"You get the feeling," Jocasta asked as they passed through the street, ignoring the drifting flakes of snow, "that something bad is going on here?" The black tabarded mercenaries were clearly going out of their way to be seen. Two more of them stood outside a two story stone building with a roof of patchy tile, abrided by wind and weather to show the tar beneath. One man leaned on a halberd, the other was packing a pipe with tobacco that he lit with a taper from a shuttered lantern. Both gave Jocasta a speculative look and regarded Beren with more professional interest. The interior of the Crimison Wyrven was a bustling riot of noise and movement. A bard stood on a table before a fire place, strutting black and forth and belting out what might have been part of the Ballad of Black Cally, his long poulin shoes tipped with bells that the shook to questionable musical accompanyment. A group of sellswords were engaged in what might have been a knife fight or a card game depending on ones point of view, with curses and blows flying in a half dozen different tongues. A pair of farmers were locked in a chess game in the corner, their mastiffs so similar they might have come from the same litter. The bar was a single slab of polished wood with a large redish inclusion in the middle that closely resembled a dragon with its wings coiled around its body. Despite the fact that every nearby surfaces was piled with bottles, barrels and baskets of food and drink, not a single item was sat on the bar.

"Nice place," Jocasta commented in a determined neutral tone.

"I've been in worse," Beren replied.

"Like vountarily?" Jocasta quiered. 

"What can I do you for," asked simply the most stunning woman Jocasta had ever seen, in a voice that sounded like someone was strangling a cat with a violin. The contrast was so violent that Jocasta was momentarily disoriented. The barmaid sighed and planted a fist on either side of her hips with a weary look.

"Happens all the time. I'm Bonnie, what can I do you two for?" she asked. The grating voice made Jocasta's eye twitch invoulntarily.

"Melve sent us?" Jocasta tried. The woman's beatuiful lips scowl grew deeper.

"That old drunk owes me two crowns," she carped.

"Sure," Jocasta agreed, making a placating guesture to word off further comment from the human squeezebox.

"Can we get some wine and food please?" she asked, then clapped Beren on the shoulder, "On my friend here."