Everyone in the group followed the old Faarg after his miraculous recovery. Ulfar looked over back to where he had left Eila. She was still sitting there, but the Alunei was with her now. The back-pain was gone for him, which probably meant that the Alunei had done something about it. Ulfar went back to them, and they both turned as he approached. He walked right up to them, and then stopped to pick up the bag of books.

"We're going to follow from behind." He said, ignoring the Alunei. Eila seemed like she had something to say.

"I must speak with the Faarg so that I may-" But she was cut off.

"That won't happen. You're going to stay with me at the back." He spoke with weight in his words now. If the girl disobeyed, he'd pick her up again, and this time he'd be sure to stuff her mouth with some rags beforehand. Ulfar then turned to the winged one. "And you keep your distance from us."

"But she has just aided me." Eila spoke up again. "She is clearly friendly."

Alina looked between the two curiously as they spoke to one another. It was odd, when they both arrived she had thought they were friends, but how the man spoke to the girl made them think he wasn't quite fond of her. Maybe even found her to be a nuisance.

"Yes, you wouldn't want to take the risk of me turning out to be one of those vicious Aluneis." Alina joked obviously, sealing it with a delicate laugh. The Alunei were incredibly bound by peace and an act of violence would cause tremendous pain. Having concern over an Alunei was a silly matter indeed.

Alina then tried to stand, wincing and immediately collapsing down onto her knees again. She groaned in pain as she held her wounded side. If only she could have had a moment to rest and the wound might have healed enough to venture on without discomfort. Though since arriving she had fallen off a horse, doused in a strong alcohol that painfully cleansed the wound only to then be tossed into a rock wall by a powerful magic explosion. All in all it had not been a good day for the girl.

The way Eila looked at the winged one betrayed no emotion, but she didn’t feel right. The man with the greatsword was going to make things harder for her if she acted out against him. He looked at them, expecting neither to object any further.

“I see there is no use in arguing.” Eila finally said. “But before we go, I need to inspect something.”

She was staring off into the distance. When Ulfar turned around, he couldn’t see what she was talking about.

“That.” She spoke again. “Do you see it? Next to that rock, where the Dark One extended out his metal finger.”

After squinting a bit, it became noticable. When the dark being had appeared, the dragon had attempted to dive down and strike onto him. But the dark being had used a metal extension of his finger to critically wound the dragon as it dove. Eila was talking about the trail of blood left by the dragon.

Ulfar nodded at Eila. She turned to the winged woman.

“I hope the dwarf and the other man can help you.” Eila said before she set off. Ulfar followed behind her.

---

When they finally got to the trail of blood, Eila held out her hand at Ulfar. Her eyes were fixed on the strap of the bag on Ulfar’s shoulder. The swordsman didn't understand at first, but he figured out what she meant. He unhooked the bag from his arm and handed it to her. She set it on the ground and took two tube-shaped vials, one of which had a noticeable crack on it.

“Do you see why I tell you to be gentle with this bag, now?” Eila asked. She didn’t sound like she was scolding him, her voice was very neutral, almost as if she didn't care about it herself. She took some other tools out and knelt down.

“Then perhaps you should carry it.” Ulfar replied.

Eila began scrapping the droplets of blood off of the blades of grass. She guided each droplet into the first vial. The process seemed to take forever. When Ulfar looked over his shoulder, he saw that the other adventurers hadn’t departed yet. Most of them were still recovering.

“So, that blood is real?” Ulfar asked, although he was still looking at the adventurers.

“Of course.” Eila began, in her slow, lifeless tone. “It was not, in fact, a mimic dragon or a crystal dragon. If I am correct, it was nothing more than a common fire dragon. Its blood is very valuable and can be used in many rituals, as well as the creation of potent elixirs.“

Then that wasn’t an illusion after all. Ulfar thought to himself. His earlier guess of this whole fiasco being an illusory trick created by the Faarg was less likely to be the case now. He tried not to think too much into it, or let it falter his caution.

The girl finished with the first vial. The small tube was filled about halfway with dark, red blood, and she put a cork on top of it. She then repeated the same process with the second tube. Once she was done, she placed the undamaged vial into the bag and handed it to Ulfar. But she kept the damaged one on herself. It went into a much smaller satchel that was attached to her waist.

