Malcador grinned at Emmaline, still amused at the whole affair. "She seems nice," he told her as the two tried to maneuver through the press of the bawdy crowd. A halfling atop an awning played an accordion as two tavern wenches danced beneath him, giving him a marvelous view of their cleavage, while three dwarfs and one very drunk reikland man compared tattoos and scars just beside an overturned cart of grain. 

"She's been accused of many things, but nice is a rare one." Emmaline laughed, and the two managed to fanagle their way down two more streets, keeping their coin-purses close and their eyes peeled. Malcador had heard of the establishment, but he had never been. There was always a tavern that was either a bit more high class or a bit cheaper to visit. Yet it was a hard one to miss, with a headless rooster emblazoned on the sign just outside of the rickety steps leading into the wide open front doors. 

Emmaline eagerly began to make her way to the entrance, but Malcador caught her wrist gently. She glanced at him, curious. He drew closer, whispering in her ear. "We need to be careful, we don't know who's watching Clodfoot now, and I also think we should tell him from a discreet note. I don't think it's good for even him to see our faces." 

"Not if we can help it, at least." She agreed wholeheartedly, and squeezed his hand. Hands together, they weaved their way into the tavern. Immediately the smell of alcohol and sizzling meat mingled with a faint air of sweat, and Malcador's mind went from carefully laid plans to food, drink, and Emmaline Von Morganstern. He simply wanted to get the whole ordeal over with and have a pint and some tilean stromboli he'd heard the taverns now sold. However, they had to complete the matter at hand, and he peeled his eyes around for any halflings they might see. Emmaline did the same, but lacking Malcador's height, she compromised by poking her head under raised arms of toasts and peeks through the crowd.  

Finally, Emmaline's search bore fruit, telling Malcador they were at the far left table before both of them heading for kegs. They both grabbed a pint and shimmied between two of the kegs, Emmaline raising the mug to her lips before Malcador stopped her. She pouted, and when he gave her an amused look, she huffed. "So, what's the plan?" 

Malcador glanced at the crowd. "We use our talents together," he said nonchalantly. "You've got the ring, and you're good at acting, right?" 

She nodded, her ponytail bobbing up and down. 

"I'll divine when you should go, so fortune favors you, fraulien. Then you take a pan of drinks to their table, act like you're a serving wench, conspicuously leave a note that tells him he is in danger and from whom, I'll call you over for another drink, and then we can go enjoy our night." Malcador gave a wink at the end, and Emmaline took a sip at that, though her blue eyes glinted with mischief.