Dagoth

"Back in town, eh? Something foul has dragged you screaming back, I take it."

"What?"

"That look on your face says it all. I really shouldn't have even bothered asking. Seen it thousands of times. Across all races, disciplines, genders and whatnot that expression remains the same."

"What expression?"

"The one you're wearing like a wooden mask. It suits you unusually well though. Like it always has. See a psychiatrist, friend. I think, and I apologize if I'm overstepping my bounds, that you need a professional."

"Just pour, please."

The innkeeper poured. He was indeed a professional.

Dagoth drank greedily and looked around. His eyes were growing bleary, in no small part due to the dishwater he had been imbibing.

"So, what brings a Cleric of such status to this part of Centrafell?"

Dagoth's bloodshot eyes locked onto the inkeep's. "Spare me your sarcasm. Any reason why you're so invasive?"

"It's rude to answer a question with another question. Didn't your parents teach you manners? Hell, do Drow even have parents? I don't know. Or maybe I do."

Dagoth was silent.

"I'm guessing I hit the nail on the head. No parents."

A moment later the innkeep was being held by his collar and shaken roughly.

"Shut your trap!" commanded Dagoth.

To the Cleric's surprise, the innkeep's eyes were scanning the room, as though Dagoth simply wasn't there.

"You're making a scene. That's not good," said the innkeep.

"I don't care."

"I'm quite certain the Temple has their all-seeing eye on you, friend of mine. For reasons of which we are both well aware. It just so happens that a few pairs of all too unfriendly eyes are staring you down just now. Let me go."

Dagoth complied.

"Look, I won't ask any more difficult questions. Plenty of shady characters come through here every day. And, besides, it's been a while since we last spoke," said the innkeep. "What have you been up to?"

"Wandering."

"That's it? No specifics? Or is Old Arthrin not worth the breath?"

"You know why I'm tight-lipped."

"Suppose I do. Call it concern for a friend. You're troubled, Old Arthrin can see it plainly. And I would bet just about anything I know why you're back in Centrafell."

Dagoth fixed the Dwarf with a resentful glare.

"Obviously. You likely knew I would be here tonight long before I had ever left. So stop bothering me."

"Oh, alright. It's just Old Arthrin's lot in life. To pour."

Arthrin fulfilled his lot in life to the brim.

"Where are your friends? Your... Liberators? I haven't seen hide nor hair of them since that day."

"I don't know, and I don't particularly care." Dagoth slurped more of the sour pisswater from his mug. "They're doing things irrelevant to me in places far away."

"So callous. So cold. They're your family, boy. And we both know you would rest your head on a chopping block for any one of them."

"Think so?"