“I’m afraid two vials are all we have time for." Eila said.

Iron’s end was one of the largest towns in the Plains, lying close relatively close to its centre. It sat on one of the widest stretches of the Nua River, from which it harvest much of its energy. Surrounding the town were pasture farms and opencast mines in equal quantity. The town itself had a high stone wall surrounding it, with steel gates and steel tipped parapets. The innermost sections of the town housed large domiciles owned by the rich landowners, miners and the few other merchants and upperclass people that lived in the town. Many of these were dwarves, experts in the crafts of mining and metal casting. The town also housed a large orc and human population that seemed to intermingle rather well.
****************************************************
The group of traveller’s reached the gates of Iron’s End just as night fell on the second day of their journey. Some had spoken much on the day’s travel and others had spoken very little. Shankee, always at the head of the party, leading them to the town he had spoken of, kept his cheery resolve and continued to speak aloud to the others, but mostly to himself.

“Who’s that there?” came an uneducated bellow from above the town’s main gate.

The Farrg stopped in his tracks and shouted back, “Just a group of weary traveller’s friend.”

There was a long pause while the man who passed for a guard thought about what to do.

“Alri.” He shouted after a while, “No funny business ya ‘ear.”

Within another few moments, the steel cast gates made a great roar of their own before swinging out towards the party. The path immediately beyond was filled with a dozen guards armed with knives and spears, eying the visitors suspiciously. Clearly the town had had its back reared by the recent spat of raids and violence.

The part of town they entered was rather dank. The houses were small, and some were in a state of dire disrepair. It wasn’t exactly a slum but it was for from pleasant. Men and Orcs bustled around on the streets, presumably heading home from the day’s work or to the tavern for more than a scoop of ale.

“Right. I have business to attend deeper within the city. Get fed, watered and as much as you’ll need to keep yourself going for a fortnight. We’ll meet back here again on the rooster’s call. I’ll have organised mounts for us all by then.
Without further word the old Farrg slipped into the crowd and out of sight.

******************************************************
As Bawzel awaited the message carrier to return, Mizat and Celabrin appeared of their own accord. They had popped into being in the room with him much to his amusement. ‘They’ve been having fun’ he mused to himself. Then, a few seconds after, the messenger showed up and began splurting a few syllables before he saw Mizat and Celabrin had already arrived. The next thing the elf remembered was being flung back through the door he had just entered.
“Well.” Declared Bawzel to his two aides. “How was it with the orc?”

A little bit of teamwork and a fair amount of effort found the Dwarf up and standing again in no time. Charon waited for him to regain his senses, “I thank you Keeper, I did not land in that predicament, it landed on me,” The Dwarf eventually said, extending his hand to the Keeper. “Arnack of the Slayers, we fight for much the same thing in different ways.”

“So it would seem.” Charon laughed quietly to himself, “Charon, of the Keepers.” He replied, taking the dwarf’s hand and giving him a firm shake. So far the Keeper rather enjoyed the dwarf’s endearing nature, and it was certainly good to have a Slayer onboard. Not only were there motivations usually pure and right-hearted but also Charon had seen first hand the kind of battle prowess that they held. “I have a feeling there is a great deal of battle ahead of us. I am glad to have another man fighting for the right reasons amongst us.” He said before turning his attention back to the rest of the party for a moment. It seemed like a fair number of the party were mostly concerned with figuring out what was going on with the Faarg.

Once their apparent leader had made it to his feet however, he simply shrugged off all that had just happened without another thought. He then wasted no time in attempting to rally the party before taking off towards wherever it was that giants lay. Whatever that meant. Most of the party seemed like they were at least planning to follow along though, which was definitely a good sign. The Alunei was still on the ground however, having been abandoned by the two latecomers even after the healer had just tended to them. Despite her efforts to care for others, she was still in pretty bad shape from whatever wounds she had suffered before arriving. What a fool she was, Charon mused. An admirable and kindhearted fool, but a fool nonetheless. “Go on ahead and I will catch up with you and the others in a moment.” The Keeper said to the Dwarf, already taking off in the Alunei’s direction.

