hahaha, well I’m trash so I’ll bite on the Rugan x Aradin fic! Tell me more! How do these two assholes even meet??

As you wish, my friend! At the bar in The Blushing Mermaid! It goes a little like this...

“Another day in paradise.” Rugan muttered.

The barkeep placed the refilled tankard on the bar and pocketed the waiting coin. The evening crowd was beginning to arrive, but he had his usual spot and the regulars allowed him a respectful distance.

“You’ll be back on the horse in no time.”

“Always am.” Rugan nodded, “Just need a quiet night to nurse a pint. Or few.”

“Good luck with that.” The keep muttered under their breath looking pointedly over Rugan’s shoulder, and the Zhent followed their gaze with curiosity. A young adventurer, holding himself with a loud arrogance of inexperience, was scouring the room for an empty seat. Rugan prayed that he wouldn’t spy the vacant stool beside him, but who was he kidding, the Gods never liked him that much.

“Bloody feckin’ mages and their bloody feckin’ contracts.” Aradin settled noisily onto the barstool. He missed the barkeep share a tired look with the man beside him. He pulled a coin from the pouch at his side and tapped it impatiently on the finished wood.

“You ever come across an offer to find the Nightsong,” Aradin announced as though anyone had asked, “do yourself a favour – don’t.”

The older man exhaled, mourning the peaceful night that was quickly evaporating.

“Could’ve told you that one.” He took a slow drink.

“No need to share with the rest of us.” Aradin muttered, as his own drink was set down and he pulled it toward him. “Still ain’t seen a damn coin from that lyin’ wandshite.”

“Lesson learned, lad.” Rugan mused.

“Feck off,” Aradin muttered, “don’t need humourin’ from the likes of you.”

“Oh, aye?” Rugan raised an amused eyebrow, “what kind’s that, then?”

“Adventurers past their prime.” Aradin nodded, a poor attempt at a backhanded compliment, “Livin’ out your sad old age, drownin’ sorrows in a tavern, wishin’ you were still out there.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rugan replied with a knowing smile, unfazed by goading, "nowt wrong with a drink after a dishonest day's work." He caught the eye of the keep again as they poured a drink for another customer; ‘course the lad didn’t know he was Zhent. If he had a brain, he'd be dangerous, Rugan wryly thought. He was aware of Aradin’s intrigued eyes, curious by his answer. The young adventurer looked over the man beside him, letting his eyes rest a little too long the weathered features and the fair hair that had been gathered back to reveal the undercut. His face with its lines and creases. And those eyes. Gods, were they blue.

“Not a man of many words, I take it?” Aradin said, not subtle in his sudden interest.

“Knowing when to speak can be as much as skill as knowing what to say.” Rugan gestured with his cup, “Or per’aps I’m just preoccupied.”

“Have it your way.” Aradin huffed and turned back to his drink. He finished it far too quickly, gasping only once for air as he greedily drained the tankard and ordered another, wiping sticky liquid from his mouth with the back of a hand. Rugan noticed the glossy, far-away look in the younger man’s eyes that revealed he never intended to enjoy the ale; drinking was a means to an end. It was a look he recognized.

“Steady on, lad.” Rugan offered, “The night is young.”