<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Skrag and Tiktik</span></span><br/><br/>The assembled guards seem to believe you, although they remain at the ready. One of the men presents himself as the leader, if that could be inferred through the fact that he spoke when the others remained silent. He seems to be of middle age, with a weathered face, slightly sunken eyes, and a dark gray stubble growing from his chin. His armor is clean, and obviously well-maintained, but it bears a number of nicks and dents that indicate a heavy amount of use.<br/><br/>"Very well then, outsider." He begins. "All the same, I'll need you to declare your business. Visitors to the city are required by decree of Bayton Council to register with Customs. You can give the pertinent information to us, if you like, and we'll deliver it for you once we've escorted you through the gate."<br/><br/>Looking from the kobold to the ogre, the man shakes his head, and begins rattling off a list of questions.<br/><br/>"We'll need names for the both of you, where you're coming from, place of birth, your business in the city, and a list of any materials - magical or mundane - that you're bringing into the city. False reports are punishable by a period of no less than one night in custody, magical items are permitted, but must be registered in the interest of public safety."<br/><br/>The rest of the riders seem bored at this point, and have moved off to the side of the road, swords still bare and laid across their laps. They keep an eye on the both of you, and they hold their reins in their off hands.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Ian and Sheema</span></span><br/><br/>Both of your wounds have been healed, and any toxins purged from your bodies by the divine magic of the Cuthbertine clerics. They thank you for your patience, as well as your service to the town.<br/><br/>On your way to the inn, you are greeted by a few members of the half-elf community. It would seem that word has spread quickly of Ian's earlier deeds. Several excited individuals attempt to come up with heroic nicknames for you, eventually settling on "Spiderbane." A number of them also ask if they can buy drinks for you.<br/><br/>You stand before the King's Chalice Inn, one of the newer establishments of it's kind and already growing in popularity. It boasts fine dinner entertainment in the form of classically trained bards, excellent fare catering to those desiring seafood or more typical meats. They even offer vegetarian dishes, in accordance with the wishes of a number of elven residents.<br/><br/>Recently, a number of serving girls have been being harassed as of late. The abuse seems to go beyond the normal flirting and half-hearted groping attempts, as at least two or three of them have quit, and gone to work elsewhere. They refuse to make statements about the assailants, and none of the guests, patrons or employees seem to know anything. Some have attributed it to a sort of mass hysteria, but none of the local healers have been able to confirm the validity of that claim.<br/><br/>It hasn't affected business yet, but every few weeks, Bayton's night silence will be disturbed by a hysterical server running through the streets, most often seeking refuge at the church. Eamon, the proprietor, is becoming increasingly desperate for a solution to the problem.