Check out the tavern

It took Aaralon longer than he wanted to find the tavern the streetwalker had told him about. It was a frustration as the trail was growing cold and his tracking skills weren't very good but he was a stranger in this town.

After nearly three quarters of an hour of looking around the seedy part of the trader town he found it; The Rams Head.

The light was fading from the sky when Aaralon pushed open the door to be greeted by the smell of stale ale and hay. The Rams Head was a dive. Despite being in a fairly wealthy town the tavern had no real floor, just hay and sawdust on the floor to soak up the mud. It was busy though.

At the end of the room stood the bar and behind the bar waited a giant of a man. Aaralon had seen real giants in his divining lessons and knew those truebloods would be easily over fifteen feet tall. The Rams Head bartender was barely eight but he muscled, tattooed and bald. This was a bartender who could control a tavern full of rowdy mercenaries.

The best part of the tavern's drunken guests looked the part. They looked like fighters, cut throats and scum. Most of the men were armed with short but functional swords, some had shields on their desks and some still wore pieces of ragged chainmail.

As Aaralon approached the bar he scanned for Camila but found no sign. He couldn't even sense her magic.

There were some women in the tavern. One serving wench looked like a witch - Aaralon knew he would be able to tell if she was a real witch, if she had magic, but she was dry of magic as the tables and chairs. Perhaps she was the owner. The other wench was much younger, not particularly pretty long and slender legs which she displayed proudly through a skirt bunched up at her waist. The third woman in the tavern did not look as if she belonged at all. She was younger still, fairly attractive and was trying to break free from the lap of an one eyed mercenary.

Her struggles were no good. She was too small to even bother the muscled warrior. He punished her attempt to flee by ripping open the top of her blouse. Aaralon noticed her jacket had already been discarded and trampled into the mud. They weren't alone, three other mercenaries sat around the same table and laughed loudly in response to the young woman's blight.