PocketShippers

  Ale, its little wonder why some men crave it. A few tankards can wash away a gloomy day and a few more can rub out the best part of the week, but its during toughs moments that even the most tight lipped man can spill his darkest secrets for little more than a silver piece. One such man lay sprawled on a table, his thirteenth tankard half empty and his eyes spun in their sockets. His stench was only matched by the equally sickly smell of split ale that had gone stale mouths before. Even his shabby clothes did nothing to cover up his odor. The man struggled to lift his grizzly head, his beard dripping with dribbled ale as he tried his best t