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LIAM: It’s better when we’re working together. If
you need to steal something, do it with my help,
all right?
SAM: Yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah.
LIAM: Back up the conversation a minute. Thank
you. I would not be alive if you had not– you
saved my life. So thank you.
SAM: Ah, no problem.
LIAM: Yesterday was really not great.
SAM: Yeah, well, we’ll do better today, right?
LIAM: Sure. Sure we will. Are you hungry?
SAM: Yeah, I’m starving.
MATT: At this point, you notice the gentle smell
of cooked meats and promises of mediocre porridge
and eggs just barely begins to creep beneath the
subtle floor of your room, meet your nostrils.
LIAM: Well, Nott, what are we going to do today? I
can go down and get breakfast and bring it up
here. At least– I don’t know. I mean, I’m a
little wary of just splashing back into the town
right away.
SAM: Let’s go down, get some food. I’ll come with
you, 'cause as you said, we’re better together.
And we’ll take it from there. You need some books
and stuff, right?
LIAM: Always.
SAM: All right, well, that’s on the to-do list.
LIAM: All right, well, let’s get something to eat,
then.
MATT: All right, so you prepare yourself with your
mask set over?
SAM: Yes, yeah, so I have a half a mask that
covers my goblin face, and with the hood over,
kind of obscures. Maybe it’s not a goblin, maybe
it’s a little halfling person or something.
MATT: Which is helpful. The southern, more rural
region of the Empire, especially near Felderwin,
which is one of the largest tilling and farming
areas of the entire Empire, has a very heavy
halfling population. And so while this city is not
the core of it, you’d probably see a larger 20-25%
of the population here in Trostenwald is halfling.
So you pass off pretty decently as long as you
keep away from discerning, intent eyes. So the two
of you manage to gather your things for the time
being, wander down the stairs from the top floor
down to the base of the tavern, which, the air is
already bustling with townsfolk and all manner of
travelers preparing to take on the day’s
responsibilities. Yorda, the 40-something woman
barkeep with shoulder-length blonde hair and
weathered skin that you previously rented your
room at the inn from, frantically darts behind the
bar while the red-headed barmaid rushes from table
to table. It seems that the clientele is a bit
more than they were expecting this morning. Yorda
yells from behind the bar to the barkeep,
“Adelaine, two more brats and a bit of mush at the
corner table.” She looks up, “I’m working on it!”
And she runs over and heads back to the kitchen.
There’s a faint bit of music as two
slovenly-looking musicians in the corner are
trying to work for tips with a small hat on the