17th of Winter, 517 AV, North Ravok Outpost:
''I'm sorry, I must have misheard. You're not paying me the rest of my fee?'', the violent displeasure in Einar's tone was as openly displayed as the cloudless morning sky overhead. He glared at the back of the petty merchant he spoke to, while the scrawny, bald old man kept fiddling with something in a crate from the shoddy shipment Ein had risked his hide for ten good days to protect.
''No, boy. You have quite good hearing. I've given your share to Timothy already, go and bother him about it.'', the merchant replied with a dismissive sigh. There was no fear of the crude lad's anger, rather the old man seemed to view said anger as petty inconvenience. Something that set Einar off all the more. He guessed at what was going on.
In a ferocious stride and a half, Einar had planted himself behind the old man, slipping a crude dagger that hung upon the waist of his armor.
''You're going to cough the money up this sodding instant.'', Ein sneered, already almost salivating in anger. He grabbed the old man by the back of his shirt's collar, but before he could stick the dagger under his throat or hiss another word, a fist came flying to the side of his face, forcing him to let go of the old man, and sending him off his feet and into a painful seat on the ground.
It took him a long moment to break out of the daze, and when he did, he got to look up at a muscly figure at least a head taller and two heads wider than himself. Then the sense of betrayal stung at his sore cheek far worse than the broad shouldered bastard's fist ever could.
''Timothy. You wouldn't happen to have my coin with you, would you? You flaccid prick.'', Ein was a fair deal smarter and able to put things together than most folk gave him credit for, and it was by far not the first time he was being cheated and outright bullied out of earned coin, but it was certainly the first time in a long while.
Timothy, another, albeit much older and better experienced mercenary employed by the shady merchant whom Ein escorted northward, simply cracked his knuckles and gave a shrug.
''Afraid the only coin I carry is mine, laddie.'', Timothy's reply carried an obvious taunt and a mocking wickedness.
''Of course.'', the lad sneered back. Einar was still clutching the dagger's handle, and was a breath away from springing up at the crooked bastards, when the old man spoke up.
''Just go, boy.'', with a glance at the merchant, Ein realized the old man was no longer looking at either of his two 'employees', but at the two guards who had been passing nearby and stopped to observe the commotion, ready to intervene.
Sticking the dagger back into his belt, Einar got up, spat a hearty one at the crooked bastards' feet, and stomped off, gritting his teeth to the point where they nearly began to crack. He was furious, ready to murder both of those cocksuckers, all four if need be, but he knew better. He wasn't dealing with rabid Noktals or crazed bloated boars like he did in Sahova. Having spent just over a season around those ebon-clad pricks, he knew that the only form of justice they cared to distribute to outsiders of their city was an unpleasant and unfair one on the best of days. And while he did entertain the thought of causing a scene for the sole consolation that he'd manage to get Timothy and the merchant into trouble as well, he decided he valued what well being he had more than spiting them.
So he simply sodded off before making a scene, his mouth bitter with swallowed pride.