Panier Borough, in the North Eastern shanties
aka the Pueblin
The smell of oily pig permeated the marketplace. Every other stall was selling a different piece of pig. Stewed pig rump, pickled pig's feet, pig skin cut into strips and deep fried. Florian had to admit it was good butcher work, good as any Skinner, but why did it have to be pig? The stench of it all was making him queasy.
A bit of bread, airy and sugar-dusted, remained untouched in his hand, draped lazy along the wood fence he leaned against. The girl next to him bit happily into hers. She was sat atop the fence, kicking her feet against the lower boards. With each tap of her heel, the wood made a hollow, warped sound.
Brinda the Bold.
Didn't fit right in a quaint little place like this. She should be out hunting.
"...and that's my story. Just looking for one more cazadore to join the hunt, before we load up," Florian finished his pitch. He was a denmaster gathering supplies and extra help for a big expedition into the deadlands. Heard there were cazadores holed up here in the pueblin. An easy story to swallow, because it was only the truth.
"Wish I could go with," the girl responded. "Garrod says I have to wait for my new arm, before we go on another job."
"Next time, then," Florian said with a smile. An expression that could never be smooth again, given the state of his face.
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