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Daggerford Market:

Griswolde contentedly takes in the sounds and smells of the open market, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a pair of dark sunglasses to cover his eyes, before starting to walk alongside Dmitri with his cane. At the approach of the little halfling girl he cracks a smile, slightly crooked with years yet still giving off an air of dignity and refinement. "Yes, the finest one you have," he says with an amused chuckle, though it didn't seem like he was patronizing the child. "I trust that you have an eye for these things -- beter than my old ones, at least."

Beaming at the compliments the halfling girl skips back to her grandmother and whispers into her ear, before the latter playfully shakes her head and speaks back to her in rapid-fire syllables, the high-pitched Halfling language always noticeable by its peppy tone. Nodding enthusiastically she hops into one of the nearby wagons, seemingly mostly filled with personal affects and brewing gear. Fumbling around she eventually pulls out with a small bottle in hand and walks back over to Dmitri and Griswolde to present it.

"Yesiree, this here is a specialty of Whisperwind Farms, one o' the finest vineyards and breweries 'round these parts" she starts, tapping the bottle twice as its dark green hue shines in the daylight. "Light n' sweet, best friends with the fish they catch down at the docks. 10 gold fer it, yeah?" At the end of her practiced speech she merely smiles in reply, hoping she did alright.

"That sounds like a steal," Griswolde replies, turning his head in the direction of the grandma. Though they didn't lock eyes they shared smiles, and the doctor turns back to Dmitri and gestures to the girl. "Well? I suppose we ought to take the offer, she drives a hard bargain."
 
Although Maris, through rigorous and diligent study, had learned much of the practices of Tempus and Tymora, her knowledge of the other two gods worshipped in Daggerford is limited. There was a large Pantheon, after all, and she had much left to learn. Dedicating her life as she had to the worship and proselytizing of Helm afforded her much less time to devote to the study of other deities. From the markings on the temple, she assumed--she knew--it belonged to those that worshipped Chauntea. Her brow furrowed momentarily as she considered why a man so ready for a fight should bow his head to a God of flowers. Surely be would be better suited at the doors of Tempus. Or, better yet, at the doors of the great Lord helm. (Though, to her chagrin, Daggerford did not offer a temple to him.)

She would look to change that another time. This issue, however, still piqued her interest. Surely, she could done something similarly curious at the marketplace or guild hall, or even at the inn she had previously left. But she'd already come this far, and she wanted to see what other oddities this temple might offer that held her attention for a little while longer. Stepping forward, leaving a few moments time between her entrance and that if the one she followed, she enters the temple.
 
"Thank you...could you give us the directions to this Hall? I am afraid I am not very familiar with Daggerfall yet." The dragonborn frowned under his hood unsure about Boros yet. He seemed harmless enough, if that was a word you could use to describe the burly half-orc. Dying to finally have someone to talk to, Gerosh decided to try working alongside someone else for the time being, just to test out this arrangement. They hadn't barred him from working with others after all, just not sharing anything.

He felt much more undecided about the what the halfling bartender had offered next.It would be foolish and completely irresponsible to drag along a puppy on their dangerous business, so he cleared his mouth and declared clearly to the man, "Thank you, I will definitely love to adopt Scout." 'Hmm, that didn't sound quite right...' the monk scratched his head and clarified his point, "I mean...I think Boros and I would love to adopt Scout."

Well, at least he had someone to blame when shit went wrong, he thought as his hooded face looked up at Boros.

At the very least he wasn't feeling bored anymore.
 
Harvest House:

A small plaque heralded this temple of Chauntea as the "Harvest House", for good reason -- once Maris crossed the threshold into the courtyard proper, several acolytes could be seen toiling away at the plants that enveloped the humble place of worship, pruning the bushes or pulling freshly harvested roots from the ground. The only thing that marked them as holy men and women rather than regular farmers were the pins of Chauntea's holy symbol they wore proudly above their laborer's clothes.

To the right, the knight from before could be seen chatting away with another faithful of Chauntea, a young half-elf woman dressed in proper priest robes as she took the harvest and started to prepare and pack them, likely for cooking or for simply shipping off to the market. Her voice was bright, and cleanly cut through the serenity of the temple. "-- and you want us to help, is that it? I'm afraid there's only so many people we can spare at peak harvest time, many of the less fortunate rely on our meals to get through the nights, you know."

