Emmaline took a bottle of grain liquor and poured some of it into the bowl of water Beren had brought, then she took a drink herself and set the clay bottle down. She took a length of clean cloth and dipped it into the now pungent water and began to sponge at Beren's wounds.

"Don't worry, I used to be a priestess," Emmaline lied glibly as she carefully worked the char and mess out of the wound with the stinging cloth. She certainly had never been any such thing, but she had stitched up enough people after bar fights, climbing accidents and other such mishaps that she had some idea how to manage the business.

"We really should salve it, if you have anything, otherwise it will weep everywhere until it crusts over," Emmaline expounded.

"I was going to ask you about this deposed Sultana, but I feel like that might be a little overshadowed by the fact that the inn was attacked by some kind of ravening half demon... I thought we might talk about that," she said a twinge acidly, pressing a little harder than was necessary to scrub the wound clean.

"I mean its a nice inn, but off all the inns in the city those things come here?" she arched an eyebrow in question

Beren squared his jaw, but otherwise he didn't show any discomfort as she helped him. Well, this was a bit familiar for him, but he was glad for the help. Lack of sleep and injuries made him a bit more weary and a bit less wary. Not in a drunken way, say, but definitely less scrupulous. He looked to take her confession as a former priestess without doubting her. Then again, he also had no reason to think she would lie. His burns were not too hazardous, but it was plain to see how they would take some time to heal.

"Thank you. I have some salve in my room. I can run it on tonight," he told her, taking a long drink from his jug. A small trickle of water escaped his lips and slid down his strong neck, the long droplet making a turn at every indention of muscle down his torso. He put the jug down, turning and listening attentively as pondered her question about the Sultana.

He flinched when she pressed into the wound, looking at her with a perplexed smile. "You're right, it's strange, but it wasn't 'cause of me." He chuckled, not realizing she had likely added pressure through an absent mind. After another wince, the pain died down again. "Whatever it was, it used to be a man. And after I killed it...it smelled like one. Except for his arm. It stunk of sulfur and rot."

She began sliding the bandage over his wound, and when he tried to help she gently but firmly kept his hands down.

"I think it had something to do with the calamity. The thing that hit the forest north of here." He admitted, and then glanced behind him to make sure there was no chance of others listening in. His voice was soft. "I saw what was in it... I know the stench of hell. The calamity brought it and whatever attacked reeked like it."

He shrugged his muscular shoulders. "As for the Sultana, I'm not big into gossip. Like any high borne thrown out of their home, she probably has six others, or she's looking to take the city back somehow. If she's still alive, at least. You might be able to find out more in the slums, but I wouldn't go in there without someone to watch your back."

He ran his hand over the bandage, feeling a dull ache but otherwise finding he felt better. "I can go with you if you want." He offered.

Apparently Reyvadin missed quite a bit last night. While he was awoken by Faeril's shouting, by the time Reyvadin was roused to fight the battle was already over. Something or someone had attacked someone last night. Details were blurry. Everything happened in a very short amount of time, with no one really knowing what happened. Frankly Reyvadin thought it was just a botched burglary. Someone tried to break into a room of a drunk patron and got his ass handed to him. But apparently there was something bigger going on. The inn was shut down and there was some talk of demons? Heresy, is what Reyvadin thought, but then again he wasn't there to see what had happened.

Entering the room, he sees Emmaline talking to some man. His wounds looked like burns: from what he caught up so far, this demon used hellfire against one of the residents. So maybe this wasn't purely heresy. There was a barmaid who told tales of of some massacre that happened nearby. Could this possibly be related? Surely no one was just going to dismiss the presence of a bunch of corpses within city limits. He decided to grab some breakfast and join Raddek at a table. "So... Sounds like a lot happened last night. I was too late to participate myself, but from what I do know you were there for the entire event. So what happened?" Reyvadin asked as he ate the breakfast served to him.

"What happened? I'll tell you what happened while you were sleeping the night away. Some fucking monster kicked in the door to the room next to where the women were staying, and then proceeded to try to murder everyone it saw. Then the shirtless guy punched it to death in the middle of the streets. I don't know who was sleeping in the room, or if they're still alive. We're fortunate to be alive ourselves, given that it looked like a fucking nightmare given life and seemed to take quite the beating."