“You, Alunei.” Charon began. His tone betrayed no harshness, and yet it offered no sympathy. “You have been called upon by the gods themselves to aid this party in our quest. From what we’ve all seen so far I am certain that our journey will be extremely dangerous, and we are going to need the best healer we can get. To fill this role, the gods have chosen you. However, we do not have time to waste on a poor, naïve damsel in distress. That is what they see in you now.” He said, pointing to the other party members. Though his words had been cold, his voice had remained warm, the intent in his speech not being to hurt the girl but merely to expose the truth as it related to the state of things. “That is not what you are. As an Alunei you are a beacon of hope and goodwill, and a stalwart shield, which stands against despair and wickedness. In order for you to take on this role, you will need to be both determined and strong. There is no time for rest now, despite your injuries, you must stand.” As Charon finished, he extended a hand down to the young Alunei, “Come on, I will help you reach the nearest town, where you can visit a doctor.”

This Farrg was certainly an interesting individual: first he recovered from a seemingly fatal blast at the Point before jumping up and leading the party on their merry way, and now he had brought them to Iron’s End and hobbled off yet again in such a nonchalant way that Eeiys would have almost mistaken his confidence for foolishness. However, it was unusual for Farrg, especially 2nd stage, to be unaware of their actions. Eeiys shrugged it off, assuming that the storyteller would keep his word and meet them back at the entrance by morning. The entire party was obviously a little bit shaken by sudden disappearance of their apparently guide, and tired from the day’s heavy march, and, in the Alunei’s case, still badly wounded for whatever reason. The exile knight eyed a few of the guards lining the gate pathway and they eyed him back, obviously curious about the nature of his armour. He quickly turned his head again, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention before simply wandering off deeper into the city, leaving the rag-tag party to their own devices. He’d be back by morning and he expected they’d do the same.

The town itself was… dirty. Open sewers lined the poorer districts where men and women, all caked in filth and sweat, would wander with no obvious purpose, murmuring to one another, crossing paths with astounding intricacy and pace. Children weaved in and out of the masses of serfs while screaming and laughing with joy as they played, unaware of the economical plight of their elders. They’d learn some day. The poorer districts had the smell and sound of every other city south of Uacteir Balla, a hustle and bustle filled the air, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of piss and ale. Some people enjoyed such squalid conditions, in fact, they almost thrived in it, but Eeiys just found it all a little bit sad. These people were born with such potential, and they were content to be poor tailors and weavers and miners and blacksmiths. Expected of a mining town, of course, but disappointing nonetheless. He began to block out the cacophony of sounds, focusing his mind on where he was going to stay low-profile until dawn. Some food would not go amiss, either. Eeiys stopped in his tracks and turned a full circle, getting his bearings and trying to find a suitable place to stop for the night, until something caught his eye: a small curtained shack nestled between a carpet shop and a general merchant stall. Behind the two disjointed scraps of fabric that served as it’s door, Eeiys could make out a curious looking woman, adorned all in purple and wearing a myriad of assorted gold chains and necklaces and rings that clung to every fold of her robes. A mystic? Eeiys knew he couldn’t resist seeing what services she was offering. It would have made a change from the mud-caked streets.

Pushing his way through the curtains, the woman looked up from her seemingly mundane bowl of crystal clear water; she looked almost surprised to see him, but she did not gasp or exclaim at his presence. She acted rather professional, actually, and immediately beckoned him to sit. Eeiys did so with a little hesitation, sliding three bronze coins onto the table, which the woman immediately snapped up greedily and placed into one of the folds of her clothing.

“What does the future hold?” he asked, a little skeptical.

“For you? Yes. Your future is cloudy. Methinks you journey with a purpose” she replied.

“Everybody journeys with a purpose,” he retorted.

“But not everybody journeys with a burden. Methinks you bear a terrible weight”

“Everybody bears a terrible weight,”

“But not everybody’s weight is so cloudy,”

Eeiys did not reply, instead he looked deep into the mystic’s eyes.
She stared back for a moment, before she started again.

“Methinks you hide your face with good reason. Are you really a person, or do you embody an idea? A bulwark in the darkness? Or are you a bulwark against the light?” She began to cackle uncontrollably. The thought of putting Frost through her head crossed Eeiys’ mind, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel. She probably said these words to every traveller who stumbled into her shack.

