Rickard nods and waves his friend off, both his inquiry on whether or not Rickard has let him win as well as his statement on turning in. "I believe I'll walk the hounds before heading up. Rest easy, Septus." He knows he should probably turn in too. They have a long and perilous ride ahead of them come morning, but he isn't tired enough yet, and he loathes the idea of lying in a bed for the next couple of hours, staring at a beshadowed ceiling and trying in vain to seek out sleep. 
Perhaps a walk will help tire himself and his dogs out.

He finishes his water, which has gone lukewarm by this point, and rises. The trio of hounds get to their feet as he stands and look up at him expectantly, awaiting orders or movement. Rickard crosses the tavern's main hall and slinks out into the night with his dogs trailing him. 

There isn't much to the village. It's a bordertown, catering to those travelers foolish enough to risk rewards in the corrupted lands beyond. They're close enough to the Blasted Lands to warrant a persistent somber air and hard, sometimes short lives for the residents. Most of the villagers live there only because it is where they were born, and they know naught else but the dangers that come with living, literally, on the edge. No one migrates here, and as his soft-soled leather boots crunch over the grit of the dirt road running through the center of the darkened town, Rickard wonders how such a place has survived, if not thrived, for so many years in such a precarious location. Mayhap there is some unsavory dealings with things that live beyond the border. If that is the case, Rickard even believes he can figure why no investigations or some great culling has ever occur here: this hamlet serves as a fine outpost and 'last stop' for whatever unfortunate Inquisitors must venture beyond. It doesn't seem like much, but if this little town were to be wiped out of existence, it would make missions such as the one he and Septus were on that much more difficult. 
If it is true, it's hypocrisy at its finest.

These are the things he muses over as he wanders aimlessly throughout the still town. The moon drifts higher into the sky and is on its downward slope before he returns to the inn. 

The common room is dark, the fire that had been burning so fiercely upon his departure nothing but smoldering embers in the firepit. It's just enough to light his way to the stairs, and he and his dogs climb the steps as silent as if they were four ghosts haunting the halls. He indulges is a nip of foul-tasting tonic before he lays down. It's courtesy of an alchemist of the order, a brew thick and dark like tar that aids with a deep, dreamless sleep. Even as he takes a swallow, he knows Septus will probably have to yell loud enough to wake the dead to stir him come morning... but he finds it difficult to care. He needs sleep before they go on. 

Kerr hops up onto the bed and lays across his feet as he begins to drift off. Tivit and Ruhan lay on either side of the bed, their muzzles resting atop their large paws. Even as their eyes close, their ears remain perked, alert. They doze as their master slumbers, ever-aware of their surroundings, ready to leap to their feet and savage anyone who might dare to intrude.