"Even if they go a bit hungry, it's better than them disappearing to Tyr knows what," replies the knight adamantly, setting his kite shield down to cross his arms. Maris would be able to spot the prominent symbol of a gauntlet gripping a longsword emblazoned on front. "There is a real menace here, something that goes against the natural order, and it's the duty of Chauntea's faithful to rise up against such things, for the protection of all!" Though he doesn't seem to try and be aggressive, there is a natural charisma to his words that are delivered with a force of conviction.

In contrast, the calm cleric of Chauntea keeps her composure as she replies with a shrug. "Maybe come back after we finish our preparations for the first feeding of the day? In the meantime, there's always Amaunator's temple -- unless someone else from your fancy Order made it there already."

OrderOfTheGauntlet.png
 
Once instead, Maris is not overly convinced in her interest here. As expected, the interior is as docile and geared towards gardening as one would expect of a god that devotes her time to plants. She doesn't say as much outloud, but the attention given to the clerics of this faith is minimal. Instead, she is looking towards where the knight has gone, and her focus is immediately rapt. It's easy enough to have reason to be here; she's visiting, after all. Acquainting herself with the locals and the customs accompanying them. But the man's conversation, though too quiet to hear until she steps a little further in, is very interesting indeed.

Helm would be the perfect god to aid in a quest such as this, and a cleric of his order would have no problem offering their service to those of another temple, if it were in the pursuit of protection. That word, protection, is said with a passion by the knight, and it has Maris moving even further forward. The symbol of Helm, intricately designed into the shield she carries on her back, echoes that of the man's, in a way. Though there is no sword on hers, the gauntlet with a single eye is prominently displayed.

It sounds as though individuals have gone missing, and something unnatural rests in this town. A level of concern and paranoia about some event that will undoubtedly have the people on edge. Maris knows well that people that are afraid are people that need someone who has answers, and she has always been good at giving those.

Stepping towards the two, she clears her throat a bit and inclines her head in bowed greet. "Pardon me, I don't mean to interrupt." She fully intended to interrupt, but that's obvious enough based on the fact that she has now moved close enough to join their conversation. "My name is Maris; I've only just arrived in town, and was hoping to familiarize myself with the local temples but, and you'll forgive me, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation--it seems there's trouble?" She knows it's a bold statement, but most of her statements are. "Apologies, of course, if I intrude. You see, I serve Helm, our lord of protection, and it seems as though he has led me to this town for a reason; perhaps to aid you, or bolster the spirits of those that may be afflicted by... what was it? You said some menace?"
 
"A hard bargain? Exceptionally so! I don't suppose we have much choice in the matter, however." Dmitri looked mournfully at the girl, then, in a flash, winked and grinned. "We have a deal." He announced as he produced eleven gold coins and set them on the stall counter. The girl offered him the bottle and he stowed it in Griswolde's satchel. "Have a wonderful morning, miss. Ma'am." He nodded to the pair and again hooked his arm in the doctor's. "Now," he said to the man, "Off to the Jackal."

As they walked, Dmitri noted the smell of fish from a prominent market stall off to their right. It was different from the usual fish smell he was used to from the larger port city up north. This, along with the air in general, was a cleaner, simpler smell, more fresh. 'Why didn't I grow up here? Wouldn't had to wash as often, that's for sure.' It was relatively simple to find their way to the tavern, and Dmitri led the not-quite blind man through the main door.

To his surprise, there was a hulking figure right up near the front petting a very small dog. Dmitri suppressed a smile. It was always interesting to see large men who could seemingly crush skulls between two fingers interacting gently with creatures who had no idea the strength with which they were being pet. To his side, a hooded man was talking with the barkeep, and Dmitri couldn't help but notice a significant amount of scales coming from beneath certain parts of the robe. He turned toward the halfling. "Ah, hello, excuse me. Hi, yes, we wrote ahead and reserved a couple rooms. Dmitri Glazunov?"
 
As the inkeeper asks about adopting the puppy, a smile starts to creep onto Boros's face. By the time Gerosh is talking about adopting Scout, Boros is beaming like an idiot. "Boros will take care of small doggie." He leans in towards Gerosh and says in another whisper that isn't all that quiet: "Does Punch Man know how to make doggie listen? Boros can feed doggie and run with doggie."

Boros sits back in the stool with a contented smile. "Boros is happy."
 
