Anna walks the road, following her short companionthrough the darkness. Dilated eyes remain locked on him as she keeps pace.
Tyrion soon finds himself at the door of a big folk shop, the stone wall smooth and cool in the night air as he presses his forehead to it. In the square behind him, Ol' Stumpy sits squat and fat like an enormous beacon, lit with little lights all along its trunk from the many windows. He barely registers the hand on his shoulder, the dark elf kneeling at his side. Neither speaks for a few seconds before he turns to her.
"...I need a drink." He manages to mumble, turning to the large, wide open doors of Ol' Stumpy. Anna says nothing, taking the halfling's hand as they walk across the street and into the brightly lit hall.
The interior of the inn glows with the light of five fireplaces situated around the edge of the room. A staircase spirals up between two of the fireplaces and curls up to a raised balcony before continuing the spiral even further. At best, Anna guesses there are perhaps ten floors including the ground floor, each balcony containing maybe four or five rooms. Several sets of tables and chairs are scattered about, with a circular bar in the center of the room, a few patrons of varying races currently in to partake. Following Tyrion, she takes a seat at the short bar where a halfling with a thick black beard steps up to the counter. "What can I do ye for, friends?" He asks, setting down a polished glass.
"Two bleeders." Tyrion responds, slapping down a set of shillings.
The bartender raises an eyebrow curiously. "You must be new here. I ain't served bleeders in years." He takes the fresh glass and another like it, pouring a dark red concoction in each along with a lighter colored, almost honey like beverage. Swirling them around with a stirring rod, the halfling serves the drinks. "Here you are. I hope it's still as good as it used to be."
Tyrion takes the dubiously colored mug and chugs a healthy half of it. Both the bartender and Anna look concerned. "Gods, son, ya gotta take it slow. That's not some prissy nobleman's wine you're downin`!"
"I know what it is, and don't call me son." Tyrion huffs, gesturing to the second glass. "Drink up, my friend. It's no fun taking in news like this sober and alone."
"Tyrion-" Anna begins, hand resting on her friend's shoulder as she takes the glass and attempts to sip. The liquid burns her throat, silky smooth as it might be going down, leaving the elf coughing and sputtering. "What in blazes is this? Liquid fire?"
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"It's a bleeder. Goodness, you two really are from out of town." The bartender explains. "Red wine left to age, then mixed with a viscous fluid we around here call 'spiced milk'. Strong, well-seasoned, and able to knock you on your rear just as the Huntress's Chosen do!"
"The Huntress's what now?" Anna tilts her head, and the older halfling looks between them.
"Her Chosen. Those brave souls who follow her Path. Do they not teach you properly wherever you come from?"
"She's from up north." Tyrion chastises, dull blue eyes peering up past his drink at the other halfling. "People still follow the Path, though? I thought they stopped that long ago. Too many failures."
"The call went out two years back, they started rebuilding at the Huntress's temple. They're a hundred strong, last I heard, and-"
"The Huntress's temple? They're there now?" Anna looked to Tyrion, who in turn looked to her.
"Aye, they got a few new folks in a month or so ago, alot of them were from the less fortunate of the city. If they pass, they'll do some good I expect. And if not, that's less mouths to feed-"
"Shut up." Tyrion eyes the bartender, standing from his stool. "You high horsed idiots are the reason the downtrodden have so little, always looking down your noses without trying to actually do anything to improve their station." He turned, walking out as Anna struggled to finish her drink. Getting half of it down with her companion storming off, she set the glass down and waved goodbye before running out after him.
"Tyrion, slow down! It's gonna be ok, she's safe at the temple, right?"
"No, lass, she's not." Tyrion stumbled, catching himself on a bench and taking a seat. "You don't know what it means to be one of the Huntress's Chosen."
"Then why don't you explain it to me?" She sits beside him, taking the little man's hand. "I need to know why you're so agitated by that."
The halfling breathes deep of the night air, the sky behind them on the main thoroughfare shifting with purples and pinks as day begins to break. He wipes at his eyes, shoulders shaking as he sniffles. "Anna, the Huntress's Chosen are-" Something glints in the twilight, catching his eye. He imagines it to be a nocturnal bird flying home to its roost upon a rooftop, but the shape is wrong. As Tyrion focuses his vision on the shape, it seems to be raising something.
"Tyrion!" Anna shouts, pulling him to the ground just as a crossbow bolt slams into the bench where his head had been. She stands again, dipping with him between two buildings just as a voice echoes in her mind.
"Anna, just checking on you guys. Is everything alright?" Amadeo's voice.
She thinks as loud as she can. "Can't talk, got company! Alley near the big tree thing, hurry!" Peering around the corner, she ducks back as another bolt catches the side of her face. "Are you ok?" She turns to Tyrion.
The halfling's fury is evident without even having to ask, as he loads the Gust Shot. "Shooting at me in my own hometown. No, I'm not ok, lass. Time to let off a little steam!"
Standing atop a roof across the way, a cloaked figure reloads a crossbow, pulling a hood up and covering their face with a mask. Dark eyes flash in the twilight as they aim and wait, a dark black substance coating the tip of the bolt they nocked.