Aura wouldn't have minded seeing a sculpture of Myrna's...she was tempted to ask, but since they could be heavy things, it occured to her the dwarf might've had to leave them behind when she fled home, which the elf wasn't sure if she ought to poke out this moment.<br/><br/><em>Sculptish flesh?</em>Aura had to suppress a giggle - it'd given her a naughty thought before Myrna explained that her uncle was a golem-maker; she'd wondered for a moment if he were a masseuse or lothario or gigolo. She mentally giggled again, biting her tongue and feeling irreverent for it when she thought the mutually sorrowful subject of fled homes surfaced again for the dwarf. Golems were something else she mentally jotted to ask about later. She'd heard about them of course, but she didn't think she'd ever seen one - maybe some 'statue' back home was and she'd just never been so informed?<br/><br/>She surveyed the tavern, hall, and district her escort pointed out. She nodded to Myrna; the Broken Scabard did indeed seem the more upscale establishment. As if to confirm this, a well-dressed and unathletic fellow, perhaps some merchant, darted out the front door and around the side of the inn to vomit into an alley.<br/><br/>"Looks like you're right," Aura told Myrna, "...and it also looks like these community pillars are made of the same stuff, underneath!"<br/><br/>Aura lifted her nose ot turn it away from the new smell, and she caught the watery, muddy, and faintly fishy whiff from the direction of the town dock. "This was a river town, wasn't it?" she asked.<br/><br/>Then her eyes widened yet again. A crazy-bearded old man waddled along the street, muttering to himself, the dark sun of Cyric painted crudely on his forehead. He held a makeshift sign; words painted on a thin old wooden plank: "THE NEW MOWNTAN WIL CONSOOM US - PRUF THE END IS NIGH!"