His heart slightly lifted at the idea of swiping some of Bronn’s money, at least, that's what he told himself he did to help recover his wounded pride. Devin had a bit of a skip back to his step. His band had made their way through the mess of people and strolled into the Darkmeat District.

He smiled as familiar sights, smells, and sounds filled him. The buildings were built with little concern for any code or regulation, some leaning heavily to the side as if they were ready to topple. Most were made of the near black wood harvested from the forest nearby. It was cheap and readily available to those with little other options.

The streets were a mess of mud and muck. The sour smell of waste, both human and otherwise, mixed with the tang of sweat and earthiness of the clay that made the roads. Devin breathed deep and smiled, it smelled like home.

Around him were fewer people than normal, most were at the Parade. Other guilds would follow Bronn’s carriage, but none would be even close to the extravagance he had provided. One day, he would lead that parade, Devin thought wistfully.

Vendors barked their wares at the group as they walked by. None caught Devin’s attention, but he was forced to pull Teryn from a merchant claiming to sell the Bottomless Horn of Thrym himself, capable of more mead than any mortal creature could drink in a lifetime.

“Even if it was a fake, it was a beautiful horn to drink out of. My guess was wendigo, the way it curled,” Teryn grumbled to herself, her eyebrows knit together and falling out from behind her ears. She reached up and brushed them back, tucking them back out of the way.

“I’ll buy you a mead when we get to the tavern, a damn good one too,” Devin cooed.

She nodded and her brow unknit, just a little bit. Murton perked up at the offer of free mead and wandered over, away from a stall full of what can only be described as junk that would be no other man's treasure.

“If the half elf gets some free drink, I want some too. It’s only fair!”

Griff sauntered up behind the dwarf and nodded.

“Fair enough, a round of drinks on me. Middle of the shelf stuff too, your choice. I can’t let you bankrupt me before we pay rent and dues.” Devin smiled. The group wandered off again away from the makeshift market as the dirt avenue turned a corner.

On their right, sitting at the inside of the curve, sat the Good Fortunes tavern. The name was something of a misnomer. As far as Devin knew, no one in the history of this tavern who stayed here, had ever found good fortune. Most had actually ended up worse off than before they came here. Still, it was cheap, and it beat living on the streets or a dockside warehouse.

The building itself was not in too terrible of shape, considering what was around them. It was made of the same ebony wood that was found everywhere in Darkmeat, dark and with a twisted grain interspersed with a pale yellow. This coloration brought out joking comparisons to the fatty and oily tasting dark meat of the Moa, thus giving the district its name. The tavern was three stories tall, and all the windows had a locking mechanism and shutters that closed. That alone was more than the other taverns around here could claim.

Devin led his band into the Good Fortunes tavern and took in his home. The stained floor creaked with each step, giving small squeals of protest under each boot, as if crying out that this would be the last boot it ever accepted. The tables scattered throughout the middle of the floor and booths along the walls were a lighter wood, like oak from the northern forests. Whale oil lamps hissed at each table, scenting the air with a slight tang of ocean intermixing with the smell of meat pies being cooked in the kitchen.

Devin nodded to Nell, the middle aged woman behind the bar. She ran the tavern, performing nearly all the duties except cooking, that fell to her husband Dell.

“The usual, Devin?” Nell asked.

He shook his head as he walked toward the corner booth, “Not today, give us mid shelf stuff, whatever they decide. I’ll just have a Sarpasian lager.”

“Get me a dry mead,” Teryn said.

“A deep red wine for me, preferably from somewhere in the south. Further south than Sarpasia,” Murton said, nudging Devin.

“Whiskey,” Griff said.

“Any particular type of whiskey?” Nell asked.

Griff paused as the rest of the group headed toward the table. An L shaped booth seat hugged half the table and three chairs flanked the outward side. Devin spun onto a booth seat as Teryn sat beside him. Murton plopped into a chair next to Teryn. Glancing up, Devin saw Griff bent over towards Nell’s ear. The man was turned so he could only see the back of his head, but he was suspicious of how long Griff remained.

Griff stood up straight and Nell nodded. He turned toward the group and took the seat next to Devin, the chair groaning under his weight, leaving the middle chair empty. He eyed the group with a flat face. Devin leaned in toward him, one eyebrow raised.

“Were you talking with her Griff, like, actually saying more than a few words together?” He asked.

Griff grunted.

Devin shrugged and leaned back in his booth. He picked at the table absentmindedly as he eyed the empty chair. To his right he caught bits of conversation between Teryn and Murton. It seemed they were arguing over which drink was better.

“Mead is the preferable choice. Even dry it has a hint of sweetness and can be combined with so many different things to create a new product. Fruits, spices, other honeys, and so much more!” Teryn said.

“But wine brings a more complex flavor to the table. Yah cannot sit here with a straight face and tell me a dry mead beats a robust red wine in flavor. Plus, and I say this for yours truly, wine is stronger. It gets you on your ass quicker.” Murton retorted.

