Veronica
Prince Nickles
Lady Corndana's House of Extra Delight, Iron Gate 

Prince Nickles blinked his infected eyes, savoring the deep burn that slowly spread to the back of his skull. "WHO'S READY TO GET ABSOLUTELY BAUBLED?!" The boy shrieked to the empty, fire lit room. He proceeded to pour of a pitcher of sour milk onto the rat that had the misfortune of passing under his stool. The rat scurried away, sopping wet and trailing milk behind it. "A mess. You've made a mess. You will clean it up before our customers arrive, Benlinsa. We will not be sloppy, we will not be sludgy. I would rather die than be viewed as slipshod and bedraggled due to your bungling," Nickles chided gently. He slipped off of his stool and walked over to the rat that had resorted to cowering in the corner. Nickles approached slowly. The rat took off toward the adjacent corner. 
"Well, there's no need to have the runs, I am peaceful and— NO, YOU DO NOT DO THAT! BENLINSA!" Nickles screamed in agony as the rat walked into the crackling fireplace. 

With a high shriek and a puff of smoke, Benlinsa was gone for good.
Carol
Arin Cragton
Iron Gate

Arin shivered. "Why the fuck Cap got me all the way out here? It's so fuckin cold." Arin said to himself, blowing his breath into his fingers trying desperately to feel his fingers again. Captain had sent him to meet with some bandit group who had sent word of a score waiting somewhere in Northwind, and of course Arin had to be the one to check it out. Arin shivered again as he walked through the streets. He was told to keep walking, that he would eventually find the guy, but Arin was well and truly lost. 

"Oi sonny. If yer lookin' fer a good time head on down ta Lady Corndana's! A fine man like yerself wud enjoy it. There's a weird fuckin' boy up in der but he don't hurt nobody." An old drunk man yelled at him, but it piqued Arin's curiosity. He followed the man's directions until he arrived at the location the man had told him about. The door was unlocked, and Arin stepped inside, and was hit with a wave of refreshing warmth. "Goddamn that feels nice. But what would feel better would be a place for a man to take a piss instead of the cold." Arin said softly to himself.
Veronica
Prince Nickles' attention was diverted from Benlinsa's roasting corpse to the beautiful man who entered his establishment. His eyes glittered and his body was sculpted to perfection. His skin was the most beautiful hue of blue. Nickles clutched his heart and smiled his most dazzling smile. "Prompted by the gods, were you?" Nickles whispered. "Heaven sent. Oh, I have been rewarded smartly for my good behavior." It was fate that brought him the man. Fate, luck, and sheer willing. Nickles picked up the milk pitcher and handed it to the man with quavering hands. His hand brushed against his and sent a shock of thrill down his crooked spine. "Use this for your little piss, my dear. I am quite afraid that we've repurposed the chamber pot into a play pen for Sister Agatha's infants." 

He waited and watched eagerly.
Carol
Arin Cragton
Northwind

Arin shook his head. "No gods sent me here, unless the old drunk was a god, and I am very sure he wasn't. What god would smell like piss?" Arin said, before reaching and taking the pitcher from the child, and the smell of rotten milk hit his nose. He noticed the burning rat and opened his mouth to say something before changing his mind. He managed a smile and grimaced. "Thank you." He said, before turning and relieving himself. He went and poured it out outside and looked at the boy as he scrubbed his hands with snow and a rag from his pocket. "Interesting. Your speech so.. Refined for a child. How old are you, anyways?" He said, having a seat nearby. His skin was turning back into its olive tone, and Arin shivered one final time. "I'm Arin, by the way." He said, lifting his hand to shake. Arin wasn't perturbed by the child's look, he was used to much worse. Every warning sign was ignored, and Arin stayed where he was.
Veronica
Prince Nickles snatched back the milk pitcher and walked to the other side of the bar as the man sat down. "What god doesn't smell like piss?" He asked, refilling the milk pitcher and pouring a tall glass for the man. He began to prepare a tray of tarts and jams. "I suppose one could say that I am just over four years of age," Nickles answered as he spread black jam on a piece of burnt bread. He held it out. "Take it. Nourish those strong bones."
A steady knocking could be heard up from the second floor, followed by a heavy thud. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. Nickles, however, ignored the sound and merely stared at the man. "Tell me your name and tell me the worst thing that has ever happened to you," Nickles leaned in and whispered. "Tell me the worst thing and I guarantee that I can make it go away. Forever."
Carol
Arin Cragton
Northwind

Arin frowned, but took the glass and left it sitting. "I guess I see things differently. I would hope the gods I serve smell better than I do, otherwise why are they considered better than me?" Arin asked, leaning and taking the bread. "Unfortunately, I am cursed. I do not remember my past. Nor do I care to uncover it. I have no regrets, no mistakes, and most importantly, I want to change nothing. I am content with my life. But what about you? What sort of secrets does a four year old who speaks with such wisdom hold? Or would I do best not to know..." Arin said, a grin sliding across his face like the sun rising in the morning. "I guess you could say the worst thing that has happened to me would be my memory loss. But it has turned into the best of things. I am not burdened by memories of home like the other men aboard the ships I sail on." Arin said, leaning back into his chair.