“…but what do you see, hag?”

It took the woman a few moments to regain her unsettling composure, before looking down into her bowl of water. It was quickly becoming apparent that this was not water.

“I see the Winter and Summer, struggling for dominance. Methinks your soul is divided between the cold and the warm. I see an immortal soul… and the end of a mortal one. I see you, Eeiys. Alone in the Winter,”

Eeiys shot up from his seat by the table. She knew who he was. He should not have come here. He could not risk his secret getting out. He could not have another town militia try their luck against him. Not this time. This time, he was close.
Drawing Frost from it’s sheathe, he pointed the tip at the Mystic, with the full intention to strike. Her reaction, however, was unexpected. Instead of recoiling across the room and begging for mercy, she seemed more intrigued than ever. She approached Frost, running her fingers along the flat of the blade and… sniffing it. Eeiys was too taken aback to strike. She was utterly mad. 
Suddenly, her eyes pricked up, and she finally recoiled in horror.

“You! The sword! You are folly, you do not know what you carry! You don’t- How did you-?”

For whatever reason, her horror was apparent. But he did not risk her telling anyone about his presence. He slid the unnaturally sharp blade through her neck, and her words turned to incoherent babbling. Blood welled at her mouth and she choked. She was dead before she hit the floor. She died quietly, even if she did claw at her wound before realising it was foolhardy.
Cleaning Frost of her blood, Eeiys quickly and quietly dragged the body to the corner of the shack before shoddily tossing a few stray blankets and pillows over her, hopefully hiding her away until he had fled the area.
Eeiys emerged from the shack, stretched his arms and back rather casually as to not draw attention to himself, and began a hearty stroll back the way he came. Maybe there was a tavern on the other side of town he could rest at…

But then…

(Darkmatter or anyone else is free to lead on from here. Couldn’t be bothered to wait for a collab. Any NPC interaction or whatever is fine )

Norak found the journey to be relatively uneventful, though one of the group had gone missing on the hard march to Iron’s End.

Norak was surprised to find such a comparatively friendly reception from the town, though the reason for this apparent acceptance of the Orcish kind became quickly apparent on entering the boundaries and finding many of his people going to and fro. Those that spotted him were quick to grow surprised, even Orcs who had grasped relative civility such as their ilk could recognise a Black Orc, one of the oldest and fiercest of their kind. They usually made way for him, those that could stop staring in time to avoid his careful shoves anyhow. No offence was ever taken.

The Orc had business to attend to, so he was not unhappy when the Farrg gave them free-reign and then wandered off alone. He did not followed anyone in particular, so he found a place to eat and bought supplies with what little money he had from his last bounty.

The thought of bounties brought his mind back to the arrogant knight he had spoken with on the way here… and as if that very thought conjured him from nothingness the Orc spotted him ahead. His nose sniffed attentively, he smelled of blood.

The Orc gave him a knowing glare and walked past, though for certain he had no way to know for sure if he had in fact assaulted someone, there were plenty of other explanations after all. With his sack now heavy with supplies for their extended march coming up ahead, he knew he was pretty much done with everything in town. Deciding there was little else for it, he sought out a tavern for a room or a drink, and then decided against it and instead left through the main gate, hiking up into the hills and preparing to rest outside beneath the stars…

The smell of fresh air slowly blended in with that of a town-side crowd as the party drew into Iron's End. It was mostly a lazy day, the sun was beginning to sink its way onto the horizon. The party began dispersing, and Ulfar was already planning on visiting the local blacksmith for supplies. He'd been to Iron's End before. Being an establishment of mostly dwarves, the smithy here was both fair in its prices and sacrificed very little in terms of quality. One came to respect such things in a life of the sell-sword.

"A town..." Eila was muttering to herself. She had stopped and was fixated on a group of children playing about on the street. Next to them was an elderly woman, pre-occupied with knitting. Occasionally, the woman told the children to behave. Eila seemed absorbed in watching them.

"We have to get some supplies." Ulfar said. He began walking, and expected the girl to follow, but she stayed where she was. Her unpredictability was frustrating, but he was beginning to adapt to it.

