Athaliah made her way to the 'Laughing Fiddler' alone - she had been told that Ceara and her... well, associates, would be there. Hopefully with the papers that Herbert and Erika needed. The streets were getting dark and Athaliah found herself getting much more tense despite the fact that guards were pretty much everywhere. That in itself wasn't unusual - what was, however, was that these guards seemed to be much more armed and armoured than was common. Maybe it was just normal for a huge city like Viarosa, but for a village girl like Athaliah, it was quite unsettling.

After getting lost in the backstreets more than a few times, Athaliah finally located the tavern; it wasn't much to say the least - sure, the windows were clean and the door was in one piece, but compared to all the luxurious inns she passed in the city centre the tavern may as well have been a shed. She quietly pushed the door open.

To her surprise, the tavern had a lively, almost friendly atmosphere to it. The patrons were mostly workers from the city who looked like they couldn't afford to go anywhere else for a mug of beer or cider, but that didn't seem to bother them much. Ceara, Mostafa and someone else she didn't recognise were sat at a table right at the back of the tavern - they all wore expressions of boredom, and Athaliah's habit of getting lost didn't seem to help matters.

She approached the table where the redhead and her 'friends' were sat, hoping that she had managed to recover what the group so desperately needed. "Hey, Ceara!" she greeted when she was close enough. Athaliah realised a bit too late that she wasn't exactly familiar with the woman, so that greeting seemed forced. Oh well, it was out now. "How are you?" She figured it would be best to start with small-talk; straight up asking if she finished the job seemed rude to her.

The thief perked up as she heard Athaliah call her name, pulling out the chair adjacent to her own so that the girl could sit down.  “Oh, I’m doing grand.  Pulled it off without a hitch, didn’t we?”  The redhead nudged Mostafa, who played a single chord on his lute, looking generally pleased with himself.  Ceara then pointed to Mortimir.  “This is the grand magister Mortimir.  He helped too.” 

"Ahem. My title is magister maximus, thank you." Mortirmir said haughtily, stiffening at the misnomer before grinning somewhat politely.

"Really? That's great!" Athaliah grinned. It suddenly dawned on her that she, a guard responsible for upholding the law, was [i]happy[/i] that Ceara had broken into a home to steal some papers. Oh well, they weren't in Hoffen anymore so it seemed like somebody else's problem now. "What do the papers say, then?" Ceara raised her eyebrows. "Don't give me that look - I'd be surprised if you [i]didn't[/i] read them."

Ceara seemed to deflate for a moment, but quickly regained her cheery composure.  “Well, I can’t really read… words. So, no, I didn’t check it out.” Mortimir harrumphed, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Well, it just so happens that I am a scholar of some renown, and possess an aptitude for the written word." At their blank stares he continues somewhat belatedly: "I could read your papers. Right now, if you would like it.  Your friend won’t let me touch them.”

Athaliah hadn't gave so much as a thought that others couldn't read and write - her grandfather served the King of Foveros back in the day, and he passed down his knowledge through the family. When her family moved to Hoffen, her parents taught the village's adults, who in turn taught their own children. She had assumed that everyone else in the world had the same privilege. 

"Oh, right..." she thought about what Herbert and Erika would think about them reading their old friend's notes behind their back, but she came to the conclusion that the pair would tell them anyway. "Okay, what's the harm in it?" she smiled to Ceara. "Could you give our friend the papers, please?"

Ceara nodded and retrieved the papers from her travelling bag, delicately setting them on the table and sliding them towards Mortimir.

Mortirmir drew up his sleeves, adjusted his spectacles, and set to reading the documents. He pulled at the wisps of facial hair on his chin that he generously called a beard. "Hmm... Most interesting, yes..." He flipped through the rest of the papers, his eyes enlarged behind his heavy spectacles. "Something about a hunt... For a dragon?" He frowned, shooting a glance towards Ceara before continuing. "Is this a jest? Htraknu? [i]This[/i] is what you're after? Myths and tall tales?"

The thief shrugged.  "Don't look at me.  I'm here for the money."  Mostafa leaned forward, setting his instrument on the table.  "It is no myth.  The priests of Solanius felt the death of a demon, and the world shuddered in horror.  I was there - we all were."

Mortirmir scoffed derisively. "As if men of the cloth knew anything of such things. Pah."

"Honestly, I'm hoping that this is all a wild goose-chase." Athaliah sighed. "I'd rather not have to fight a god. Besides... I miss home." she slouched in her chair. "But hey, it's better than doing nothing if its true, I suppose."

"So Athaliah, where is everyone else?"  Ceara scratched her head, looking uncomfortable with the talk of Htraknu.  "I'm getting a little eager to leave this city.  That arse of a lord has gotta figure this whole thing out at one point, right?"