Prince Kheldar, heir to the throne of Drasnia, was very, very drunk.
He was also incredibly engrossed in his latest conquest: a very pretty barmaid in Rheon's finest, the The Open Flagon, who just so happened to have a very valuable necklace. The fact that she had next to no depth to her character didn't faze Kheldar in the slightest – if anything, it spurred him on, as she would not realise her folly until the morning…by which point he would be long gone.
Let it not be said, however, that the Crown Prince of Drasnia was in any way, shape or form an attractive lover. From a distance, he looked like a twelve-year-old (with his diminutive frame and lack of physical prowess), rather than the eighteen-year-old that he was. Moreover, Kheldar was commonly regarded as looking more like a rodent than a human, thanks to his long, sharply-pointed nose: not the best impression to give the people of Drasnia, especially seeing as, if something horrible happened to his Uncle Rhodar before he managed to find a wife forgiving enough to put up with his excesses, Kheldar would be left with around 1 ½ million hungry, needy people to lead. Oh, the joy.
Despite these…difficulties, Kheldar was determined to make something of himself – something that didn't rest on his status as a member of the Drasnian royal family. So, as many Drasnians are wont to do, he turned to thievery. This was the chase, the Great Game, something that his sanity (or, rather, what remained of it) depended on. The gains were worthless in the face of that addictive rush that purloining the possessions of rich and poor alike gave him – forget the opium dens of Boktor; thievery was the drug of choice for this particular Drasnian.
This 'drug', unfortunately, had its side-effects: one of Kheldar's trademarks was that his distinctive nose would twitch whenever he was on the cusp of achieving something even remotely interesting…such as that necklace. Every so often, the maid would stop in her breathtakingly stupid tale to stare inquisitively at Kheldar's nose, before (thankfully) thinking no more of it and continuing to bore him to tears. It wouldn't be so much of an annoyance (in fact, if Kheldar hadn't been so focussed on the necklace, he would have been hard-pressed not to laugh), but the fact was that his father had paid out a ludicrous amount of Gold Bulls for a muscle trainer, so that this ridiculous tell of his would be suppressed. Therefore it would seem that, despite its allure, money can't buy everything.
Well, things could be worse. I could look like Drosta. Drosta Lek Thun was Kheldar's 'colleague' for lack of a better term, since he was Prince of Gar Og Nadrak, which lay on the Eastern border of Drasnia. He was also a miserly, pockmarked lecher, even at the tender age of seventeen, and spent much of his time conducting his…business in disreputable taverns in the suburbs of Yar Nadrak. We're not as different as I might like to believe, then…
That, however, was a matter for Prince Kheldar to deal with. His alter ego, Ambar of Kotu, was centre-stage now, and gods damn it, he wanted that necklace. There was only one thing for it – a charm offensive. By which, he intended to bed the wench as soon as possible.
"Why don't we…take this someplace else, love?" Kheldar's voice reached her ears distantly, and it appeared that for some moments, the poor girl simply forgot to breathe. After recovering from this, she nodded hurriedly, and moved to prepare a room for the two of them.
As the door shut on Kheldar and his prey, he had time for one smug, little smile – the smirk of a hunter who was not altogether satisfied with his spoils – before the barmaid threw her arms around his neck and tried to do what no other woman had yet managed to do: claim him. Kheldar smiled a deceptively sweet smile.
It'll be mine within the hour.