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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Systole" data-source="post: 6086034" data-attributes="member: 93930">"Sure thing, gents," Mallack says.  It doesn't take him long to whip up supper: pork chops, potatoes with bacon, greens with ham.  And if there's one thing the man knows, it's clearly how to turn smelly pigs into tasty, tasty food.The night passes mostly uneventfully.  There are howls of wolves in the distance, but the torches that Mallack has set up around the pigpens seem to keep them away.  When you awake, you are surprised to realize that you've acclimated to the smell somewhat - it's still overpowering when you stop to think of it, but apparently your noses have made the first step in adjusting.  When you rise slightly before dawn, you find that Mallack has already made breakfast.  This time it's a bit of hard bread and an egg or two, alongside thick slabs of bacon and ham, and plump pork sausages.It's about dawn when you finish and ready yourselves to set off for the tower, and the sound hits you first, before the smell does.  The pigs suddenly start squealing and running around frantically in their pens, digging in the muck for some way to escape.  A moment later, the reason for their agitation comes drifting on the wind: an rancid, unnatural stench on a wholly different level from the odor of the pigs.  Even with your partially acclimatized sense of smell, it nearly makes you gag.  Mallack simply snorts and nods grimly.  "Aye, that's it.  That's what I've been complain' about.  Won't get the pigs to breed with that about."<img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/ivio_150_zpsfde60585.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />...... Ivio Mallack ......</blockquote>

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