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Harvest House:

As Maris walks up the paladin frowns a bit at the shrug from his speaking partner, crossing his arms. "Unfortunately I doubt it -- many of the Order were dispatched to the far north to deal with a sudden scourge of undead, and it will be a few days before they can make it down here even at the most generous pace," he notes, crossing his arms. "I happened to be in the area and caught wind of the issue from a local farmer, and I felt it my civic duty to help out regardless of backup."

The paladin quickly turns at the sound of another voice speaking up, on alert despite the calm and casual nature of the temple. For a second he raises an eyebrow, as if trying to place the face or the voice, but his expression immediately lights up when Maris mentions her deity of choice. "You are Helm's chosen? By the gods, you came at just the right time!"

"Er, I thought you just said there were no other Order members here yet?" interjects the cleric of Chauntea, raising an eyebrow at the newly arrived cleric. She opens her mouth as if to comment on something she saw but stops herself when she notices how eager the paladin is.

"Most every member of Helm's church that I am acquainted with is part of the Order, but I'm some have their own reasons for remaining independent, perhaps you are not ready to be called to active duty. But I'm getting ahead of myself," he says with a hearty laugh, moving forward to shake Maris's hand. "Theodor Oakes, paladin of Tyr and proud representative of the Order of the Gauntlet. I would be honored to have one of Helm's own fight at my side as we eradicate the werewolf threat that plagues this town."
 
Happy Jackal Tavern:

The halfling bartender can't help but smile as the two large adventurers in front of him confirmed their willingness to adopt the puppy. "Well that's that then," he says in a happy drawl, clapping his hands once as if to signal that the deal was closed. "No fancy adoption papers here, so he's yours. I can tell from the look in your eyes that you'll take good care of him anyway." Hopping down from the barstool where he was standing to match up to the height of Garosh and Boros he starts to rifle through some drawers for a pen and some paper to scribble notes on.

"Luckily he's made it past the nursing stage alright, so it shouldn't be a problem to feed him solid food. Poor Duffie is a bit on the weaker side so we gotta watch her diet, but Scout will eat pretty much anything ya toss in front of him. Just drinks water though. Lately he's gotten a taste for the bones and scraps from Barbara's Bellyache Butchery -- a joke name of course, ol' Barbara's got some of the best meat 'round these parts, you can catch her running a stall on the southern end of the marketplace usually -- let her know I sent ya and she'll cut you a deal. Oh, as for directions, if ya just take a right after exiting the tavern the Guildmaster's Hall is at the end of the street, and taking another right at that junction'll lead ya to the marketplace proper."

Noticing another pair entering the tavern he puts his hand up as if to gesture he'd be there in a second, before standing on his tiptoes to slide his scribbled paper towards Garosh and Boros. It seemed to contain a few notes on how to care for Scout, as well as a note to Barbara with a small perky signature at the bottom. Having finished that he wipes his hands and looks to Dmitri and Griswolde, shooting them a thumbs up. "Ah yep, I know you guys. I usually don't get reservations, it's mostly just the regulars and the occasional adventurin' folks like those two," he says with a chuckle, hopping up on another barstool closer to them. "Didn't think I'd find Scout a home this mornin' but hey, I'm sure he's happy with this arrangement."

"That does sound nice," Griswolde speaks up, nodding vaguely in the halfling's direction with a smile and adjusting his black spectacles. "I would prefer not to rush you but my assistant and I were also planning on making our way to the Guildmaster's Hall soon. I don't suppose you can see us to our rooms so that we may drop our things off?"

"Oh, sure, no problem," the bartender says in reply, starting to notice Griswolde's condition. He waves a hand in front of the older man's face but upon getting no reaction he mouths a quick "Sorry" towards Dmitri before clearing his throat. "Anyway, uh, yeah. That'll be one gold for the room, and if y'all're lookin' for a drink we've got the house specialty for three silver. Late enough in the day that I can start offerin' it," he notes with a cheeky grin.
 
"Uh," Gerosh sheepishly rubbed his neck as Boros highlighted their first problem, "We will probably figure it out." The dragonborn ventured a solution before the halfling bartender passed him the paper filled with helpful scribbled notes. He quickly scanned its contents, raised a hidden eyebrow at the message, and after folding in half, tucked it into one of his many pockets. "Thank you for all your help. We will be sure to call on you if we encountered any further problems."

He eyed the strange new comers but had already met two new people today, which he figured fulfilled his quota for the week. He scooped up Scout and nudged Boros pointing toward's the exist and whispered, "Let's get to the Hall before it starts getting crowded."
 