Faeril made his way towards the table with the two of them, crossbow still at hand. He looked even grumpier than normal, having not gone back to sleep after fighting the demon, then soothing the owner of the inn, and then settling down with his crossbow and his paranoia to keep him company. He didn't know where the demon came from, but he wasn't willing to bet that the bouncer to the inn had killed it or that there were not any others coming behind it to finish the job. So he had waited quietly in his room for any sound that would indicate someone was coming for them again.

It was a quiet night, much to Faeril's relief. Still, it did nothing to improve his mood or temperment.

He spoke between bites of the food, grunting in thanks at Isolde. "Now, apparently, there's a string of mauled corpses that conviently lead to us. That just happens to be showing up the same night a demon tries to kill us. I'm not one for coincidences personally, so I think we should figure out who was in that room and why they were being attacked by that disgusting thing." Looking around, he spotted Beren and Emmaline. He didn't know what the shirtless man's name was, but that wasn't particularly important as he yelled across the tavern.

"Bouncer! Who was in the room that that thing attacked first? And are they still breathing?"

Emmaline finished the bandage and tied it off in a surprisingly neat knot. She drumbed her fingers on Beren's arm oblivious to the fact his arm was wounded. There had been a fair amount of talk about the clamity, but it seemed unlikely that they simply attacked the inn at random. Still, if Beren and the rest of them were determined to play innocent a direct approach wasn't likely to work.

"I'll feel much safer with an obviously injured bodyguard," Emmaline said but her heart really wasn't in it.

"I'll bet that at the very least a Sultana in exile has some gold put by," Emmaline mused. The idea of gold briefly made her drift off into a pleasant fantasy of clinking metal. The snap of Beren's fingers infront of her face brought her back to reality.

"What is the worst thing that could happen if we asked around," Emmaline pondered. Probably rather alot, given the Sultana was presumably on the run but Emmaline's eyes were clouded with the idea of gold. At the very least they might get some info about what was going on in the city.

"Lets give it a try!"

The lack of noise in the Inn was deafening. Most of the residents had fled into the night after the attack, and only four others had stayed throughout the night and grumbled down the stairs for some food. A sailor of Norgardian stock called for a meal in his heavily accent, two duelist fops tried talking up Isolde and the same dusky woman from the previous day lounged upon a chair and watched the others like a prowling wolf. Each of them seemed accustomed to danger in their own way judging by their eyes, but none sat near the group. Raddek downed a huge draught and brought the cup down the table, accompanied with an audible 'clap.' He looked at Reyvadin bleary eyed and grim as ever. The young lord had done well for himself since the crisis, getting a new spear at a steal and a full night's sleep.

"It was a hybrid, Reyv," the Thaegar said bluntly, taking a sausage and biting off half of it. "Half man, half demon, and it went after us, and Beren over there."

Beren looked over his shoulder, but he regarded Faeril rather than Raddek. "It broke through my window," he admitted. "But when it came in, it looked like it was trying to get into the hallway instead of killing me. I had to punch it before it burned me." He let out a small grunt as Emmaline pondered, incessantly tapping his injured area. He couldn't gauge if she was kind hearted or a huge bitch. Beren tended to try and see the positive in people and stacked her at being absent minded, but as it was he was a bit too tired to deal with a lot at the moment. His eyes twitched at the pain and he gingerly but firmly moved her hand off of him.

"I'm not obviously injured," he corrected resolutely, grabbing his top and sliding it back on him. It was different than his casual wear the day before, sleeveless and made of dark and sturdy material, partially covered by a vest of crimson he donned next. It was a strange outfit, but not tacky. It had the look of functional wear used for travel, but made for a sort of martial sect of monks of priests. Either way, it wasn't so loud as to gather suspicion despite its contrasting colors, and it covered his bandages nicely. "We ready?"

"I'm not sure what is happening" Raddek pondered, scratching his chin. "Beren killed that thing, so I trust him. But that doesn't leave the fact it attacked us here, at this specific place. We'll need to be on our toes." He reached into his shirt and gripped something, likely attached to the leather thong around his neck. The ex-crusader let the others finish eating before he called them all to grab their gear. They would look for the beer whilst Emmaline and Beren would go after the Sultana lead. Seemed simple enough.

