hematoma
Really Experienced
Kamran is not a man of tradition. Despite his father's moralist stance against it, Kamran has taken a liking to alcohol in his independence. The ale at this tavern, though, is so sour he cannot stomach the rest of the glass.
He looks around the room at the merchants who employed him. Rumors of a surge of monsters led them to seek another guard for their journey north, but they encountered nothing more sinister than the distant yelping of dogs in the night. Unsettling, perhaps, but Kamran worked very little to earn his coin. He's not complaining. In the past, easy jobs like this one have expanded his purse when needed.
Still. Too many more of them might expand his gut. It would be nice to test himself again.
At that moment a bestial-looking sort descends the stairs into the dining room. A Fellgist? Kamran has heard of them, and swears he once saw their silhouettes pass him in a murky wood, but never has he encountered one in the flesh.
...Especially not one with such a very pregnant catgirl at its heels.
They accept all types in the north. Father would hate it here. The thought is sweet enough to take the edge off his next sip of beer.
A fat barkeeper comes out and apologetically drops a bowl of soup and a crust of bread on your table. "Sorry," he says. "The missus isn't feeling well so she left me with the last of the evening's customers. I've got one room left. One only. So let me know if you'll be staying the night. Your dinner buys you a seat by the hearth if you can't pay for a room."
He looks over at the Fellgist and the strange woman with him and mutters something under his breath.