Riley and Lothair were able to stalk the stranger for a while as he left the inn and went out the door, the young lord and the mercenary girl watching him from a safe and careful distance. It was not a difficult task to keep pace with him. He seemed to be moving at a steady pace, unaware of those following him, walking like a man on his way to work, making his way deeper into the poor residential district they were in.

The pair noticed a few more gazes settling on them as they went into the narrow and winding corridors of the slums. While relatively empty (thankfully), it seemed as if those still walking the street were against the two youths. Their faces wore a myriad of expressions, and their stances were reserved or defensive. It was odd. Were they all part of some plot? Was-

"Oi, oi!" called out a drunken man in his forties, snorting a little as the pair passed. "D'you buttercups got room for a third? Three men's better in bed than one, innit?"

Oh. That was why they were getting odd looks. Riley was a boyish girl.

The outburst from the sot was enough to make the pair's quarry turn his head. His eyes went wide, and he immediately went into panic mode, grabbing the nearest things his hands could find: pottery, empty crates, and an unattended lantern. He quickly threw all this these onto the ground behind him in a flash of motion, smashing them upon the rough cobblestone and bolting down into the twisting paths of the slums.

The pair had time to catch up, though the man definitely wasn't going to make it easy. However, that moment was when someone threw the door adjacent to the broken stuff open, and out stepped an alarmed and angry looking man with a spiked club.

"You rat bastards!" he snarled. "You breakin' my shit, are ya?" He hefted his club up menacingly.

---

As it was night still, the open market itself had wound down already. However, there were a few shops which would be open still. With any luck, there'd be a jeweler open, or at least a pawnbroker. Someone would be available to gauge the value of their gemstones at the least.

Of course, anyone up at so late an hour was certain to either be wary of their customers or to be untrustworthy themselves.

As luck would have it, there was a shop with a sign of a statuette, some coins, and some gems painted onto it. The building's windows windows were lit by candles. The words "Ghilas' Appraisals" were written in colorful font over the entryway. It was a small building, but it was well-maintained and well decorated.

Flint paused, looking at the candles. That wasn't a common sight. The only thing was, was this before or after some kind of misfortune? His hackles on end, he walked in, briefly taking note of the bell above the door.

"Hello?" he called, glancing around at the room.

After stepping outside and hearing Flint's words of acknowledgement, Boran gestured for him to lead the way.

The pair walked in silence, and Boran in particular seemed to be lost in thought, though he kept an eye out for anything suspicious. A city this size never truly slept and there were unpredictable wanderers on every corner. As they were nearing the market district, Boran grabbed a piece of paper and a sharp stick of charcoal from his coat pocket and started scribbling words on it. He darted off towards an inconspicuous, plain looking building just at the edge of the market, slipped the note through a slit in the door and was back with Flint in seconds. Before the latter could inquire, Boran explained: "Just made a little order."

The jewelers place seemed decent enough. After all, anything less than decent would have likely been unable to process the kind of exchange the party was in need of. Nevertheless, Boran kept himself in high alert when Flint went in in search of the owner.

"Hello?" Flint called. There wasn't an immediate response, though the sound of wood scraping against wood could be heard. A quick look about the place showed it was comfortable and well-decorated, if a bit small. There were shelves standing n the floor, displaying an array of objects both strange and mundane. It appeared to be some sort of second hand store, but a fine one. Most of the goods were of the more expensive variety, such as fine clothes, antique furniture, lockets, jewelry boxes, exotic cloth from the east, old tomes, bones from long-deceased monsters... Everything was well-polished, small lanterns lit the room, and it was arrayed in such a way that everything was fetching to the eye. It wasn't humble, no; it was someone taking the best advantage of the small space they had offered to them. The door that led to the back of the building was ajar.

It became clear after a moment that someone was watching them. Boran noticed first, then Flint. To the right stood a tall, armored Caernling, a bearded warrior clad in scale armor with a vicious looking spiked mace resting at his hip. Apparently that was how the goods were kept safe.

"Forgive my tardiness," came a voice with a Westerling accent. They were interwoven with soft clicks upon the floor. "I would have answered sooner, but as they say in soldierly vernacular, my eyes were on the target." At that moment, the door to the back was pulled open, and a Westerling came in. He was a middle-aged man clutching a cane with a dragon-shaped head, a coal-skinned gentleman wearing black-and-gold fineries and old spectacles. His beard was ash-colored, and he wore a sad but steady smile.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

Lothair pointed at the fleeing stalker "He's the one who made the mess! That bloody pickpocket!" He urgently blathered trying to continue the pursuit. He figured that if he could get the angry man to help them catch the suspect, then things would be a lot easier since the angry man was a native after all... he probably knew these streets and alleys like the back of his hand. Regardless, Lothair wanted to continue the pursuit regardless of what the angry man thought. He looked over at Riley to see what she had in mind...

When they were spotted Riley jumped into action. While Lothair had turned to talk to the angered shopkeep she drew her crossbow and pulled a bolt from her cloak, not wanting to chance the stranger catching her or Lothair with whatever he had on him if they ran him down. She loaded the bolt and quickly dropped to a knee to take aim, going for the runners legs, well preferably the legs, honestly as long as the hit wasn't lethal...by the time Lothair had turned back around he would hear the twang of her loosing the bolt.

The bolt whizzed by the corner of Lothair's eye as he turned. He turned to look at Riley, with her crossbow aimed at the fleeing man. He was dumbfounded... just as he was trying to convince this man that the fleeing perpetrator was the guy he wanted to chase... here she was about to potentially kill this poor sod. If he wasn't so involved, his hand would have swiftly found its place on top of his face... in fact he was almost tempted as he didn't want to look at what happened next. However, it was clear that things were about to get dangerous. Thus, he had a hand rest on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it in case a fight broke out.

Flint took in the shop with a sweeping glance. It fit the bill of what they were looking for. And the man seemed respectable; if a little melancholic.

"How can I help you?"

Flint looked the man up and down briefly. "Ghilas, I presume? Well, to put it simply, we're looking to sell. My companion and I, plus two others, have just been hired by the Lord Guthbert. I don't care for the name, though I imagine you know it."

He took an emerald from his coin bag, watching the man's face for some reaction. "He gave us these as a down payment. I was wondering if we could convince you to buy some of them."

Although Boran was fairly certain there would be no trouble at the shop, he nevertheless kept an eye on the guard. He let Flint do the talking, took a quick peek a the shopkeeper - an elegant fellow - then proceeded to survey the room. Causing a ruckus in such a confined space would inevitably lead to considerable damage so the armored figure's first and foremost job was probably that of intimidation: the scaly armor and spiky mace neatly enforced the idea.

He positioned himself near the entrance, keeping a relaxed yet prepared pose. He didn't try to be sneaky about it, either. With his neck stretched and hands neatly folded in front of him, he himself looked like a security guard for Flint.