[center][h3][color=ff9900]Týfurkh[/color][/h3][/center][hr]
Týfurkh, for the past few days, had felt somewhat besieged by feelings of guilt whenever he had looked at Chres and the man's obviously deteriorating state. He had had no real idea about the inner problems of their companion, so he had happily joined Chres on the first few drinking occasions.

From a purely objective point of view, the idea of even trying a race between them about who'd be lying under the table first was outright ridiculous given the sheer difference of their physique. Human's including himself however did not always act rationally and Týfurkh now felt like he should have known that very much beforehand. He, in a somewhat intoxicated state, had still been mentally present enough to watch how Chres had gone way beyond any reasonable limit, and he had done so even repeatedly. They all were suffering from the aftermath now.

Apart from Sil maybe... But Týfurkh also wondered at which point Chres' familiar would start to call Chres' increasingly frequent piles of vomit 'Puddles!' happily as well.

The first thing that Týfurkh managed to do in the Hangache was to get himself a headache as he crashed into one of the ceiling beams on the way in. Nothing really new per se, but the rate at which this happened had at least doubled since they had entered this town. People had built ramps instead of stairs, but nobody had thought about cushioning the pillars -- or just the whole damn ground they were walking on, preferably. Those individuals living here... once they left the area, they must have felt like the luckiest persons in the whole world just by no longer experiencing five mishaps a day. Would the divergence itself just cease to exist one day out of sheer 'bad luck' ?

Chres would find himself silently covered by Týfurkh as the latter placed himself on the same table, but not on the neighbouring seat. There was no more drinking spree going to happen, at least not here where such a thing could doom their mission. The giant 'just' needed to think about a good approach about how to stop Chres from ordering one ale after another. Wrestling the tankards out of his hands maybe ? Or 'accidentally' stomp on Chres foot so to draw his attention away from the alcohol ? If there was one good thing about the divergence, then it was that one could just blame it for pretty much everything. It was an accident!

Yet, as Týfurkh thought about it, he had what felt like a sudden inspiration. What if he spent his foot stomp on  Lord Ru'Tev instead ? An 'unfortunate' accident that was just bound to make the man talk to him at least. Some others of their party could then offer assistance with whatever painful thing was going on afterwards and thus get a foot into the Lord's door.

A very daring plan, but to Týfurkh, it felt less odd than just trying to confront their target with some attempt of small talk directly. Should he talk to his companions first or just pull through with it, claiming to be a completely separate individual if things went wrong ? So far the Lord -- hopefully -- did not know they all belonged to the same bunch.