Part 1: The Misadventure Begins
Mopey Hugh sat down heavily. He rarely sat down any other way, truth be told.He was not a graceful man.
Mopey Hugh sighed. Heavily.
“I’m in a real bad way, Kevin. A really real bad way.”
Kev swung his boots up onto Hugh’s table, letting the salt water puddle at his heels.
“Well well well, m’boy, what is it this time? Love lost?”
Kev smirked, knowing it wasn’t.
Hugh was not a handsome man.
Hugh sighed, long and melancholy.
“No. No, not that, Mister Kevin. I bungled a job, Kevin. A job for Long Red Bill. You know him, don’t you Mister Kevin? My friend Long Red Bill”
Kev did indeed know Long Red Bill. Hugh was not a man with a lot of friends. Long Red Bill, or “Long Red” as he’s usually called, because three names is too much for any man of such low birth and questionable morality. Though since a outhouse and hand cannon related run in with one Janyth Carhannon, he’s been called “Long Brown Bill”. Kev swallowed another smirk, and fixed his Business Face on.
“So you’re wanting off the Fingers, is that it Hugh?”
Hugh sighed, loud and mournful.
“There’s not much in Five Fingers for me anyway, Mister Kevin. My house has the black rot comin’ up from below. My outhouse is ruined. My dog got kicked to death by two Trollkin and a Gobber. And then my mum fell out the second floor window of the Bawdy Sailor after drinkin’ ‘alf a bottle of gin. And then… “
Kev swallowed a second smirk. He didn’t consider himself a man with a black streak of humour, but by damn it was hard not to laugh at Mopey Hugh. He was not a lucky man. Kev raised a knotted and callused finger, and Hugh stopped. And sighed. And yes, it was long. And soulful.
“Don’t you worry, Hughie me old fruit. Kev and The Boys are the best Get The Fuck Out Of Here artists east of the Meridius. Now, how many lads are out looking for you right this minute?”
“Um… maybe about twenty? You see, Mister Kevin, it got about that I was a Toruk worshipper, on account of this joke I told, so they all sort of volunteered to help Long Red Bill out when he was saying he was goin’ to kill me. People thought I was being a bit serious, like.”
Mopey Hugh was not a funny man.
“Right so, Mopey Hugh. It’s a new life in Cygnar for you. Or would you prefer Khador?”
“I don’t much like the cold, Mister Kevin. I’ve a touch of the Arthritis.”
“Cygnar it is then. BOYS!”
The Boys poured into the room with a great clamour, vaulting through open windows and slamming doors open. Seven or eight (or was it nine) Gobbers surrounded the table, helping themselves to food and beer. One of them, a more curious chap than his friends, examined a cheap china vase on the sidetable, poking it with a finger. He knocked it to the ground, and the crash caused all seven or eight or nine of them to freeze into “stand to attention” poses around the table in the blink of an eye. The each studiously looked away as a cloud of ash billowed outwards.
“Sorry, Mum.” sighed Mopey Hugh.
“Alright Hugh, time to get going. No time to pack”
“Don’t have nuffink to pack anyway. Rot got all my clothes”
“Excellent! Boys, to the ship!”
“Yes boss, I’ll crank up the whirlyshaft!”
“Not the daytime nonsense boat, Trip. The proper one. For real work.”
“Dawwwww. Yes Boss.”
Kev stood with a flourish, throwing his coat around his thin shoulders.
“Alright, Hughie me lad. Time for a wee adventure, d’ya sketch?”
Mopey Hugh was not an adventurous man. But at least he didn’t sigh.