As Gerosh nudges Boros, he looks down, startled for a second, then says. "Lead to Guildhall. Boros will follow." As he's about to turn an follow Gerosh, a thought skitters back into his mind (and you can see it on his face). He turns back to the bartender, and says to him. "Boros broke bed last night. Sorry." With a sheepish expression on his face, Boros puts 5 gold on the counter, and turns and rushes out before the bartender can say anything.
 
As a habit, Dmitri tried to take notice of people who seemed interesting or a little different from the rest. Although, it was always helpful to keep track of every single creature in a space. One never knew what someone else would do. How they would react to a situation. What underlying negative emotions were motivating actions that couldn't typically be foreseen. He'd had a few contracts that required him to catch a magician who could shape-change or use some sort of monstrous ability to garner a similar effect. Maintaining his composure and showing no sign of any interest higher than the usual stranger, Dmitri steals glances at the two adventuring types and takes in as many details as he can. Their mannerisms, how they move, their confidence and how comfortable they are in their own skins. Or scales. Knowledge was power and he'd take as much as he could get of both.

He watches as the two of them head out, then turns back to the barkeeper. "I'll take a house specialty, yes. Sounds refreshing, don't you think, doctor?" He lays down three gold pieces on the counter. "Keep the change." He smiles kindly at the smaller man and begins walking up the stairs with Griswolde. "I'll take the drink when we come back down!" He calls back over his shoulder. They set their things in the room and coming back down, Dmitri makes it obvious that he's aiding the older gentleman. All he brings back down with him of his own personal gear is the dagger he always has strapped to his right leg, and a smallish crossbow strapped to his back, along with its accompanying bolts and a small satchel of his own. The house special is waiting for him at the bar when they get back and he drinks it down with surprising speed - it's a nice lighter ale that a little saltier than most, but surprisingly, has an aftertaste that burns and leaves a sweet flavor. One that Dmitri hadn't tasted before. Turning to his employer, "Would you like a drink before we head out to the Guildhall? I have the bottle we purchased with me. The house special really isn't bad either. Not like many ales I've had before..."
 
Happy Jackal Tavern:

The halfling bartender looks down at the stack of gold pieces before processing what Boros had said -- but before he can get a word out, the pair of adventurers and their newly adopted pet are already out the door. "O-oh... bye..." he barely manages to stammer out, a moment after the front door to the tavern slams shut.

Coming back down the stairs Griswolde is slow and methodical in his steps, tapping each and every one with his cane even with Dmitri's assistance. When the younger man asks him about having a drink he simply chuckles and shakes his head, waving a hand to dismiss the thought. "There will be plenty of time to have a drink, I don't imagine it will be a terribly quick procession," he notes with a hint of amusement, fiddling with his own pack. Traveling light save for an extra set of clothes or two he'd kept most of his belongings on his person. "But do bring the bottle with you, I'm sure someone over at the hall will appreciate a glass or two."
 
Daggerford Streets:

Much as the bartender said Garosh and Boros quickly spot the large Guildmaster's Hall at the end of the street, splitting the path towards the marketplace and what seemed to be a courtyard of sorts. Seeing people constantly move in and out it's clear that it, among other things, serves as a general meeting ground for people to do business of all sorts, perhaps escape the weather outside or simply to have a roof above them as they speak and negotiate. Beyond trade and diplomacy it also is the place to go for temporary work, gigs -- and in some rare occasions, so-called 'quests'.

This seemed to be one of those rare occasions, as a regal, broad-shouldered man boasting regal clothing and flair stands next to the large sprawling noticeboard outside, watching as a younger servant tacks a noticeably large sheet with gilded edges onto the board. When his companion finishes the noble man seems to take a deep breath as he turns to address the various people walking past. "Hear ye, hear ye! The Lord's Alliance is seeking brave adventurers to quell the danger that plagues this area! You will be rewarded handsomely and given proper honors for your service!"

Having made his proclamation his gaze sweeps once across the marketplace before he turns with a flourish of his half-cape, heading inside the hall with his companion in tow. When they leave a few people seem to crowd around the ad they had posted, before murmuring amongst themselves in low, concerned voices.
 
Although she should perhaps not have been as bold as she was, there was little she could do to quell that fire. Helm demanded, after all, a boldness of his followers. Protection was something offered to all, and it needed to be handed to those that were unable to take it for themselves. As such, as does not waver in the suspicious gaze of the man, and a similar smile soon crosses her own face as she seems pleased with the fact that she is one of Helm’s clerics.

