He grimaced and winced in sympathy for every painful move the other made. It was written all over the bag-of-bones’s face that he was not doing well, that he was on the brink of collapse and that he probably had contracted some horrible disease along the way too. A disease that would probably take his life in as painful and terrible and most drawn-out way as possible. It was both sad and pathetic, and probably very little that the man could have done about it. When the gods started heaping shit upon you, they really did a good job of it.<br/><br/>“Not really, but nowhere’s safe.” Wyl grinned. “However, you do have a nice point there, darlin’, a good brain in your noggin’. We’ll move over to the old stall. That’ll give us some shelter as long as we don’t make much noise or light candles. Not only that, but it’ll let us sit up all proper like, and – this here’s the kicker – the powder will still hide our scents adequately. Those hounds will be wary after their first brush with it, but better be safe than sorry, savvy? C’mon.”<br/><br/>Bending down he quickly picked up both trays and, displaying an inhuman speed and grace, Wyl scampered the few steps over to the remains of the stall. There was nothing inside except mud and plants that had started to grow, and Wyl didn’t bother looking around for something to sit on or place the trays on. Instead he folded his legs and simply sank down in one smooth move, without spilling more of the mead, and then put the two trays in front of him.<br/><br/>“Knock yourself out, darlin’, more than enough here to feed a king. Besides, you look like you seriously need to eat like a king for a couple of meals. Or ten. Honestly, how long’s it been since you had anythin’ to eat? I’ve seen slaves look better than you do. Now, dig in.” He gestured at the food.<br/><br/>Picking up a piece of lamb and biting into it, Wyl hummed lightly in delight. It was soft and well-cooked, barely a day old, practically fresh meat. Not only that but it was lightly seasoned and even slightly warm despite the coolness of the night. Next came a sip from the mead, and he licked his lips at the taste before grabbing for a small pie on his tray and biting into it.<br/><br/>“Mmm, the pigeon pie is divine.” He licked his fingers clean of the juices, before brushing them dry on his clothes. “Not too bad at all, I must say. Just spiced enough, the mead adds a sweetness and the inn must’ve gotten a new cook since I visited last. The old one’s good, but this? Now this is excellent eatin’, darlin’.”<br/><br/>Wyl leaned forwards as if to impart a great secret to this bag-of-bones in front of him. “If you wanna eat good here in Elenburg – or anywhere in the immediate vicinity – you go to the Raunchy Cockerel. They don’t even watch the food all that well in the kitchens, so it’s easy to get some without bein’ seen. And it creates scarcity to drive the prices up for the innkeeper, and saves you money. Economic all around, no?”<br/><br/>Not only that, but sitting in the inn itself allowed you to hear all sorts of juicy gossip and rumours about certain precious maps. Of course, Wyl probably wouldn’t be able to return here to Elenburg for the next decade without Crast trying to chop his head off – unless someone chopped Crast’s head off first, which was quite likely – but if all went well then that would be a small price to pay. Gods, if all went well then Wyl would be able to buy all of Elenburg if he wanted to.