There are only two types of tables in Winchestor's Finest. There are the open ones and there are secluded ones.

The open ones are grouped together, like a normal tavern, and were for celebrations; when theives had pulled the heist of a lifetime, when brigands made off with a Duke's bounty, or when smugglers cashed in the motherload. Times when the lowest scum of the city wanted to feel like Nobility, and had the coin to do so. The closed tables were for those who wished to be secretive, who wanted to avoid being the victim of thievery themselves, or who otherwise preferred to avoid the public eye. The tables had thick gaudy hangings (carefully arranged to hide moth holes) around them that muffled sound, and could be drawn closed if desired. Winchestor's Finest accommodated the need of every patron with coin.

Vargoth smiled as he took the two polished tin goblets from the serving maid and brought them through the hangings to the table. Across from him sat a man thoroughly drunk, yet still a little in awe of the surroundings.

"Is... is that *hic* a silver cup of wine? For me?"

Vargoth nodded, a pleasant encouraging smile across his face. "Only six silvers per tonight, They must have overstocked!" A silver per, actually, and that's overpriced. Still the best wine in Banlew though

The man let out a drunken raucous laugh. "V... Vance... Victor! yeah, Victor, you must be *hic* the best man I've ever met!"

"Anything for a friend." Vargoth gently placed the goblet in front of the drunken man. "It tastes best when savored slowly" I might be being compensated nicely for this, but the drink comes out of my pocket.

The man's hand was surprisingly steady as he took a drink. "by God, that is good."

Vargoth winced internally, but didn't let it break his friendly exterior. "So have you heard about this new rock "Ylistrium" people have been talking about?"

"You bet I have!" The man leaned conspiratorially inward. "I've even seen some myself"

That's a lie "You have?" Vargoth let his eyes widen in awe.

"Yeah, you see *hic* I have a second cousin, Buckley, that went bandit after his farm went fallow. Family helps family, you know?" He paused to take a sip of wine. "I give him and his buds some meals and a pace to stay, and they drop off some of the *hic* coin they get. We'd had this agreement, for, oh, must have been seven years ago. It had been a dry summer, that year, and the crops..."

A goblet and a half of wine, and 7 years of life story later...

"...And then I see my *hic* cousin Buckley walking up the road, whistling. whistling, would you believe it? *hic* And as he comes walking up I look at him, and I just know that he scored big, *hic* you know? I can tell these things. So I ask him where he's been and he says they came *hic* from Molise. And then I says 'you didn't go and steal those magic rocks they *hic* found, did you' and then he says 'you bet we did' and so I break out that bottle, your remember, that I got the year before..."

He told you that he scored big, and you got the details once he was drunk The exaggerations people made telling story could be hard to pick out, especially when they were drunk, but Vargoth had been analyzing the way he spoke, his ticks and habits, since he was completely sober. And besides, if it was easy, that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn't it?

"...And then *hic* even though they sent in like, uh, seventeen guys I said? Yeah, seventeen guys, only one guy makes it out. Apparently there *hic* was a bishop guy in the mines, and he had this stone all around him like, *hic* so he could just snap his fingers and completely incinerate a guy, WHAM, just like that! He said it was horrible, but the only thing *hic* I could think about was how powerful those rocks must be if they..."

Several minutes later, and the man has come to perhaps the first significant break in his conversation not used to take a drink

"So what did the rocks actually look like?"

"Well, *hic* they were this weird uhh… glowing red color, all subtle like an ember like. And they had several crates of em.”

“And what are they planning to do with them?”

“No clue. Probably sell ‘em. *hic* That’s what I’d do. You see, these rocks...”

Vargoth nodded along, listening to the drunk man continue to tell his story.

Vargoth watched as the man staggered out into the street, before turning to leave by the back door. Anyone leaving Winchestor’s Finest was liable to be mugged, and while Vargoth was confident in his ability to make his way out of a situation like that, he would prefer not to be bothered.

He navigated quickly out of Banlew and into the Shells, making his way to one of the seedier taverns there. Vargoth made his way upstairs, organizing his thoughts and the stories he had gathered over the course of the day.

Time to get paid

Two knocks, a loud cough, then a third knock, and Vargoth heard the deadbolt being slid back. Inside was some shop owner or businessman, representing some duke or guild. As much as Vargoth enjoyed finding out information, he wasn’t being paid to uncover the people who paid him.

“So, what did you learn?” The man was nervous, unused to dealing with people from the Banlew, but trying to hide it. Still, when the most sought after rock gets stolen by a bunch of bandits, you have to talk to someone of their level.

“Payment first.” Vargoth sat down across from the man, his casual ease a stark contrast to the other’s nervous tension.

“Ah, yes, of course. 10 silver it was, yes?” “15” And you know it

“Right, right, my apologies.” The man took a small pouch from his belt and emptied it out onto the table.

Vargoth took a second to count the 14 coins on the table, then looked up and fixed the merchant with a piercing stare. The man sweated for a moment, before fumbling out the final coin.

“Much better. Now, as I’m sure you are aware, there are many conflicting stories about this mineral. I can almost guarantee that the attack was carried out by bandits, and that they made off with large quantities of this ore. Wasn’t the Duke or any noble behind it, or if they were, they were significantly detached. I am fairly confident that the ore has been brought Westward, and not smuggled by ship. If they are selling or distributing any, it is likely some will hit the blackmarket here within the week. What every account seems to agree on is that the stone itself glows, although how strongly and with what color is seemingly random.”

The man was writing down what Vargoth relayed in some shorthand in a notebook. “Could you go into a bit more detail? While I trust your opinion on what is speculation and has truth,” no you don’t “I’d like all of the information.”

Vargoth sighed internally, as he prepared to list out a summary of several day’s worth of rumors. “Very well then. The first…”

Vargoth allowed himself a satisfied smile after he had left the tavern. As annoying as the man had been, being payed for something we would be doing already put him in a very happy mood. He paused for a moment to enjoy the sounds of the city. Footsteps, conversation, the occasional horse moving along. A low sound in the distance caught his attention. Some sort of commotion or fight.

Then the screaming began.