So much stress. So much pressure.
And now this?
It's almost funny how ridiculous it is.
It takes you almost a minute to recompose yourself. To pull yourself back together.
And then you take your first steps into the tent.
You don't even have anything to change into and out of your dirty nightclothes. Sighing heavily, you pick up your bedroll and shake it out. You then lay it back down in its original spot.
Your foot brushes against something hard, drawing your attention. You glance down to see a full bottle of ale resting on its side. The traitors must have knocked it from your stash, and then accidentally covered it when they shook your bedroll.
Or maybe they just couldn't be bothered to take it.
You bend over and pick it up off the ground. You inspect it, running your hand across the smooth glass.
The idea aggravates you. The idea that they decided to ruin your tent but couldn't be bothered to finish the job properly. That they'd leave this bottle behind, almost as a taunt to remind you of what's lost.
In reality, most of what was lost is replaceable. Your gear is. Your clothes are. Your alcohol is. Your journal is the only thing that truly isn't.
It's the principle of the matter.
Vedran stole all of it from you. Not content to just backstab you and beat Darin up, he had to steal everything as well. He had to take all the possessions you might have had any attachment toward.
Your hand twitches.
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