For Yarith, saving a poor elf on the street, alone and starving, was part of her creed.  She wouldn't be responsible for the death of a good person, even if his priorities were misguided.  Everyone deserved<em>something</em>,<em>some</em>kind of company, and coin would not always be there.  She simply hadn't expected Shadowe to follow her to the death.  "Loathe as I am to admit it, money loosens lips, and so we have need of it, lest I fail on my..."  She paused, listening to her companion try and fail to remember the proper word. "Pilgrimage, Shadowe.  Pil. Grim. Age."<br/><br/>"A cursed ruin outside of the town, which the townsfolk avoid?  Monsters<em>congregating</em>?  I like not the sound of that, if there is some basis for it.  Whether it's magic or something else, we must investigate and cleanse it.  I suppose the gold would help, too, though we must be careful for cursed items.  I dare not imagine what evil men could do to a weapon if they had the malice and the mind for it.  I have need of my armor and weapons back at the inn before we set out, but I am healed enough to join you.  You were quick enough on your feet to save me from death's door, and for that, I thank you.<br/><br/>Yarith followed Shadowe's gaze to the rather angry-looking dwarf, a barman if she ever did see one.  He was the very image of a rowdy patron, with his rolled up sleeves and undone collar.  He seemed...quite upset with the two of them, but it was easy to see why after he ran his mouth just a little more.  With a look of disbelief, she stared at the elf.  "Are you serious?  You<em>didn't</em>...Oh, please tell me you didn't...<em>kiss her?</em>And her father found out?  I fear he may be more of a danger than the demon prince."  She sighed, covering her face with her hands, peeking only through the spaces between her fingers to watch the bartender.