Fimble McGee, Gnome Illusionist
OOC: Oh yeah, we're all smelly.
IC: Fimble also takes a bath. He fusses over his torn cloak, but there's nothing he can do about it now, so he ignores it, figuring he'll take it to a tailor after the whole fiasco is over with. He expresses some concern to the others about Drezel, "If he's the leader of a small organized crime group, he knows where we're staying, and he has people to send to... you know, kill us! In our sleep!" The last few words are barely audible squeaks. The little gnome was feeling brave in the sewers with the dead rats around him, but now back on the surface, he's strangely not so confident. If the others have no concerns (or simply say there's nothing to be done to prevent an attack except be extra watchful), Fimble accepts their advice and goes to his private room, exhausted and hungry, but more tired than anything else.