Teryn shrugged, “I find the hint of floral notes and lighter flavors to be more complex. Your deep reds come crashing in on a wave of bitterness and pepper to assault my palate.”

Murton chuckled, “I’ll give you that, my reds can be a tad strong. I didn’t want to have to use it but I am playing my trump card. Mead is just wine made from honey, therefore, wine is better.”

Teryn opened her mouth to retort but, thankfully, Nell arrived with their drinks. She plopped the drinks down and everyone grasped for theirs eagerly. Teryn and Murton both took loud, long gulps of their wines. Griff had received two small shot glasses, one a dark brown, near to the table in color, and one a light almond. He picked up both, eyed them, and drank both at once. He let them stay in his mouth, a rare smile forming, and slouched down in the chair as he swallowed.

“Ahhh…” He let out.

Devin shook his head and sipped at his beer. He liked the desert folks beers. Unlike their wines, which tended to be nearly as robust as Murton’s reds, their beer was light, airy, and with a hint of sweet against the bitter hops. A small sigh escaped and he regarded his group. They were alive. Sweet, sweet gods above they were alive. It was a shame what happened to Gideon, but that was a risk you took as a mercenary for hire. In fact they should-

“Gods dammit Devin Tenfingers!!”

The group jumped at Nell’s sudden shout. She was standing beside Griff, hands on her hips, with a scowl so fierce it could tame a wild wyvern.

“What-” he started before she cut him off.

She pointed at his waist, finger quivering in rage. “Is that a severed goblin head on my booth cushions?”

Devin’s eyes went wide, he had completely forgotten he had the ugly bastards head tied to his waist. After walking back for hours with it, it sort of just became another thing he was carrying.

“Nell, I am so sorry. If there’s any damage, I’ll fix it. Better, I’ll pay for it.” He said.

“Just get it out of here!”

He nodded and stood up. Heading toward the stairs he started to untie the head.

“Don’t you dare set it on the bed or anything in your room, Tenfingers! Wrap it up and put it away somewhere it won't stain my stuff. Put it in your underdrawers for all I care!” She hollered up after him as he ascended the staircase.

Devin returned to the table, a sheepish grin on his face and the goblin head securely stowed in his trunk, wrapped in a waterproof oilcloth. He glanced at the booth cushion and didn’t find any stains.

Teryn nudged him as he sat down, “Lucky it seemed to have bled out during our walk and the parade.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Devin answered with a glance toward Nell. She shot him a dirty look and he winced slightly.

“All right group, it seems we find ourselves needing a new ranger. Again,” he stated.

Each of the other members nodded as they drank. He noticed Griff had a dark beer now and Teryn was on her third cup of wine. Nell strode over and dropped off a fourth for Teryn who accepted it with relish. She clanked down another beer for Devin roughly, causing a small amount to splash onto his arm. Murton stifled a chortle.

“Eh, she’ll be ok by morning,” Devin said as he wiped his arm down with a rag. “She always is. Anyways, back to business. We need a ranger. Preferably one who does not die.”

“You said that the last time,” Murton said.

“That you did,” agreed Teryn.

Griff grunted and gave a small nod, his eyes on Devin.

“But this time, I really mean it,” he started.

“Said that too.”

“Same tone and everything.”

Griff grunted again.

“Fine! But we are going to get a reputation if they keep dying, and that’s hoping we don't already have one. We need a fifth member soon and one that has to be a ranged weapons specialist, as per mandate from the Silver Queen,” Devin said.

The group murmured in unison, “May Her silver never tarnish.” They touched their right pointer finger to their shoulders, right to left, before tapping their chin.

“Now, while I deal with our rent and dues, I want you three to start drawing up an ad for us to get our fifth member. Hopefully, if we get it done and hung soon enough, we can get a new member and pick up a new contract before the week ends,” Devin said, taking another sip of his beer.

“Speaking of dues Tenfingers, a messenger came for you earlier today from the Queen herself.” Nell piped up from behind the bar as she wiped out mugs. “You also owe me rent for your month as well.”

“Ah shit,” Devin swore. He took the rest of his mug of beer down in one large gulp and stood up. “You three make up that ad, I am going to go pay our dues to the Queen.”

“Good luck to ya,” Murton waved at him.

“Please come back this time, we don’t want to pay your bail, fees, and all our other dues,” Teryn smiled slyly.

“That was one time! The stupid guard wouldn’t let me in to pay our dues. What was I supposed to do? Jail for all of us if I didn’t pay, or push him aside and pay it and just jail for me?”

“And that's why we bailed you out, lad. Now get off and make sure we can still operate,” Murton waved at Nell. “Also, another round of red for me!” The flush of starting to creep under his bronzed skin showed the wine already setting in.

Devin gave the group a nod and walked up the stairs. After retrieving the goblin head, he headed back down and out the door. Night had fallen and large torches burned unevenly around the streets. Lucky for him, it was a cloudless night with a full moon, illuminating all of Darkmeat District in its filthy, poverty stricken glory. He sucked in a deep lungful of piss-tainted air and strode off into the night, exactly when the city comes alive.