---

Raddek, Faeril, Reyvadin, (and whoever else wished to follow) made their way into the sunlit streets of Varone, all of the dark fears evaporating for a brief moment as the day was just beginning to gather momentum. The street traffic was as alive as ever, sea gulls calling to the south. The cracks and clinks of hammers could be heard, accompanied by the shouts of the day and the smell of smoke wafting over the otherwise clean air. All seemed normal as Raddek and the others walked. It took a brief moment for them to realize the hammers were for repairs of damaged dockside buildings, the shouts were of alarm, and the smell of smoke was the burning of fires that had yet to be doused the night before, engulfing the small structures of now dead-men.

They passed a crowd of gatherers, guardsmen keeping men and women back from what seemed to be a horribly mutilated corpse. They could only see glimpsed from the bustling onlookers, but from where they stood, the slab of meat that was once a man had a gaping hole where the kidney was, and a sobbing woman prostrate over the corpse as if her cries could call him back from the grave. Raddek pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulder, but otherwise remained impassive. They walked on.

The dockyard wharves of Varone were legendary. Huge cranes and burgeoning complexes of shipping, storage, and repair facilities covered the horizon like mountains, and up close they were as great beasts, larger than life yet somehow there before their eyes. The contrasting sun brightened brown of the wood meeting the white marble and brick red of the city proper was startling, beautiful enough for a painting. However, there was very little in the way of actual ships docked within the jungle of timber and lapping water. A few trader brigantines here and there, half a dozen sloops and caravels, and one massive galleon sporting Dre Costan colors. It seemed the rumors of the city falling on hard times wasn't exaggeration.

At the corner of one of the warehouses, Raddek stopped the group and called them to gather in close. Once they had, he sat himself down on a crate and whispered to them in the shadows cast by the sun. "So, we need to make a decision. If we're to find some alcohol for old Jonathan, there's only a few ways we can go about it, and all involve some sort of criminal activity." We revealed, hands on his knees as he leaned forward. He looked almost like a bandit leader himself, with the clothes and the fearsome look to his gaze. "We either find a smuggler and cut a deal, or we find where one of these thief groups keep their alcohol and steal it all. One requires money, the other requires quick feet and maybe a scuffle or two. But I won't make the decision for you, we need the group to decide. What will it be?"

Lupita studied the worn, slightly blood stained map as she whistled a pleasant tune. The worn gravel road beneath her feet crunched as she walked, only ceasing when she need to step over a branch or in light of recent events, entire trees. Indeed, it was quite a shock when she saw two gigantic demons fall out of the sky and crash into the earth. Or what she assumed to be demons anyway, Lupita never paid much attention to things like spirits and whatnot. Despite being a half-elf she wasn't all that gifted in magic and never really cared to learn any. The middle aged woman brushed a gray lock of her hair behind her ear and tucked the map away in newly acquired pack. While the demons falling from the sky is certainly a startling event, it gave Lupita enough time to steal her traveling partner's dagger and drive it into his neck. The two had met shortly after Lupita was tossed unceremoniously from the wagon that brought prisoners like her to these lands.

Now she normally didn't make murder a habit but the bard had a very strong suspicion that her greasy wayfarer was planning to bed her. With or without her consent. Which obviously wouldn't do so measures had to be taken. The sleazebag had been selfish with his belongings anyway so who knows if she would have froze to death that night? Now she had a very nice pack, a somewhat ill-fitting green tunic and leather vest, and a...rustic dagger.

"Hmm, rustic indeed. Lupita muttered to herself as she inspected the knife. It was chipping and rusted in places along the blade, but it would do in a pinch. Or a...stab, more accurately. She sheathed the blade and gazed at the horizon, a small sigh of relief crossing her lips as Varone came into view. It would take her another half hour to get to its weathered gates. Not that she was complaining. Lupita was frankly surprised that anything was standing at all after that explosion. As she made her way through the streets, the familiar din of the city assaulted her ears. And so did the smells. Most bad, but there was a particular scent on the breeze. It almost smelled like...

"Bread!" Lupita said aloud, to no one in particular. Her stomach grumbled angrily at the scent. She was about to follow her nose when she realized that she was flat broke. Unless she stole the food or mugged someone, neither seemed to have a high chance of success, she would need to get some money together. Which meant she needed people to entertain so she could coax the coins out of their purses. Lupita began to scout out the best dives around town. She didn't have her violin and couldn't afford one, so she needed to find a place low class enough to...there!

