[center][h2]Time Since Cataclysm[/h2][/center]
[center][i]4 Days[/i][/center]

The lack of noise in the Inn was deafening. Most of the residents had fled into the night after the attack, and only four others had stayed throughout the night and grumbled down the stairs for some food. A sailor of Norgardian stock called for a meal in his heavily accent, two duelist fops tried talking up Isolde and the same dusky woman from the previous day lounged upon a chair and watched the others like a prowling wolf. Each of them seemed accustomed to danger in their own way judging by their eyes, but none sat near the group. Raddek downed a huge draught and brought the cup down the table, accompanied with an audible 'clap.' He looked at Reyvadin bleary eyed and grim as ever. The young lord had done well for himself since the crisis, getting a new spear at a steal and a full night's sleep. 

"It was a hybrid, Reyv," the Thaegar said bluntly, taking a sausage and biting off half of it. "Half man, half demon, and it went after us, and Beren over there." 

Beren looked over his shoulder, but he regarded Faeril rather than Raddek. "It broke through my window," he admitted. "But when it came in, it looked like it was trying to get into the hallway instead of killing me. I had to punch it before it burned me." He let out a small grunt as Emmaline pondered, incessantly tapping his injured area. He couldn't gauge if she was kind hearted or a huge bitch. Beren tended to try and see the positive in people and stacked her at being absent minded, but as it was he was a bit too tired to deal with a lot at the moment. His eyes twitched at the pain and he gingerly but firmly moved her hand off of him. 

"I'm not [i]obviously[/i] injured," he corrected resolutely, grabbing his top and sliding it back on him. It was different than his casual wear the day before, sleeveless and made of dark and sturdy material, partially covered by a vest of crimson he donned next. It was a strange outfit, but not tacky. It had the look of functional wear used for travel, but made for a sort of martial sect of monks of priests. Either way, it wasn't so loud as to gather suspicion despite its contrasting colors, and it covered his bandages nicely. "We ready?" 

"I'm not sure what is happening" Raddek pondered, scratching his chin. "Beren killed that thing, so I trust him. But that doesn't leave the fact it attacked us here, at this specific place. We'll need to be on our toes." He reached into his shirt and gripped something, likely attached to the leather thong around his neck. The ex-crusader let the others finish eating before he called them all to grab their gear. They would look for the beer whilst Emmaline and Beren would go after the Sultana lead. Seemed simple enough. 
[hr] 
Raddek, Faeril, Reyvadin, (and whoever else wished to follow) made their way into the sunlit streets of Varone, all of the dark fears evaporating for a brief moment as the day was just beginning to gather momentum. The street traffic was as alive as ever, sea gulls calling to the south. The cracks and clinks of hammers could be heard, accompanied by the shouts of the day and the smell of smoke wafting over the otherwise clean air. All seemed normal as Raddek and the others walked. It took a brief moment for them to realize the hammers were for repairs of damaged dockside buildings, the shouts were of alarm, and the smell of smoke was the burning of fires that had yet to be doused the night before, engulfing the small structures of now dead-men.

They passed a crowd of gatherers, guardsmen keeping men and women back from what seemed to be a horribly mutilated corpse. They could only see glimpsed from the bustling onlookers, but from where they stood, the slab of meat that was once a man had a gaping hole where the kidney was, and a sobbing woman prostrate over the corpse as if her cries could call him back from the grave. Raddek pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulder, but otherwise remained impassive. They walked on. 

The dockyard wharves of Varone were legendary. Huge cranes and burgeoning complexes of shipping, storage, and repair facilities covered the horizon like mountains, and up close they were as great beasts, larger than life yet somehow there before their eyes. The contrasting sun brightened brown of the wood meeting the white marble and brick red of the city proper was startling, beautiful enough for a painting. However, there was very little in the way of actual ships docked within the jungle of timber and lapping water. A few trader brigantines here and there, half a dozen sloops and caravels, and one massive galleon sporting Dre Costan colors. It seemed the rumors of the city falling on hard times wasn't exaggeration. 

At the corner of one of the warehouses, Raddek stopped the group and called them to gather in close. Once they had, he sat himself down on a crate and whispered to them in the shadows cast by the sun. "So, we need to make a decision. If we're to find some alcohol for old Jonathan, there's only a few ways we can go about it, and all involve some sort of criminal activity." We revealed, hands on his knees as he leaned forward. He looked almost like a bandit leader himself, with the clothes and the fearsome look to his gaze. "We either find a smuggler and cut a deal, or we find where one of these thief groups keep their alcohol and steal it all. One requires money, the other requires quick feet and maybe a scuffle or two. But I won't make the decision for you, we need the group to decide. What will it be?"