"We don't have all day." Ulfar pulled her by the arm. She stumbled a bit, but began following him. They walked through the town, and Eila's eyes were floating around the whole time. There was a local butcher, who was chopping away at a large chunk of meat -

Eila bumped into an angry merchant.

"Hey, watch it!" The man growled in return, but turned to go about his own business.

The man with the greatsword was nearby. He was speaking with a dwarf, who was apparently the owner of the local smithy. The shop was out-doors, right in the middle of a large intersection on the street. The smithy itself had a warehouse next to it.

"Throwin' knives? We got a few." The owner was saying, while his two apprentices kept busy striking away at their anvils.

The dwarf went back to fetch one of the crates, and brought out balanced-looking daggers. They were smaller than usual knives, as throwing knives tended to be. Ulfar tested each one by holding them in his hand. Most of them had the right amount of weight and feel to them, but he would only buy two for now. He already had two knives from before on his belt, and his belt only had enough notches for three. He attached one of the newer ones, and tossed the other one into the bag of Eila's books.

"Need anythin' else, lad?" The dwarf asked. He didn't grin or put on a false air of pretentiousness. He seemed like the busy, down-to-business type. Most of the town had the same attitude.

"Yeah." Ulfar said. The last time he had come to Iron's End was roughly three years ago. "How's the militia around here?"

The dwarf raised an eyebrow.

"We're doin' fine." The dwarf said, crossing his thick, hairy arms. "As a matter of fact, I'm in the militia myself."

"Last time I came here," Ulfar began. " I remember there wasn't much of a standing army in Iron's End. That still the case?"

"Aye. We've got honest, hard workin' folk who volunteered to protect their wives and kids. And it has kept things under control around here."

"Any work for a sellsword?" Ulfar asked. The dwarf paused, as if he was considering what he was about to share.

"Raiders come down from the mountains every few months." The dwarf eventually said. His tone dropped to a morbid one. "We hold our own, but we lose some good men each time. We could use the help, and we've got fair coin."

"I'll keep that in mind." Ulfar said. The owner nodded as the swordsman left his out-door shop.

Eila was sitting on a barrel nearby, concentrating on two women who were arguing. She stood up and followed Ulfar when he was done.

"I noticed you put your fourth knife into my backpack." Eila noted. "Does your belt only carry three?"

"What's it to you?" Ulfar asked, although he was more concentrated on finding the inn. His memory had not kept the exact location of it.

"I would prefer it if you did not put such objects into my backpack, at least not without wrapping them in something soft so that they would not harm other objects surrounding them." Eila began in her boring, slow tone, but Ulfar had long stopped paying attention. "And it seems obvious that you would prefer to have four knives on your belt, instead of three. If you would like, I could modify your belt with the help of a few books and materials from a craftsmen shop. A town this big must have one. "

"There it is." Ulfar had found the tavern. "Come on, I'm starving."

"Murder! Someone killed my mother!" A normally-pleasant-looking young woman dashed through the curtains that passed as a door to the soothsayer's shop, her visage marred with a white pallor and a redness about her eyes that suggested that she'd begin weeping at any moment. Her news called out, and with those on the street suddenly turning around as if expecting to find someone with a large sign over their head saying "This is the guy, GET HIM", she proceeded to break down on the dirt street, water pouring from her eye sockets.

Dssialii couldn't stop a grin from splitting across his face as he eyed the returning Eeyis knowingly from where he sat atop a conveniently-placed wagon that someone (probably the owner of the stall right next to the cart) had used to drag their produce to the market (pumpkins, he imagined- at least, that's what it smelled of, and that's what was being sold there). Getting in trouble already, in true Eeyis style. Hopefully he wouldn't drag Dssialii into it, though the goblin didn't hold much hope for that; with the enforced march across the plains the past two days, Dssialii had been planning on spending his whole night on the town simply resting his poor legs. The longer-legged races had set the pace (some of them even had mounts!), and never had Dssialii wished more for a nice warm worg body beneath him doing the work than he had that day. They'd surely be out the next morning (or sooner if Eeyis had his way), and he knew that he wasn't going to get enough rest to get rid of all the aches and pains, but he was going to get the most rest that he could, starting right now. Eeyis could deal with his own troubles.