She spotted a stone built inn with some charming archways. The sign swinging above the doorway said "Ubrico Soldati". Might as well start there. Lupita opened the door and was pleased to find that the establishment was actually clean and staffed. This also put a damper on her plans, as it would be harder to convince them to hire a self-proclaimed musician off the street. With no instrument. Lupita smiled to herself. She couldn't help but think back to her early twenties all those decades ago, when she was trying to make a name for herself on nothing but her skill as a musician. And her silver tongue, of course. Lupita sauntered in and gave a quick once over of the faces of the bar's patrons. They seemed grim enough. A little energy could really pump up business. A sea shanty, maybe.

The half elf made her way over to the counter and signaled what she assumed to be the tavern keeper. As they approached, Lupita took on a concerned look.

"Excuse me, my friend. I couldn't help but notice that your lovely establishment seems to be a little dreary this morning. Ah, but have no fear, for I am a quite seasoned entertainer. Now you're suspicious and you are right to be so. Very astute. But I offer you an olive branch. All I ask is for breakfast and lunch. In return, I whip this gloomy atmosphere into something a bit more festive, eh? What say you to that?" she asked, flashing her most charming and confident grin.

After a breakfast a simple wash, Reyvadin followed the others off onto a job. He had little clue what exactly they were doing, but after being caught up to speed he thought about their odds. Getting booze was a rather simple task but naturally, nothing comes easily. Still it was work that Reyvadin was familiar with. He was trained to handle similar jobs back when he was training, albeit on a larger scale. Attacking isolated outposts and encampments for supplies were critical parts of leading an army, especially knowing that the enemy you face doesn't have many allies due to the nature of their organization. But by that same nature, it also means that failure to procure the supplies or fully defeat the enemy will result in wasted time and lost lives. Desperate men will do desperate things, so whatever the group does, they need to be thorough and merciless.

"I say steal it. We've neither the wealth nor influence to try and convince a smuggler we're going to be able to pay them for their goods, and going into debt with them over it is just going to cause more trouble than it's worth. Best that we find a den of thieves and plunder what they have instead. The law won't mind a few miscreates losing their lives and belongings. That being said, let's be careful not to get too cocky. I don't know this city very well and whoever we go after likely will, so if the battle doesn't look good they could very well lose us in the city. Or worse, find a time to ambush us later if we don't kill them down to the man. Let's find a gang and get an idea of their numbers and organization, and then we strike."

Lorcan's sleep had not gone exactly well, but to the defense of the unknown... thing... that had made its way into the tavern -- after or before slaughtering a path through the city, that was perhaps --, he would not have slept well even without it. There just were too many discomforting issues at hand such as that the city had started to smell like corruption from the very first contact onwards. A settlement's guards were supposed to be the last individuals to fall victim to egoism and self-justice, but it seemed to have happened here on a scale so large that they, an unwary bunch of travelers with no page in the book of history, could run into it right away.

Speaking of missing pages, the next biggie clearly was the goddamn lack of information. Yes, having a bed for the night and a warm meal to fill one's stomach was a nice thing absolutely, but at what price ? Right: being dragged into some shady underground business with no explanation given why exactly they had to do a job that was urgent. Shouldn't there have been some other poor man to do it way before their arrival ? It smelled like rotten fish, but he didn't even know enough to decide whether he could blame Raddek and his so called friends to play a foul game or if they were, in fact, as 'innocent' as the rest of the party.

Lorcan skipped past the dead body in the streets without spending much attention on it. If things went bad this day, they'd cause enough of a bloodsheet them bloody selves this day. No need to challenge one's urge to vomit right in the morning already... Having listened to Reyvadin's speech with his mighty arms crossed in front of his breast, the Skayleigh set on to say something himself:

"I have to concur with him. Accessing the goods we need ourselves seems to be preferable to dealing with yet another unknown. All we know about any potential smuggler is that he or she will want to have their share of the deal, making things more expensive for us. Also hiring a smuggler is no guarantee that we won't end up having to fight. If we succeed stealing that stuff ourselves undetected...". And now his tone darkened before continuing: "...or at least without living witnesses left behind, nobody will know who and where we are. If we deal with a smuggler, at least one person will."

Faeril murmured a prayer of thanks to Sulimo as they entered the light of day. It wouldn’t be much protection against anyone who truly wanted to do them harm, be they mortal or monster, but the protection of the light did offer some comfort. After last night, he would take all the small comforts he could get. He was especially troubled by the fact that the demon hadn’t been attacking Beren, but had been trying to get into the hallway. Unless Jonathan had some terribly dark secrets that he wasn’t revealing, he could only assume the thing was coming for one of them. It would have been easier to go through the door if it wanted to get to something or someone on the ground level, but it specifically chose the area where they were all sleeping. Troubling.

