"Hic! Em, sir! Hic! Ima talk'n to ya, hic!" A tipsy guy barked as he teetered in front of them to block their path.
The man in his forties had only an old spear in his left hand, which he was using as a crutch to keep his balance. In his right hand, he had an equally shabby dagger aimed straight at them that he surely thought was threatening.
If his face wasn't puffy and purplish, his eyes glassy and his breath didn't reek of absinthe and carrion, then perhaps his attempt at intimidation might have worked. If it had been just Trash, he would have had his chances, but today really wasn't his day.
This kind of lousy scum was the eighth or ninth one they had encountered since leaving the Wilderness. After stepping into civilized lands, the monsters had been replaced by bandits and misfits.
