Thread:WendigoLamet/@comment-34928186-20190724003816/@comment-36459171-20190725162205

Devaxion Riskold had already seated himself at the bar, three emptied bottles perched before him messily upon the wooden table. He was a regular guest, and most employees had learned that the far right chair ‘belonged’ to him, and would often reserve the seat for his near daily appearance.

The dragonborn couldn’t get drunk so easily, it often took more than three bottles to get him somewhat dizzy. He guzzled down his fourth drink, the liquid dripping down his chin messily, where he lifted a hand to wipe it away.

“Tell Vennie I said hi.” He said enthusiastically to the barkeeper. His voice was low and raspy, and paired with his massive size, he was often perceived as older and much more of a threat, when in reality he was a young Fighter with a family reputation to his name.