The Stale nearly overpowering smell of cheap alcohol flowed from Thobos’ pores attacking those who came near him. Clumsy feet steadily moved him down the dirt path he was currently on. There was no question to the fact that he was completely intoxicated, and undoubtedly did not have much of an idea where he was going or why. The only thing on his mind was that annoying little town of Estolad and its lack of a decent place to drink, and he was out of ale. For Thobos’ this is quite a problem.
Drinking for him is simply what you do to pass the time. He never found anything wrong with it, and he was known among his friends and family for indulging in a flagon or five. Barbarians were known for their ability to hold their alcohol, and because of his size Thobos would find himself sober quickly unless he continued to consume that liquid he loved so much.
As the hours past so did his intoxication, and as he noticed a few merchants about to pass him he quickly moved towards them.
“Aye There, Where’s be the closest bar ‘round here?”
They quickly told him that he was currently on the road to a large city, though they did not give him the name of it, and then they hurried off. Thobos simply smirked at most peoples reaction to his appearance. Even though he was a barbarian, and the fact that he smelled like a bar floor, it did not mean that he couldn’t be civil, or friendly. Then he realized how haggard he had to look.
His Cloak was wrinkled and nasty, his hair was a partially braided and tangled mess flowing down his back. The Scimitar he carried was the only clean and decent looking object he had, including his body, but a person’s weapon is their most valuable asset in the world he lived in, or at least that was what he believed. After those few moments of thought he looked forward to the horizon and continued walking hoping that it wouldn’t take long to reach some ale, or some way to make some quick gold.