Peat, Cork, and Coin
Sir, Bein' dress'd propa is a kind of armour, an armour 'gainst "unprofessionalisim"; a t'ing that would wound me gravely.
Drudley is a curious kind of trollkin. Just shy of 8 feet tall, 275 pounds of weight, and hands that bespeak the kind of man that only knows “the hard way” when it comes to choices. He chooses to temper this appearance with a perfectly cut three piece suit, cummerbund, bow tie, suspenders and bowler hat. Indeed, a curious thing to look upon.
Speak to the man and you’ll find him complementary, and as cheerful as he can manage. He seems to make it a goal to point out the best in those he comes across, even those he has to fight (given a quiet moment post combat).
All of this finery and manner is the result of a chance meeting with a legend. A mistaken territory dispute in Five Fingers put his old gang, The Knucklebone Boys, opposite Boomhowler and company. It was the most decisive loss that Drudley had ever weathered, and left him battered, broken and bloody. More so than the wounds, Boomhowler’s words stuck with Drudley, “Make something of yourself, this isn’t worth your time, kid”.
As to why Drudley would become an assassin? A chance to hone his heavy handed combat style? A chance to procure more exotic materials for ties? to amass enough wealth to restructure the nature of the modern fighting sport? He isnt sharing. Simply replying “Once, I spent me life ‘ittin’ people I ain’t nevah met. Now, a righ’ smart bloke an’ lady wan’ to pay me to ‘it people that cause the biggest problems. I’s a little like bein’ a bouncer for a whole country innit? s’good enough fer now.”