<em>Who is this man that his wolfish eyes could so openly feast themselves on my form? </em>He couldn't fully tell if the look the blond man was giving him stemmed entirely from lust, or if there was something different involved. The Widow had just spent a lot of money, which he knew could draw the attention of a rake or cutthroat. None the less he had little to fear from either.<br/><br/>For a man with such an unremitting gaze the short blond had a pleasing voice and composure. His bearing was much greater than his size. The Widow sipped the rum he had ordered. Letting it sit on his tongue as he tasted the different things that went into it. Certainly the slaves on the sugar plantations could have cares less about the romantic ideals given to imported liquor. It was so beautiful  that generations of sentient beings had lived and died for nothing more then providing a few moments of sweetness on the tongue. What was even more delightful is that the very mentality of suffering and subjugation could infuse a being enough that they could end up pressing the juices out of ectoplasmic sugar cane in the fields of the undeworld, forever. Why could the neverborn not appreciate such miracles?<br/><br/>“It is a good evening isn't it?” The widow gave his companion a smile. He noted how expressionate the other man was, not like the dead who seemed to always have one very powerful feeling. The living could mix them so well. “I'm here to bet on horse races. You see it's good luck where I come from to keep betting on horses until you win. Once your horse wins you reward them with a virgin to deflower. Then they are both ritually slaughtered and their blood collected for the communal bath. This final act not only serves to bring the community closer together, but also helps guard against chapped skin during the wintertime.” The sarcasm in The Widow's statement was obvious, but his expression remained completely deadpan during the absurd recitation. The black exaltation had given the illustrious death knight a highly inappropriate sense of humor.<br/><br/>The initially meaningless friendly grin the Widow has displayed curled on his face into an expression of sly insinuation. “I need all the holy blessings I can get you know. I plan on seeing the truth behind these rumors of wealth and power stored in the cavernous underdark.  Relics that are apparently well guarded but not used.” He paused to take another sip of his rum. The widow had to make an active effort to keep his tentacles from jumping out of his coat as he spoke. When he was at ease they always moved about punctuating what he said in tune with his feelings.<br/><br/>The Widows eyes were drawn to an imposing looking man who had entered. He was tall like the widow himself but significantly more sturdy. The man looked so out of place. Even the outfit he wore looked like it existed for utilitarian purposes. The Widow stayed facing the large man, but he spoke to the one at his side. “Whatever the case may be, there is<em>something</em>down there. The possibility of  a civilization more then merits a venture.”<br/><br/>Bending his shoulders behind him, The Widow reclined on the edge of the bar. “I may get apathetic at times but I am never bored. Do you live locally? My retinue and I are mired up in one of the local hotels. I wont be here much longer though, there is little reason to dally.”