| Just as Alex turns to uncoil his silver spiked chain to protect Ardyth, an orog garbed in leather armor in poor condition hustles up from a narrow side alley between shop fronts and falls into step beside Prixo and K'yorl. With slitted eyes common to the dark-skinned orcs of his breed, the orog snuffles and grunts a whispered greeting in Undercommon. "Yer bein' tailed, an' not jus' fer any ole purpose either. Queastag," and the orog jabs a hairy thumb at his own chest by way of introduction before continuing, "knows a way outta the city, safe from pryin' eyes an' sharp spears. I guide yous and yer friendlies fer 50 gold?" The orog fingers a bolt of spiderhide as he walks, elliciting a glare from a drow merchant as the party passes by. | 
And yet another word from our sponsors
