Varak continues his meal in silence. Listening to the patter of rain against the sill, the half-orc drains the last of his ale. Opening the window, the wind from the storm blows papers and cloaks around. He sticks the empty mug outside to fill with rainwater. Once full, he drains it, wiping his mouth on his still wet sleeve.
Rain came just often enough in the Demon Wastes to keep things alive. Most of time the water was acidic or poisonous and had to be purified. This rain though...it was clean and refreshing. The warrior didn't mind to be soaked to the bone as he was. Perhaps soon, he'll learn to swim.
He listens to the chatter around him, of murder and races. His income was running out and he needed work. Of the pair the latter had him more interested. He was always faster and stronger than most. The murders were unfortuneate but he needed gold to continue to hunt to demon. Unless the murderer was a demon of course.
The half-orc clears his throat, but his voice was still raspy. Too many years in The Wastes. "Tell me of these murderers. How is it they were killed? Blade, magic, or claw?"
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