Despite his snark, Neil felt almost as at home as Emmaline. He could survive on the road, but not thrive. He was a city boy, and he rarely stayed longer than a week or two outside of one of the great metropolises of the Old World. Cities had intrigue, women, money, and one could get lost, or better yet lose others, so easily in its jungle of stone and woodworks. He had to admit Altdorf was a sight, giving a low, appreciative whistle, which Emmaline misconstrued as him flirting with her. She gave a smile and Neil winked back, playing along regardless. He had been here once before, years ago when he had been traveling to Nuln. He had only set foot in the capital of the whole of the Empire for a few brief hours, sticking lose to the river barge he was traveling on. He mostly remembered the spires, and the distant colleges of magic, and streetlamps! They weren't actually uncommon in Nuln, but most were paid out of pocket. In Altdorf, almost the entirety of the city, at least all the main walkways, were lit with street lamps in the evening. 

Neil thought back to his stay there, remembering when he watched the halfling juggle six potatoes and steal a wallet all while a dozen men and women watched. He remembered a man claiming to be a wizard threatening a grey-haired mercenary before the charlatan was run off. He recalled the portly vendor that sold him a slab of honeyed ham for his trip. It was strange to think Emmaline was here during then. Strange that he remembered watching the city gently go by as his barge traversed the waterways to send him to Nuln. He felt a moment of loss, for a second. He wished he could have spotted her in the winding streets, flirted with her then. Life was full of such things, he supposed. 

"No towers? Well, guess we'll have to settle for a villa then. They make Tilean style mansions here right?" 

"For the right price," Emmaline replied in good humor. But it ebbed out of her when they entered the shadow of the first gate. It looked like any other, perhaps more grandly designed and far larger than most. The layered stone was well carved, with a steel portcullis just waiting to fall and two great doors reinforced with iron ready to close at a moment's notice. "This is the Witches Gate," Emmaline explained as they passed under it. "This is the gate Templars would bring in apostates and dark magicians to be executed." She idly grabbed at her throat, as if imagining an axe blade slicing through it. 

"If they don't have a thieves gate I'll feel left out," Neil replied, taking her hand on her throat into his own and squeezing it. As usual, the two bounced back immediately. The guards barely glanced their way, and soon the clamor of the streets filled their ears. "Don't suppose there are any abandoned apartments around here, right?" 

"If there are, I don't think there would be a sign." She quipped. But Neil did see her place a hand to her chin, as if she were thinking of the most likely sections of the city to contain abandoned areas. But then she shook the thought away. "The Grandmarkt is this way, past the docks. Let's hope Shallya let's us find somewhere we could sleep at least..." 

[i]
Hours later...[/i] 

The Gilded Ox was once a grand stone building with intricate carvings and ornamentation upon its crenelated façade. Now it is falling down, with large cracks across its stone walls and a crumbled and abandoned annex. The sign, with the visage of an ox, half peeled away, upon a red and white striped field, is faded and looks less gilded and more rusted. The Rusted Bull, some now called the tavern. Though not within ear shot of the owner, a surely, one-eyed dwarf named Kagri who ran the place like a well-oiled handgun. Neil and Emmaline had gotten all this information from a rake named Siegfried who had picked them out for a couple of chumps before Neil saw through his little sleight of hand scheme, called the [i]Brettonian Drop[/i] Neil had used a few times, and managed to wrangle some real information out of him.  

Now Emmaline and Neil found themselves walking under the squeaking sign of the Gilded Ox, walking in to find it much like Siegfried described. It was moderately large, maintained but not well furnished. There was a mix match of round and rectangular tables, and the timber planks on the walls and wood were reddish brown, giving the room a warm feeling coupled with the lamplight. A few mercenaries enjoyed themselves, chatting and cursing and snickering. A halfling sat in the corner with three different mugs of drink, as if trying to decide between them. A young local drank, bleary eyed with his face in his mug. A hooded man sat in the back, keeping to himself. A small number of couples and well to-do customers were there, but they were few and far between compared to the rougher men in hard leathers and stern looks. A table in the back had a bunch of locals laughing, carousing, one louder one pinched a barmaid as she passed by, but they were an outlier to the more moderate demeanor. 

"You sure this is a good idea?" Neil asked Emma. 

"What? It was your idea!" She snapped. 

"Yeah, but you didn't talk me out of it." He pointed out. 

"Can I help you?" A tired man in an apron asked, seemingly the only male on staff. He had caught them in his eye and stepped our from behind the small bar area. He had a lot of wrinkles for someone who did not look over forty, and was balding to boot. His lips were cracked, and he tilted his head to listen. 

"We were looking for work." Neil said, sharing a look from Emmaline. "My lady here is a good dancer, and I'm a pretty good flute play-" 

He snorted, showing his teeth in a sardonic smile. "Well, I could talk to old Kagri, but let me tell you right now. If you want work, we don't need no entertainers. Even if you're good. Kagri will just say..." He pointed at Emmaline. "Barmaid," and then pointed at Neil. "Bouncer. Sorry, but that's all we need. One of our girls ran off a few weeks ago and likely wound up dead. And it gets rough around these parts at night, and our last bouncer got killed." 

Neil quirked an eyebrow, but Emmaline was glowering at the prospect of working with her hands, whispering. "Barmaid..." as if it was an unholy curse.