[Virgil Masterson]

Timestamp: Solaria, First of Kalendryas, Winter in Era XIV PF.

Spitting on the pavement wasn't going to produce much, but it did well to pass the time.

Rent due again, and not much crowns to pay the old hag with. That meant he had to get a living. He could get a job, this much was true. Then again, he could off and rob someone, trick someone, defraud someone of their hard-earned wealth...this was Imperia, after all. The land of unlimited opportunity.

That's what it was, after all. Nothing more but a land of opportunity. So opportune it was, that no one else had paid it any heed. To even call it a backwater was a compliment. Yes, this was Imperia, the dark city by the bay.

Making his way to the Governor's Folly, so was he taking time to take a sip of the clear water by cupping his hands. The produce of the Midnight Star was good, but a mite too expensive for his pocket right now.

Crime did pay, and pay well, particularly here. On the other hand, maybe being one of them Provincial Marshals wasn't half-bad. Being an official rubbernecker and gettin' paid to do it made for a decent living. And they had such neat digs and threads, too. Not much else to do for a bowslinger in these here parts anyway, yes'm. No way in Jorel was he goin' ta be a barkeep, no siree.

Spitting once more into the dust, so did he prop himself against the edifice, use his hat as a makeshift fan and continue to watch, listen, and wait. Who knows, perhaps the Gods would give him a sign, make money fall from heaven.