At least whoever had been murdering people in the streets didn’t seem connected. Beren had been burned by the hybrid, not bloodied. Whatever was going on with the bloodied corpse with a gaping hole in its side was, hopefully, not their problem. Faeril followed Raddek’s example and moved on without a word. That wasn’t something they wanted to involve themselves in.

The wharves were impressive, more impressive than Faeril would admit aloud. At some point he would have to take a proper tour of the city and just see how well done their architecture was all around. Everytime he discovered a new location, it seemed to get better and better. Not as good as home, of course. But better than most human works. Faeril scowled under his cloak as his back twinged at the memories. No sense in reminiscing. He wasn’t surprised that the docks were mostly empty of ships. Even for as large and wealthy as Varone was, no one wanted to go to a land that had been cursed by the gods.

Faeril leaned against a wall in the circle, keeping an eye out for anyone taking too much of an interest in them. They didn’t need any overly inquisitive fools bothering them, or thugs trying to rob them. He rolled his eyes at the immediate suggestions for sneaking and stealing. How quickly they forgot that the last time they tried to be stealthy the plan fell apart at the seams. Plus, it wasn’t like they needed to be picking fights in a city they didn’t even know.

“I’d suggest we go to the smugglers. No sense in us getting on the shit list of any group in the city when we haven’t been here long. And given our previous experiences with trying to be quiet and stealthy, “ Faeril looked pointedly at Lorcan before continuing, “I’m going to guess we’ll fail at that. We have the money for it, might as well make a small connection with a smuggler. Easier than trying to sneak in and then having to cut our way out.” He turned to face the group, hiding his coin pouch from any prying eyes, and pulled out the five golden royals. “Unless the smuggler deals exclusively to nobles and the rich, this should be more than enough. Or do a job for them in exchange for the alcohol. And if it all falls through then we can go find some poor bastards and steal their alcohol.” He shrugged, stashing the coins away again and returning to watching the wharves. “Seems easier that way.”

Jonathan kept himself busy by cleaning the counter, glad for the reprieve of the normal bustling despite the lack of business. Isolde was in the back cooking lunch for the staff, and all of his new 'hires' were out doing what needed to be done to keep this city and this tavern afloat. As the burly man wiped off the bartop, he saw the door open and once he realized the newcomer was someone he'd never seen before, his circular wiping slowed considerably as he looked at her in confusion. Had the others not locked the bleeding door? As he opened his mouth to speak, she laid it on him thick and he almost did not believe this was a spontaneous offer.

He placed the cloth down and opened the waist-high door that led out from the back of the counter, approaching her. He eyed her up in a professional manner. A minstrel needed the looks, the voice, and a confidence to them. So far she seemed to check all boxes, save for the most important one: Playing an instrument.

"Well, seeing as my last bard wasn't too trustworthy, I am in need o' one. But I'll need a bit of convincing. You see the previous minstrel stole from the register, and while his sins aren't yours, I'll require two things before you work for me. A demonstration, and an errand. A man named Raddek, a Skayleigh, a Dwarf, and another man with a spear just left. Go after them and help them with whatever they need. Once you're all back, play for us. Do them and you'll also get a room and some pay. What say you?"

The door in the back opened, Isolde walking out with a pot of steaming soup. When she saw the newcomer, she nearly dropped the pot, barely catching its weight.

"Is she helping me out? Please say yes."

---

The group spent a good conversation discussing whether they should thieve or make deals with thieves, realizing what they needed to do first was to find a smuggler ring, and that wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world. Firstly, Raddek spent some time thinking on where they might look. What he needed was information, and luckily he realized there might be someone who could help them. Once Lupita appeared, it only took Raddek to hear her impression of Jonathan for him to believe she was telling the truth, and they set off to the northern section of the city of Varone, where towers dotting the horizon and causeways of white stone cut through the sky, framed with gyspum. But they were not looking skyward. Their search led to the quarrems below, low roads partially covered by the streets above, but atop the catacombs or sewers below.