The goblin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Sadly, he still hadn't found a good opportunity to leave this ragamuffin band to their death wish. Sure, it was the call of the gods or whatever and surely trying to smite evil was a commendable effort, but Dssialii wasn't cut out for it at all. He was already slowing down the group, they were apparently being led by an absentee insane mage, and it was obvious that this big bad guy (whoever he was; news hadn't reached him before this whole thing about any evil necromancer) knew that they were coming, and a suicide mission wasn't on Dssialii's bucket list. In fact, that was full of wonderful things that he hadn't gotten to do yet, and he had no plan of letting some foolhardy mission make sure that he couldn't check off any of them. He just... hadn't found a good chance to leave yet.

“Fuuckkkk!” screamed a man. A clearly very disgruntled man. An apparently amazingly aggrieved man who felt the need to scream his anger at the world around him.
“Fuck this fucking dead ass fucking town! Fuck it all.” The shout bellowed from him like a great warcry. A group of passing young women giggled at him, and a town guard threw him an equally discontented look.
Slumping up against the wall of the nearest building, he let himself slide down until he was sitting on a pile of wood ‘neath it. Reaching to his head he pushed back his cloak’s hood, letting the evening breeze hit his face. The face was scarred, though not horribly; a few venerable gashes here and there. Long black hair hung limp over his forehead, not as long as most but not short cropped either.
Sighing as though the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders, he peered out across the street. He saw what he expected to see, the same people doing the same things, again and again, and again. The sheer tedium of the humdrum was enough to drive him to insanity, which he was sure many of his observers must have thought it already had.

It was then, peering through his eternal misery that he spotted it. A goblin. An odd looking fellow. Strange to see one this far from the Sands. And look! He thought to himself, the magic eater was accompanied by a Winter Knight and a rather brusque looking one at that. What were they up to?
Raising himself from his slumped stupor he decided that there was only one logical answer; adventure! The only reason two such unusual visitors would be here, and together at that, was if they were adventuring for some reason. He knew it. He could smell the adventure. It called to him.
“I’m leaving.” He declared, more to himself than anybody else really. All in a moment he decided he wasn’t doing it anymore. He wasn’t going to let fear reign him and keep him in this dull monotony anymore. There was once a time when he too, was a brave adventurer, when nothing stood in the way of him and his goals. Maybe he could have that again; or least he could try to. Anything must be better than fermenting away to nothing in this cesspool.

Scratching the rough stubble that he had recently let form, he shrugged back the cloak that shrouded his body. It parted in the centre to reveal him to be wearing armour underneath. It was lean and well pressed steel armour, of a dark tinge. Forged and crafted expertly right there in Iron’s End, the one thing the rat infested hole seemed to be good for. Striking forward he walked straight to the goblin and Knight of the North.
Reaching them he stopped before them, stuck out a palm in welcome and said,
“Greetings lads. I’m Grislock. Looking for a spot of an adventure are we?”

The dim lighting in the tavern didn’t really reflect the mood. The place was rather alive with activity. Laughter and jovial shouts carried over the smokey room and two musicians provided entertainment in the background; one played a lute, the other a fiddle. The music was lively and many of the patrons danced together in an open area free of furniture, directly in front of the musicians. Two of them, both large drunken men seemed ready to brawl. It was presumably over the gratuitously bosomed woman that tried to step between them, beating ferociously but fruitlessly on one of their chests. The one whose chest hadn’t been being pounded by the woman swung a mighty uppercut that struck the other right on the chin. Teeth were sent flying, tiny golden trophies erupting from the loser’s mouth. The recipient of the punch landed on the floor with a thud seemingly knocked out cold from the combination of alcohol and cranial damage. The rest of the dance floor erupted in cheers and jeers and danced with even more briskly.

