[sblock=Alysina]The hospital is easy enough to find, it’s more or less exactly where Friend said it would be. A large and old looking stone building, judging by the classical architecture it may once have been a temple of some kind. Regardless, it’s seen better days; the stone is old and dark, chipped away in various places, some of the pillars surrounding the entrance have practically collapsed. Graffiti tags denoting various gangs cover the outside walls and the smell of death fills your nostrils even from out here.
Once inside and out of the rain an elderly and thoroughly irritated looking halfling nurse greets Alys. She doesn’t appear to have a dragonmark of any description, presumably she’s one of the lower ranking drudges tasked with the night shift.
“Visiting hours are over…” She says curtly. “…And you don’t look like you’re dying, so come back tomorrow.” She stands there glaring at Alysina, as if trying to will her out of the door through sheer force of will. Looking past the nurse, you see numerous patents suffering everything from broken bones to various disfiguring diseases, most fitfully asleep or else quietly moaning in pain. You don’t see Friend or his master, though given his obvious status it’s not entirely surprising he’s not in the public ward.[/sblock]
[sblock=Weapon]His companions having abandoned him, Weapon takes up his silent vigil amidst the rain and burning debris. Aside from the occasional loud crashing sounds as the support structures of the house give way it is a largely boring watch. Eventually the rain overcomes the worst of the fire and the triumphant fire fighters disperse for congratulatory drinks, or in the more unfortunate cases to return to work. The house behind Weapon is still burning, and now partially collapsed, but the flames have died down considerably.
Several minutes pass. Eventually a larger detail of the city watch arrive. Unlike the overworked and thoroughly apathetic individuals who’ve been overseeing the bucket chains, these watchmen seem much more motivated, and it soon becomes obvious why. Standing amongst them, barking orders at the new arrivals and forcefully interrogating the coppers already present is a young, athletic human with noble-looking features and the Mark of the Sentinel branded on the back of his right hand. A Sentinel Marshal of house Deneith. The watchmen he questions appear frantic, answering his bombardment of questions with panicked replies and occasional gestures in Weapon’s direction. It’s not long before the Marshal stomps over to where Weapon is standing.
“You there! Warforged!” He barks. “What is your purpose here?” [/sblock]
[sblock=Everyone Else]You make your way across the docks, bodies in tow, avoiding the main roads in favour of the largely unpatrolled back streets. The watch at the fire may not have been in the mood for curiosity but that’s no reason to take chances. Eventually you make it Flynn’s tavern, the Randy Bugbear, a large wooden building several blocks away from the waterfront. The name says it all really, and even at this hour it’s doing a roaring trade among the nocturnal races, judging by the sounds of drunken revelry and the slow but steady flow of unconscious humanoids being thrown out the door by the warforged bouncer. Given the obvious number of customers you get the feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to take the bodies in via the front entrance.[/sblock]
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