Bakers, millers, sewers, all plied their wares as they made it over to the district, but once they were there the shops were larger and less prone to haggling, and the guardsmen presence doubled, though none cast their glances at the party currently. These guardsmen were larger men, with two handed swords at their backs, clad in scalemail. As they walked, Raddek glanced around warily, though one could never call the man nervous. They turned left, southwards down an alley before descending five steps of stairs and an annoyed swordsman stalked past them, seeming miffed over some slight.

Down below, they were now in the quarrems. The crowd was far more dense due to lack of room from the enclosed walls, and whilst the roof was sometimes missing, providing small beams of sunlight, it was a veritable hallway lit by torches. Lorcan had to duck thrice to keep from hidding an overhang.

The people here were a rougher sort. Mercenaries and off-duty guardsmen, knaves, out-of-their-luck citizens, and of course, refugees of the cataclysm. Rickety doors and capes of linen served as barriers for various inner rooms, likely where dark auction trading or less scrupulous activities were being conducted. It was nearly at the center of this rogues gallery that Raddek stopped them.

"This is where my...friend is. Stay out here, but be sharp. Don't draw any attention to yourselves, but if you want to try to find some vein of alcohol here, you can. Just be discreet."

With that, Raddek stepped into the room, closing the curtain and leaving the group to their own devices.

As if on cue, across the 'street' was a man of dark complexion, with a wide smile. "Hello my friends. You are new, yes? Does any amongst you want your fortune told? Only a copper common each..." @DrRtron@Fetzen@Lucius Cypher@Su

Lorcan had had to cough several times during their descent towards the place they were now, and he kept having some trouble with the air around him even as Raddek entered the mysterious business. The dust... there just was so much of it around here where not even the crowd's steady footsteps prevented it from settling down. Also the steady flow of warm air from below kept coming, trapping the vile mixture of sweat, flagrances and shit along with itself just right under roof where the Skayleigh's nostrils were. He just was way too tall for this place!

Had there been a small bit of hesitation in Raddek's words before the man had actually dared to call the individual he was dealing with his 'friend' ? Yes, of course Raddek had... and this being not a good sign was beyond obvious. It burned itself into Lorcan's mind like a ray of sunlight did into parchment if one placed the wrong piece of glass in the wrong place in front of it. These linen walls could not even give any comfort as one turned one's back towards them for they were obviously not a real barrier at all. He wanted to get out of here -- or at least keep his mind busy enough with something else so he would no longer have to think about their situation.

"If you can truly see the future, then you should be able to answer that question you just asked for yourself. Only those who are new to begin with can stop being new in the future, right ?" Lorcan gave the man a grin before launching a copper common towards his belly region. "Tell me, but don't tell me the obvious." Or, in other words, anything like 'You will be in horrible trouble and the so called friend of your friend here will turn out to be the mother of all screwjobs' would not count as a real fortune telling, but more like... a sincere and very well reasoned extrapolation of the current situation.

Lorcan crossed the street and, by standing in front of the fortune teller, forced the crowd moving on it to go around him. The one good thing of being a Skayleigh around here was that he just was a lot bigger and heavier than those around him.

Faeril looked around the quarrem, with his lip instinctively curling. This was a hive where the rats of the city scurried about and hoped they wouldn’t be noticed by the guards. They wouldn’t receive any trouble from the law here. That long arm would only come down here occasionally to shake the nests or if the rats bit someone above their station. Still, this was what they would have to work with if they wanted to get the alcohol required to soothe the innkeep. Faeril kept his hood up and his back to the wall of the room that Raddek had entered. They didn’t want to attract the attention of anyone shilling broken wares or false powers.

“Hello my friends…..”

Faeril’s eyes beseeched the heavens as the fortune teller immediately started begging for coppers. Gods above, it was like he could smell that they had some money on them. The fortune teller was right to speak to them of course. There was at least one of them who wouldn’t be able to resist such wriggling worm on a shiny hook.

As if on cue, Lorcan opened his mouth. Faeril sighed as he watched the giant man walked over to the fortune teller, spouting off some nonsense about how the fortune teller was probably fake. Which was obvious to everyone with a pair of eyes. A real fortune teller wouldn’t be trapped in this hovel. It was as if the giant couldn't help himself. There was some desperate need for him to run his mouth and prove how smart and intelligent he was too the rest of the world at large. At every available opportunity. Still, it wouldn’t do them any good if the giant fool was shivved in front of them.

Faeril pulled his crossbow into his hands, and kept a careful eye out. Blood here would summon more rats.