The barkeep, an attractive middle aged woman of the name Sally laughed at the regular carry and whistled above the music.
“Give em’ a towel or some it.” She shouted half serious, half still laughing.
Just then the door of the tavern cracked open and some fresh faces were presented to Sally. She hadn’t seen these folk before.
“Well.” She beamed.
“Welcome to the Daft Draft.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” Eeiys heard somewhat off to his left, almost in perfect alignment with the young woman running from the mystic’s shack in a babble of tears and Dssialii seemingly appearing from thin air, as he did, and finding great amusement in the sticky situation Eeiys had found himself once more.
“Dammit Dssialii, are you kidding me?” He asked up to his pint-sized friend who had found a convenient perch atop a nearby wagon. “Are you seriously kidding me right now? You’re just going to sit there while she gets every guard in the city down here?” He asked, rather irritably, but also half jokingly, all the while indicating to the woman who was now almost rolling in the dirt in a fit of tears, causing crowds to marvel at what was happening and to question exactly what had just happened in their otherwise uneventful town.
There were a few solutions… some more extreme than others. He could have put her to the sword, but that was unnecessarily cruel and unwarranted. He could have blamed her for the killing, but that would make him everything he despised, an agent of deceit and discord. He could have ran like he always did, but then he would have lost his newfound group of misfits, and without them he could never…-
“Greetings lads. I’m Grislock. Looking for a spot of an adventure are we?”
Eeiys’ train of thought was broken. He had hardly even noticed the psychotic man in the corner begin to approach them on his blindside. Much to the knight’s relief, however, his intentions seemed to be purely friendly; if maybe somewhat superficial.
Eeiys did not let on that he did not see the man coming, and instead turned to him confidently.
“Greetings, Grislock,” he responded to the greeting, “My name is Elias Arngdale of Whitewater, Son of Erfor, and I suppose you could say we’re on a bit of an adventure! My friend and I here,” he waved a hand in Dssialii’s direction “Are on our way up North! But we’ve found ourselves in a spot of bother!”
Eeiys did not wait for Grislock to react to any of what he had just told him, before swinging his arm around the agitated man’s shoulder and embracing him as a brother would. He turned both himself and Grislock to look at the wreck of a woman in the street, still throwing what Eeiys would call a tantrum about the untimely death of her mother.
“You see, this woman here? Her mother tried to rob us of several silver coins. I retaliated to the blind robbery and now she is calling it murder! A dastardly scam, indeed, trying to get the town guard to offer some sort of retribution or reimbursement by framing me for something worse than what really happened! I would deal with it myself but the guards have been eyeing me since we arrived. I don’t feel terribly safe here, and i’d prefer to get to safety and have a good meal and a night’s rest. It’s proving harder than I ever imagined!”
Eeiys was sure Dssialii would be looking at him with disgust, horror or sheer amusement at this point. Maybe a mix of all three. He didn’t turn back to check.
“Grislock… You look like you want a spot of adventure too? I could talk to our group for you, maybe see if you would be welcome to join us on our journey, but I can’t do it with that.. that woman making things so difficult! Would you be so kind as to send her on her way?”

"Now, see, Eeyis, that was exactly my plan. I'm glad that we're on the same page!" The goblin smiled toothily down (down, which was particularly strange for one of his height, but such were the wonders of sitting upon wagons) at his murderous friend. "Though actually I was hoping you'd just walk away instead of..."

Something interrupted them, though; a gregarious fellow who looked as if he'd just been trying to get a drink but had instead been thrown out upon being unable to pay his outstanding tab. He really seemed to have let himself go, though his decent-enough armor and clothing (which had also seen better days) spoke of adventure that he may have once been on himself. Regardless of the present state of his finances, though, he wanted to know if they were looking for adventure.

"No." No, he wasn't looking for adventure. Adventure wouldn't leave him alone, but he certainly wasn't looking for it. He had a respectable business to get back to (he idly wondered if those guards had been removed from the street yet, or if he'd have to move so that potential customers wouldn't avoid his shop due to the smell), and his idea of adventure was walking around the country making maps, anyway! And he'd already done that!

Sometimes Dssialii hated the fates. No, he hated them more often than that. Most of the time, Dssialii hated the fates. But such was the life of a poor goblin such as himself, apparently; thus was his lot in life. And here was Eeyis completely ignoring the best way to deal with this situation. Why did they have to try to fix it? Why, if he'd just continued walking away as if nothing had happened instead of trying to send this bumpkin off to tell them "Hey, that guy over there killed this fine lady's mother but would prefer if you'd just let it go," they could have gotten off scott free! Now they were going to have to deal with angry crowds and possibly some guards and...

