Never had Duscan thought that he would be in the shithouse. Of course, he has, but not with a lady he had taken a fancy to. Perhaps it was ill-fated from the start, that he was the muse and she the artist. Was this her gentle way of letting him down softly? That he no longer amused and...
Duscan the Bastard needed no introduction to many of the other pubs, taverns, and inns within the small radius of the inn he lived and helped with. It was him pouring the other business owners drinks, laughing and waving off their invitations and insistence he visit their places of business with...
"Are those scars, sir?"
"Worse. They're stains."
. . .
Duscan the Bastard, although no one really knows if there is a difference
between if he was a bastard son or a fucking bastard.
After buying his freedom from his indenture to an odious woman,
Dusc set about seeing the world he had...
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.