Angar bumbled out the entrance of one of the Deadfall Towers, a jingling coin purse in hand. After a short stroll into the forest around the towers, he opened the purse and counted its contents. "Fuckin' dirty long-legged bandits, practically rapin' me for this work," he grumbled to himself as he sealed the purse and hung it from his belt, next to his left beard-braid.
He worked the cork from an old liquor bottle he kept around and began to chug its contents as he talked the too familiar path back out of the forest. The tip of his sword just scraped the forest floor as he walked, dragging leaves and the occasional twig behind him. "If I had two halves of a brain, I'd up and leave Serendipity, I tell ye. Sparkly fingered long-legs can rot for all I care."