The paladin is clearly energetic at the idea of one of Helm’s here, and it is in that moment that Maris realizes she may have stepped a bit too quickly into something she doesn’t fully understand. No doubt, though, Helm will provide the answers she needs in time. Just as he always does to his faithful. “Of course,” she nods in agreement. “I have been traveling for some time, though; away from temples such as this and doing a sort of independent service to Helm. Spreading his name, you see, to those that have not had the opportunity to hear of him and his work before.”

She shakes the hand easily, giving as firm a grip as she can, despite the fact that it pales in comparison to Theodor’s. He is by far the stronger of the two, and she stands a little straighter as a result of this uneven match. “Maris Sevail, and it is a true—an absolute pleasure.” Her sentence only hitches a moment, and she glances for a moment at Chauntea and then back to the paladin. “Werewolves, you say?” Stepped too quickly, indeed.
 
Gerosh was assaulted once more by the cacophony of incredibly strange smells, sounds, and people. The monk tugged his hood further down as he was jostled by the crowds sticking close by the simple half-orc. He figured would be good to have someone strong when they inevitably had to start fighting some werewolves, but he also found himself enjoying some nonhostile company. He checked up on Scout as the puppy snuggled between his armor and wrap, a brilliant grin threatening his usually impassive face.

"I think this is it." He placed a discrete hand on Boros motioning him to wait while he scanned the sheet, "The bartender was right, they are recruiting for a werewolf hunt." The dragonborn tapped the gilded edges with a scaly finger, his curiosity peeked, "Shall we go in? It might be dangerous and we could still turn back."
 
Boros gets to the edge of the crowd reading the sign, and looks over their heads at the summons. He looks at the sheet with an annoyed and determined expression on his face, almost like he's suspicious of it. He says to himself at his usual "discrete" volume... "W, A, N, T, E, D. Waaaaannnteeeddd? Wanted. A, D, V..." He stops when Gerosh steps in and does the reading. "Boros had stupid writing beat!" He grumbles to himself. As Gerosh finishes reading, the half orc replies "Boros is here for werewolf hunt. Is Punch Man coming?" After he says that, Boros starts walking towards where the man disappeared.
 
Gerosh patted the giant man on the back, "I know you did, buddy." He followed the half-orc inside feeling incredibly out of place in this busy place. 'How many people could even fit into one building!' The dragonborn thought incredulous as he almost bumped into yet another person.

He tucked in his arms closer to himself trying to love smaller and walked behind Boros further in. He will let him do the talking for now since they had shared goals. The less he talked to people, the less they remembered him, and that was best for everybody involved,
 
"Will do." Dmitri flashes another grin at his employer, then turns to the barkeep. "We're heading over to the guild hall now. Thanks for all your help." He smiles and turns back to Griswolde. "Shall we?"

Soon enough, they arrive at the guild hall and as soon as they enter, and Dmitri is on the watch for anything out of the ordinary or suspicious. It was always good to watch one's own back. Especially with the life changing situation he experienced a few months ago. He bends down and begins to fiddle with his boot laces. They're completely tight and well adjusted, of course, but it gives him the opportunity to see how people react... or don't. No information is often times as useful as information itself.
 
Harvest House:

"Ah yes, of course, every faith needs its independent followers and disseminaters of the good word. My sister was like that as well, our entire family is very devoted to the faith you see." Theodor pulls back his hand after a few seconds of a firm grip, and looks up and down seeming to evaluate Maris. After a moment he nods to himself in approval. "Not the hardiest of warriors I see, but I am confident in your abilities.I will be adjourning with the representatives from the Lord's Alliance promptly after I make my rounds. I have been made aware that they hope to set out tonight, if possible."

"You mean the meeting they're having right around... now?" the other cleric of Chauntea pipes up, gesturing outside the open temple doors where a crowd could be seen gathering around the guildmaster's hall down the street. It seemed that a regal looking man had called the crowd together before disappearing into the hall proper. "Don't tell me you happened to conveniently miss the announcements they were shouting all morning long."

