In the morning, the group took advantage of their full coin purses. After looking at horses, and learning how much gold they’d need to take care of the beasts, they find a tavern for lunch. A young entertainer played a lute in one corner. Some time before their meal arrived, they overheard an argument between a city official and a merchant.

“Something must be done,” the man dressed in the flamboyant trappings of a cloth merchant said. “They are causing no end of trouble for us.”

“Until they break a law, there is nothing that can be done. If you have a complaint, you need to speak to the Lord Commander.”

“Bah! You city men are all the same! You have no compassion for the common merchant.” With that, he turned on his heel, storming from the tavern.

After an excellent meal accompanied by equally delightful music, they ask directions to a leather worker. As the group passed an alley, they heard a “Hmpff! Please don’t hurt me.” in a man’s voice.

Malusk turned down the alley. Two large men, one human and one obviously half-orc, held a much smaller man helpless against the wall. A smaller human, or half-elf, Skrie couldn’t tell with his long hair, punched the prisoner in the stomach, laughing when he retched.

“We’re not here to ‘really’ hurt you. Just remind you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Hey!” Malusk yelled at the trio accosting the small man.

“Just remember what he said. See you tomorrow.” They dropped the man on the ground with those last words as they ran down the alleyway.

The man picked himself up from the muck, brushing the mud from his tunic.

“Thanks for helping.” The man tossed a gold piece on the ground and disappeared into a nearby residential area.

They spend the rest of the afternoon getting weapons honed, armor repaired, and purchasing what they could no longer salvage. During an afternoon ale, Garrick filled everyone in on what he’d learned during his nightly excursions.

“Remember the cultist we saw in the square yesterday?” he asked.

“The one on the way to Tymora’s temple?” asked Skrie.

“That’s the one. I seen him last night in a tavern talking about how the guildhalls are cheating their members. He kept talking about how the guild-masters pay the workers as little as they can but keep most of the money for themselves.”

“I haven’t heard that from the guild members we saw today,” replied Theren. “They seemed happy with their masters.”

“That ain’t the only thing I noticed,” said Garrick. “I heard the same stuff from at least one person in almost every tavern I visited. And the night before, it was the same. Someone appearing deep in their cups, always complaining about the guilds or the temples.”

“But not really drunk,” said Theren, more a statement than a question.

“No. I followed one out to the street. As soon as he got out of sight of the door, he sobered right up. He played a repeat performance at his next stop.”

“Was there anyplace they didn’t go?” asked Malusk.

“Ah,” said Garrick with a sly grin. “If a guard entered, they left. They avoid anyplace the guards take their leisure.”

“So, they don’t want the guard to hear their complaints.” Again, Theren made it a statement.

“No, mostly they complain to the commoners, and those who serve them. The less skilled craftsmen, merchants re-selling used goods, and poor folk that fell on hard times.”

“Them that ain’t got much to begin,” muttered Malusk.

“Yeah. Their operation’s the same wherever they go: one of them comes in, they buy a round or two of drinks for the everyone at the table. They act drunk, but aren’t really drinking. An hour or two later, they move on the next target, leaving behind a table full of drunk, discontented people to chew on the lies they spread.”

“We could try to tell that guard we talked to on the way in,” said Skrie. “He seemed helpful enough.”

“Marcus Allford,” said Theren.

“Yeah, him.”

They found him at the North Gate.

“Marcus Allford!” called out Skrie as she approached the guard. “We wanted to thank you for steering us to Ermina’s the other day. She is a delight!”

“I remember you, young miss,” he replied cheerfully. “I can’t remember your name though, I’m sorry.”

“Just call me Skrie.” She grinned up at him. “I was hoping you could listen to a rumor I been hearing. When we passed through Fort Bridale, we heard the lieutenant telling her men to watch out for those cultists of The One. She thinks they were connected to the burning of Nemeademore.”

“Folks’re always concerned when a new group comes in to spout their ideals at the podium. It’s their right here in Irewick. We can’t do nothing unless they break the law, and so far they haven’t.”

“I understand,” she said with a sigh.

“But, I’ll bring your concerns and this information up to my sergeant. Listen,” he continued, “some Nemeademore refugees are staying in the halfling quarter. Talk to them and see if they share your worry.”

“Thanks, Guard Allford. Would we be out of line to buy you a drink next time you visit Ermina’s?”

“Not at all,” he grinned at them.

They headed back to Ermina’s inn to plan their next steps.

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