There were other things Krah had desired to be clutching to her chest, her hat not being one of them. He was a man, famous for the blood on his hands, and his ruthless tactics; for he was not a military born man, nor a man who followed any sort of law. He went where the coin was ripe, and in Connlaoth, a warrior, and any one with mentionable qualities of moredecaism, was at the top of the food chain for recieving it. And Krah, already having a reputation as a hired hand to help the nobility and merchants pass safely through 'wild mage' and bandit territory, he had gotten quite a reputation and influx of money the second the last Grand Duke was axed.
The murder was so good for business, but it drew the unwanted attention from the army itself. At first he protested, but they had enough coin to even draw the stubborn Krah over to their side to fight 'For Angsar's will'. Fuck Angsar,a nd fuck the government. It was all about him, and so long as he was making a name for himself, (and a lot of fucking money) others could suffer beneath his wrath.
His ego had gotten to his head that he felt damn near invincible, like a God himself, and enjoyed the life of a king for all of his victories. He had a cut throat mannerism that helped earn his men the upper hand when he was in command (much to the detestment of the other seasoned verterans, a certain General Serenus included), who did not care much for him
ANd Krah felt it was mutual.
But the tavern life was the life for him, and he took a vacation whenever he damn well pleased. H e had already run, what- five 'mage towns' down into the ground? grinding them beneath his boots and cutting off their heads with his sword.
ANd all of it in the name of fame and money. ANd he was eating it up.
Currently, he was enjoying the show, a fat leg of roast pig in one hand, greasing down his face and beard, and a mug of ale in the other. Ah.... this bard, with booze to his brain, was a pretty little thing,a nd her song made him laugh. And also belch. A hearty belch, one that echoed well across the tavern as he stood up on drunken legs, wiped off the grease of his beard upon his hairy arm and began to approach her.
He loved the idea of the hunt, a woman included, and kept his dark eyes upon her as he steadied his wobbly legs at a nearby table, since, as he was approaching, he had nearly fallen over (though the man seemed not to realize it)
"You've got a pretty voice there," he said, pointing after her with his leg of pig, that of which he forgot he was holding until it drunkenly fell out of his fingers. "Why dont' you sing a song we can all enjoy, eh?" and he looked around to the rowdy crowd, the men, his fans, tehy all agreed, cheering him on. So he turned his gaze back towards Branwen, flashing her the whites of his teeth.
"Why dont' you sing a song about all the fun you and I can have tonight?" he suggested, and he leered her while leaning more so into the table (cause his legs were still drunken, and his mind, still a tizzy) as he drew his mug of ale to his lips, and drank half of it down,t he other half spilling down his chin and onto his chest, glistening the skin and exposed chest hairs there.