Well, Eeyis would have to deal with them. Dssialii would just look on with that toothy smile of his and enjoy the show. Already Eeyis was showing off his heritage: Dssialii would swear that both of his parents and their parents before them must have been gypsy actors and actresses with the way that their descendant slipped so readily into showmanship mode. He didn't seem capable of downplaying something even were his life on the line! The goblin snickered as he considered that maybe the monologue would be longer this time, though he couldn't think of what self-righteous drivel Eeyis would be able to make up to tell their corpses this time. "This is what you get for trying to follow the gods' commands of justice!"... or something of that sort. It would surely be hilarious regardless, and Dssialii trusted in his friend's skill enough that he knew he'd not need to provide any assistance, anyway.

Tonight was a busy night for the tavern.

“Welcome to the Daft Draft.” The barkeep, a woman, greeted Ulfar and Eila as they stepped in.

"You serve food?" Ulfar asked.

"Course we serve food darling." laughed Sally heartily
"In fact, we've got the finest salamander broth that you'll find anywhere in Iron's End."

"I'll have one of those, then." Ulfar said. He walked ahead, and Eila followed quietly.

There was only one table that was short of full. Tucked into the back of the room, next to a small fireplace, an elf sat with his back to the entrance. He was dressed in greens and browns, with a long cloak draped over his shoulders. The elf seemed to blend in with the environment, even without drawing up his hood to cover his bright blonde hair, which made a stark contrast to his earthly coloured clothes. In one hand he held a long pipe, and on his other shoulder rested a longbow, angled from the ground to lean onto his sitting figure.

It didn't seem like there was any other choice left.

"You're going to stay close to me," Ulfar said to Eila in a low tone. "And you're not going to draw any attention."

Eila did not react, but since she didn't object, it probably meant she had agreed. The two of them approached the table and sat down.

The elf didn't move, save for retracting the pipe from his mouth every few moments. Even when Ulfar and Eila approached his table, he remained as he was: facing the fire pit. Ulfar unhooked the scabbard of his greatsword and placed it on the ground, beneath the table. That way, when he sat down, he'd be able to rest a foot on it. It was safer than leaving it anywhere else.

"Nice steel." The elf spoke. "A greatsword... not very liked by most humans." His accent was like that of a high-born: classy, with a faint touch of smug.

"Liked even less by elves." Ulfar said.

"True." The elf agreed. He turned to reveal the side of his face better, and a sharp blue eye made contact with Ulfar's. "Giants would welcome the greatsword far better than elves or humans. Orcs, too. Perhaps you are a half-orc?"

"Human." Ulfar said.

The elf turned back to the firepit. "...Or maybe a half-giant?" He asked again.

"You're nosy for your kind." Ulfar sneered. "Got bored of the aloof act you all love?"

The elf's shoulders moved, as if the statement had amused him. Ulfar couldn't see his face, but he could bet that he was smiling.

"See for yourself, if you stumble into the lower-town." The elf said. "Poor men, elves, and dwarves. Each one looks to you with pleading eyes, trying to tug along your guilt-strings. I would hardly call their begging eyes aloof and distant."

"I wasn't talking about your race." Ulfar said.

The elf drew a long puff from his pipe.

"To be fair," He started. "I find it harder and harder to distinguish between the races with every passing year. Things are not like they used to be, for better..." He reached into a bag to put his pipe away. "... or for worse."

He stood up, slid his bow around his shoulder, and drew up his hood. One eye was covered by a patch, and the same half of his face seemed burned. His movements were slightly quicker and more methodical than that of the average. Ulfar noticed the hilts of two swords around the elf's waist, one on each side. They poked out through the gap of his cloak. It confirmed his earlier guess.

"Well, human," The elf said. "I bid you and the fair maiden here a safe time on your travels." And then he walked off.

Ulfar's food had arrived, and he wasted no time getting started on it. For a while, the table remained quiet, despite the loud commotion in the tavern.

"Were you close with that man?" Eila asked, out of the blue.

"No. I don't know him." Ulfar replied. He bit off another chunk of bread.