Silver - What do you imagine the future to be like?

Did a roll to see who this would go to, and turns out to be Tenneson, the Hunter!)

The inn wasn’t overly crowded, which was odd for the week’s end. Normally the walls would be echoing with chatter, the clash of mugs, and maybe even the tunes of an instrument or two. Smells would assault the senses, more keenly for those with the touch of a beast in them. Yet tonight was quiet, peaceful. The reason, he reckoned, was anything but. War had a funny way of dampening anyone’s spirits after a good long while.

“Th’ future?”

A deep, graveled voice called out from underneath the brim of a long worn hat. The leather had been worn and cracked in places and when the subtle tilt of his head came, a gleaming yellow eye peeked out at the figure. Slowly he eased into the chair, the wood creaking from a gentle protest.

“Used to be, I’d wager th’ future involved a cabin, a tannery, maybe a good hunt’r’two to pass th’ time. Something quiet like, you see. Cinnamon and whiskey, that sort of thing.”

His hand reached out, fingertips left exposed to the air as his leatherclad palm wrapped itself around a silver mug. Raising it up he swirled the contents, giving a faint sniff before downing a healthy pull. He took his time, as he always did, to set it back and reach for the still burning cigarette on the tray beside it. Amber flared to life as he breathed in the acrid smoke, letting it dry his tongue and assault his lungs before breathing it out in a long, thin stream.

“Funny how things get a lil sideways when you try to be…soft. Future’s just th’ next hunt, now. The next job. I got work, I got Dutchess, I reckon I don’t need anythin’ else.”

Coins dropped on the table by way of payment for the barmaid who’d make her way up soon enough. Without another word the man was on his feet, rifle slung over his shoulder as heavy footfalls drummed against the aged wood floor.