Yara turned to Miriah, surprised at the young woman's sudden candor. "Well, t'be rightly honest, I'm not sure. Send them to the coroner's for inspection, I'd wager, then bury them. And we haven't found out who he was - just some unlucky little halfling, I'll wager."
At the sight of Forge's familiar, messing on his head, Yara can't help but laugh, hard and loudly. "I think I agree with Gears, on that account," she said, then hurried off to get a bowl and washcloth for Forge.
The door to the pub opened and five young patrons entered, talking amongst themselves. At their head was a handsome young man dressed in the silken shirts and ornate pants that marked the nobility. Unruly straw blond hair framed a clean-shaven face that held boyishly good looks. His eyes were a light grey, almost to be colourless; but they held a playful glint to them. Beside him was a small elvin lass whose jet black hair was complemented by a forest-green toga. Aery recognized her as a music classmate, Piper Leafsinger. Following the pair were two young men who wore the finery and arrogant smirk of lordlings, and oddly enough, a young man dressed in the white robes and gold cap of a young monk of Arcos.
"You are quite persistant," Piper was telling the blonde man who dogged her steps, her silver eyes surveying him severely. "But I am still uninterested in your party. Perhaps another time. Or better yet, perhaps another person." She noticed Aery, and then changed course to walk directly over to him. "Aerandir, there you are. I have matters I would discuss with you."
"Keep the invitation!" the blonde man called after her. He shrugged momentarily, then seemed to realize for the first time where he was. Spying Miriah at her seat, he marched over to her a large grin on his face. "Lady Miriah, isn't it? May I sit down? Of course I may," he answered his own question, sliding in smoothly across from the young mage. He studied her features for a few moments, still grinning and then chuckled. "You don't recognize me, do you?" he finally said.
The three remaining men took a seat at the bar, regarding the others with a look of curiosity. Only the man in the monkish attire was bold enough to ask, however. "Pardon me, Master dwarf, but you were there when Longstock caught the alleged murderer, weren't you? You saw the latest victim?" He sniffs the air for a moment, looking about. His gaze ends atop Forge's head. "Do you know there are... owl droppings on your head?"