Tonight We Dine on the Flesh of the Dragon
Bannister, despite the excitement and dread splashing together in his gut, tries to listen to Harmon, whose grey beard and battered armor seems proof positive of wisdom.
“This show’s fucked, kid,” Harmon rumbles. “People are gonna die.”
Bannister takes in the room. Prince Ranem and his cohorts in a knot, their armour shining, laughing at the door, and on the edges the ragged pick-up crew looking angry and scared.
“What do we do?” he whispers. “Do we leave?”
“I ain’t never run out on a job,” Harmon pulls his humming blade from its sheath. “Not while the money’s alive, anyway.”