The Drunken Whale was famous. Not for its drinks or fare which both left much to be desired, but for the coin which flowed plentifully below. Especially in recent days. Ships from the Isle of Maelström had docked in the city of Agos during the Autumn and since then, hefty sums of coin had exchanged hands among the blood, sweat, and tears in the underbelly of The Whale. Fortunes were made and tonight – Tonight, promised to be a spectacular with no equal. Tonight, the very source of this good fortune had been challenged by the firstborn of House Bowwind, one of the strongest houses in the city. Rumors were abuzz, and the betting had already begun when the two arrived.

It was pouring down outside but the Inn was alight with commotion and song. It was a full house. The two squeezed through the door. Flint, a dwarven bard, was immediately swept away by the good mood; he was cheerful by nature and he loved nothing more than a crowd ready for entertainment. His companion though, a fierce and angry looking man, wasn’t taken by the high spirits. His name was Gren Llast. He was a hired sword, and he was here on business.

He made his way up to the Innkeep, where he slapped three severed ears on the counter. The innkeeper didn’t seem particularly phased. “They’re handling it downstairs tonight.” He nodded at the ears. Without a word, Gren picked up the ears again and pushed towards the staircase.