Theodor freezes in his tracks, considering what the woman had said. Then he puts a hand to his head and quickly fumbles around for his pack, slinging it on his shoulder. "... By the gods! Why didn't you tell me earlier! We have to set out at once!" Without waiting for a reaction Theodor takes Maris's hand and promptly sets out the door, rushing back to the guildmaster's hall unless she pulls away. "We can recruit more later but it would be a terrible first impression to be tardy! These people are very important you know!"

The other cleric breathes a sigh of relief when they're finally gone, sitting back in a nearby chair and resting her eyes. "That's... enough loudness for today..."
 
Guildmaster's Hall:

Passing by the noticeboard (which seems to turn a lot of interested readers away and back onto the streets) the interior of the Guildmaster's Hall is simply massive, opening up to a massive common room through which many people are passing through in all sorts of directions. It's clearly a multi-purpose establishment -- along with merchants and diplomats and craftspeople going about their business you also notice a group of elderly citizens being escorted inside for an event, a flustered gnome mother trying to organize a group of excited children in scout uniforms, and a younger man with a shawm playing upbeat melodies for tips. More than a few town guards are stationed around the perimeter, keeping an eye out for any troublemakers.

As each of you enter and seem to look around, lost on where to go, you eventually spot a series of signs that direct you towards the "WEREWOLF MEETING, PELLINGTON BALLROOM", leading you down a small hallway until you come across a set of open double doors and peek inside.

It's a small, yet fairly clean ballroom with decent lighting from a pair of windows that point to the market outside. The regal man from before is busy setting up a podium to speak from (rather, getting his assistant to do it for him) as a table to his side seems to be populated by a few officials -- one young woman dressed in a fine dark purple dress, along with several older people who seem to be crafters by trade that seem to converse amongst themselves.

In front of the podium are scattered chairs of various shapes and sizes, several of which are already populated by other adventurers: a tall human in bright festive clothing and a lute to his side; a thinner dark-skinned half-elf clutching her longbow cautiously; a stoic earth genasi in heavy chainmail passively looking in front of him; and a stout dwarf in patchwork armor with a large twisted staff by her side and a couple stray twigs in her thick hair. There's no specific seating arrangement, and they all seem to be fairly separated from each other just to fill the space of the room.

"Are you almost done yet, boy?" Notes the regal man at the podium, seeming quite bored. "The speech isn't going to give itself, you know." The assistant nods quietly but doesn't say anything as he continues to try and fiddle with the setup.
 
As Boros enters the hall with Gerosh and Scout in tow, the sights and sounds momentarily overwhelm him. He spots one of the signs and walks over. "W, E, R, wer... Sounds like Werewolf, good enough for Boros." He follows the signs with the similar set of squiggles to the ballroom, where he sees the same man as outside setting up. He turns to Gerosh, and in his usual not quiet whisper says: "Fancy man is here, we must be in right place." He goes and finds a set of four seats for Gerosh, Scout, and himself. He whispers again: "Boros is excited, he is about to be adventurer!" As he sits in his seat, he's almost bouncing with excitement, and the seats are groaning under his weight.
 
Gerosh follows the large man to the chairs and slowly lowers himself onto one of them as he frantically sweeps the room for signs of impending doom. He places Scout in the chair between him and Boros and glowers under his hood at anyone that dared to come any closer to their section. "Scout, the world is a dangerous place, buddy. Keep your eyes open and, uhm...your ears perked."

He pokes Boros and shrugs pointedly at the podium, "What do you think fart bag is gonna say?"
 
"Boros thinks Fancy Man will say: Werewolf bad, go kill werewolf. BIG money." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hands as he talks about the money, and the chairs protest loudly. "Boros hopes meeting will start soon."
 
This is not necessarily going according to plan, but perhaps it's Helm's plan. In that, she can be confident, if nothing else. She follows along, though she doesn't have much choice as the other cleric is pulling her by the arm towards whatever gathering it is that he's mentioned. She's not entirely sure, but at this point, she's not about to ask. Rather, she follows and for once, stays silent. It's not often that her line of work has her keeping her mouth shut, but it seems appropriate.

As they both enter the guild hall, it's clear that there is about to be some sort of proclamation; one that is undoubtedly related to what she has already heard. But there are two standing to her left that are being obnoxiously loud and she's not entirely sure if she can focus on both at once. With a slight nod of notice to the paladin who still stands to her side, she turns to the others. If she's not mistaken, she saw both of them in the inn earlier in the day.

"Pardon me, but if you would be most kind, I think what the man has to say is quite important. And it would be a shame to miss it on account of idle chatter."
 
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