Strangely, as the not-so-dynamic duo left the store an abnormal calm had befallen the city. T'was still midday and the streets should have been packed with customers, tourists, servants and would be pickpockets. To even Wrenn's astonishment, the streets were almost befitting that of a ghost town.<br/><br/>Before they had left, Viloet's bodyguard was her shadow - what could fit in her shadow anywho. Now he staggered into the street looking around in bewilderment. "I don't understand it." Came the clichéd exclamation.<br/><br/>Just as Wrenn was questioning his sanity, a crowd poured into the street from a large structure. They all seemed disgruntled and too preoccupied with their anger to pay Wrenn or the diminished Viloet any mind. "I can't believe they tried to pass that piss off as ale!" Cried a dwarf. As insulting as they usually were of human beer, such a comment was common, though someone else added "If you're turning it down, it must really BE piss."<br/><br/>Even over the awful din of the restored city, either by halfling heritage, divine providence or DM fiat, Viloet could distinctly hear the obvious 'WHANG!' of cold iron in the direction the big unruly mob had come from. It was paid as little heed as the two bystanders were.