of righteousness, but the fact of the matter is that open conflict is bad for business. His gang’s growing notoriety (due in large part to his own actions) means that their days of picking off lightly-guarded merchant caravans are just about over. In this plane—wherever the hells it happens to be—he’s got no such reputation, but he also has no money, no men, and no clue what he ought to be doing.
He’s distracted, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice someone following him until the bastard is nearly breathing down his neck. He can clearly discern the sound of footsteps behind him—some would-be mugger trying to earn their dinner, like as not. Good. Perhaps a bit of action will take his mind off things.
He whirls around on his heel, his rain-sodden hair falling into his eyes. The grin he wears is eager, almost manic.
“Evening, mate. Something I can do for you?”