“... anyway, so I looked the bear straight in the eyes and I told him: ‘Hey bear, if you don’t get your fat ass walking straight outta here, you’re gonna get the business end of my spear right up your keister!’ And I swear on my ma, I watch as this grizzled old monster turns around and runs off. I’m not lying to you, friend, I wouldn’t swear on my ma for a lie like that. That’s just wrong!”
The otter stood on a table across from a drunk gentleman who was staring at him dumbfounded, while the otter held his little arms up at his sides. He was dressed in his usual dark leathers, hood pulled back but his backpack still tied tightly to his figure. He wasn’t entirely sure whether the man was still reeling in shock at a talking otter or if it was the story of when he saved a diminutive old lady from the savagery of a brown bear.

He’d been staying at an inn deep in the bowels of Forsaken for two days already. As accurate as the rumours were about the town, nothing ever quite compared to reality and Soot was determined to know the locale before he agreed to any assignments. It had been maybe a little over a week since a friend of a friend of an associate had sent a message down the line with a job offer, and the otter was certainly a little bit desperate for work these days. And he doubted that his pursuers would be eager to follow him to the mesa of the worst scum this side of the world.

The gentleman - a human, decidedly somewhere past his forties - raised his glass of beer at Soot as he somehow managed to utter:
“Sho yoush shayin’ tha’... yoush shayin’ a big ol’ brown beah wash shcared of uh… of uh dumb weazel? You know wha’ I think? I think yoush full o’ shit.”
The otter gave the man an indignant look. He wasn’t wrong, but it was still a little insulting to him that this drunkard would dare insinuate it. Before the otter could retort, he noted a peculiar individual entering the inn, one of the half-human half-genie folk you rarely saw in most parts. The figure approached the barman and was shortly handed something, without payment nor extensive discussion, before heading upstairs. A familiar exchange - the very same sort of exchange the otter had with the same barman. The otter turned to his fellow patron, considered what to say before deciding to say nothing. The man would probably disregard the whole event as delusions once he woke up in the morning. Soot hopped down from the table and scampered off towards the stairs, racing upstairs on all fours.

The otter slowly approached the door, looking up and down the hall in case anyone was lying in wait. It seemed clear, aside from someone drunkenly leaning up against a door further down. He stopped in front of the door, looking it up and down, before locking his gaze on the doorknob. The otter stood up and sighed internally. He reached out with both paws and started fiddling with it discreetly, which soon turned into loud scratching while he quietly muttered cuss words and insults at everyone in the world with regular hands.

He waited for someone to open the door...