Garon spits in the clay mug and vigorously wipes it, trying to remove some unknown residue staining the bottom of the mug. After a few seconds he shrugs, obviously giving up on getting the residue to come out, and pours your drink into the mug. Looking around the vacant bar room and obviously deciding he has nothing better to do, Garon strikes up a conversation.
Aye, business be looking up. I got me three new guests today. Looks like they may be meaning to stay awhile as well. Perhaps that old she-wolf Kerowyn Hucrele may not foreclose on me inn this month after all. Of course, that depends on these three staying alive. They were asking dangerous questions. Wanting to know about the Sunless Citadel and all. I told them what everyone in Oakhurst knows, which be precious little.
Of course everyone knows that when the Sterich army reclaimed Oakhurst back in 588 that a small group of goblins holed up in the Sunless Citadel and that they has been there ever since. I tried warning them off the place since I do not be wanting me only guests to be getting themselves killed. I mentioned how that shiny knight, Sir Braford, came into town only a week ago and lured those Hucrele kids, Sharwyn and Talgen, plus Karakos into exploring the Sunless Citadel and not one of them has returned!
I even mentioned how shortly after the goblins retreated into the Citadel how another man, calling himself Belak as I recall, came to town asking about the Citadel only to disappear into its depths never to return either. He was a strange one indeed reeking of mystery and more than a little bit questionable in the head if you know what I mean. He had the biggest frog with him that you ever saw and he wanted to keep it in a room with him!
Finally I warned them of the strange beasts stalking the night draining cattle of all their blood. Dozens of holes piercing the carcasses but the meat not even touched. It is no normal beast stalking the night I say and not even the bravest of our cattle herders dare leave his stock out at night any more.
But this young rooster parading around for two impressionable young chicks would not be dissuaded he kept pestering me for more information. I know the type. Vagabonds seeking quick riches but only finding a quick death.
Finally, I told him what I knew he wanted, tales of riches and magic. I told him of the magic apples that the goblins bring to town twice a year and how rumor has it that Sir Braford’s sword was magical. But I didn’t tell him of the reward that the old she-wolf Hucrele is offering for her lost pups. That bloodsucking moneylender can do her own dirty work. Wouldn’t surprise me if it turns out she is the one draining all the cattle for not producing enough milk each month to cover the interest on the grass they eat!