“My thoughts are that we all need a hot meal, a pint, and a good nights’ rest to consider everything in detail tomorrow.” Iliskra said flatly as she and her two male counterparts trudged off into the night.

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It did not take long for Iliskra, Leon, and Ibdur to find the Dragon’s Tail tavern. The deeper into the southern side of the city that the three went the more [i]orderly[/i] things were. Derelict burned out houses, abandoned shops, and streets littered with fly infested corpses were replaced by lively cottages and apartments, “Open For Business” signs, and guard posts. The three had slipped past the outermost guard post with ease - despite Ibdur and his clanking armor - and found themselves within a “safe area” as it were. Vendors hawked from street side carts, courtesans lingered on the corners seeking “clients”, and even little street urchins frolicked about seemingly without fear. 

“It seems Shagarm knows how to keep a reign on folk.” Iliskra had remarked, noting the heavily equipped squads of soldiers that clomped down the middle of the streets and could even be seen barging into houses and questioning people who cowered on their knees in front of their quivering families. Even as motley and assorted as the occupiers were they maintained something of a uniform - namely brilliant red plumes from their helms, red sashes across their chests, and emblems of either slanted glaring eyes or a curled fist on their shields and breastplates. [i]For mercenaries and former bandits and thieves this is a very… organized lot.[/i] Iliskra thought unnerved, noting the attentive nature of the posted guards and the professional flawlessness of marching units. The citizens still out in the early evening obviously shared the wariness of the new arrivals but none interfered in any way with the force at large. Aside from the obvious repercussions - such as the example made of the two bound men dangling from a hastily assembled gallows on a street side - Iliskra imagined most of these good folk appreciated the return of order per se. Even if it was tyrannical in obvious sight.

The Dragon’s Tail was nestled into a small walled-in square, lit up with lanterns and echoing from within of music, cheers, whistling, drunken bellows, and the flowing conversations of many. The half-elf, dwarf, and human stood now outside the front door which was watched over by a single man in a suit of chainmail with a cudgel at his hip.

“Go on, in,” he encouraged with a yellowed grin, “just don’t draw blood.”