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[center][b]Deadsnows  | Uktar 5th  |  1495 DR[/b][/center] 

Outside, the wind moaned. Markus had heard its cry many times, had even missed it. The Marches were so much like Damara in landscape, it was like home away from home. He contemplated the thought as he tasted the mead the eldritch knight idly sipped. One arm resting on the counter, he merely leaned upon the bar and watched the crowd. Markus had a good eye for business, even business such as his own. Killing monsters and scouting wilderness could rake in the coin if one was persistent enough. There was always opportunity in a frontier town, he just needed to find it. From what he'd heard from half whispered mutters and some diminutive tracks, there was a Gnome just outside of town in need of help. Markus wasn't one to dally, but he needed a drink first and wanted to find a bit more out about the fellow before he made any commitment.

"Refill?" 

The voice behind him was gruff and rustic, emitting from the mouth of a man likely a decade older than him. He looked close to twice his age, his grey beard helping in that regard. He had asked, but he didn't wait, pouring the mead back into Markus's mug without hesitation. 

"Yeah, and I'll give you an extra silver if you can tell me about the Gnome problem I've heard about." The sellsword offered, producing the silver piece as if he'd plucked it out of the air. 

"Ha! I'll take the silver, but the problem's not the Gnomes. It's what's bothering them." The barkeep remarked, clearly not taking Markus's full meaning and assuming the worst. "Something about a small village of theirs in need of aid. The guards here are a bit too cold and tired to do much on it. Goodwill won't feed their families." 

"That it?" He asked, holding the silver in the air. 

"All I know of, got my word on that. Wouldn't stray no adventurer wrong, you all help out. These lazy bastards won't lift a finger to help nobody but themselves." 

Markus didn't know if he meant the guardsmen or the populace, but either way he was satisfied and handed the coin to the fellow. Unceremoniously, he drained his mug and set it down for the fellow to take. He wiped a small drop of the draught from his lips with a quick gesture of his thumb, and stepped through the crowd to leave the Rose and Hammer. As he did so, he walked beside a pretty elven lass who watched the crowd like a hawk, as he had been. 

"Fair travels," he said to her in the true tongue of the elves, giving her a knowing smile and stepping out of the door into the biting wind. He made his way to the Gnome.