Whether Finn truly had the bearing of a great figure or not was debatable. But what was certain was that tonight, he was like a king to these dock workers.
The tavern they headed was called The Barnacle's Rest, a squat building wedged between two warehouses near the eastern docks. It was the kind of establishment that catered exclusively to dock workers. Their speciality was a good serving of cheap ale, cheaper food, and no pretense of respectability.
Finn, who'd previously never really drunk alcohol, did so with gusto tonight. Downing mug after mug of the tangy dock ale that tasted of fermented grain and salt. The workers cheered with each empty mug he slammed down, treating it like some kind of competition he was winning through sheer determination.
