And Marcus, what's this about the rats?
"It's Marco. Mar-co," says the hunchbacked halfling.
He mutters to himself,
"Between you and Mr. Finnian...oh, dear! I think I shall have to provide you with cue cards, so that you can make the proper endorsements for my business."
Marco catches himself and beams a positively delightful, yet embarassed, yet apologetic, yet likeable smile.
"So sorry, it's been a day of surprises."
"As for the rats, I'll have to ask my cousin, once he recovers. That gentleman there used to be a priest of Lauto, so I think he'll provide a bit of healing. It shouldn't take long."
The halflings place Marco in his rocking chair. The one Marco identified as a priest makes a pass of his hands. A warm glow suffuses the one-armed halfling, closing several wounds and scabbing over the lesser ones. Cousin Eustace grins at your group.
Rather, he tries to grin at your group.
He's not very good at looking pleasant.
It requires more effort than a grizzly bear attempting to balance an egg on the back of a spoon. And grizzly bears lack opposable thumbs.
"Ahwaell," says Eustace,
"Adael'sadael. Hepmaeyupbuz."
One burly halfling takes Eustace under the shoulder. Another hefts him about the waist. Supported by his two friends, the one-armed halfling limps into his home and beckons for you to follow.
Just through the entryway, you see the living room. From the doilies and frilly curtains, you can tell that--at some time in the past--a woman exerted her influence on the decor. However, the layer of dust tells a different tale.
Above the mantle hangs the head of a young dragon. Though professionally prepared, it shows sign of death by blunt force trauma. One eye is plucked out. A fang is broken.
Beneath the trophy hands a massive broadsword.
Massive even for humans.
The blade is discoloured, blue and magenta, as if exposed to tremendous heat at one time. The leather grip is scorched. You can see bits of flesh, the remains of a hand, charred into the surface.
"Thasth'baesth'tukmaearm," says Eustace,
"An'thasth'swardahwazwaeld'n. N'eryussed'nothaer."
He waves at the sword.
"Waelwh'tyaewaetin'fer? Taek't. Y'wunaetnaetsaefaer'nskwar."