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You are either really focused in the current conversation or with your thoughts drifting away really far from the here and now. In any case it doesn't matter, the result is that you just don't see anything out of the ordinary in this already bizarre situation, anything that you could consider out of the current picture at least...

He wasn't hiding it, but wasn't showing it right away either: 

While Gonore was serving the sweet wine, you realize that he used a different small flask that came out of his shelve to fill his glass, so he is not drinking the same beverage that has just served you.

However, what you do have in your hands is indeed sweet wine judging by its smell, color and consistency.

The strange elf takes a sip from his glass before start talking again.

- That man was Thileon Greenmeadow, head of one of the wealthiest families in town. - he says calmly while focusing his eyes on the embers that remain at the fireplace.

He shrugs.

- Important politician, wealthy merchant, successful landowner, you name it. Several are the domains where the Greenmeadows have a foot on. You know - he adds with a cynical smile - regular businesses of the nobility. -

He takes another sip.

- Don't know what exactly was he talking about tough. It might well be something as important as the documents that sate his Will, or as trivial as letter from an old love. Who knows, it could well be an enchantment that binds his family to success and fortune - he jokes... or perhaps not.

- In any case, it seems his sons should have a better insight in all these matters. -

Grimmel was distracted, touched by the death of the old man more than he would admit. Usually, he would have been the one cheering up the scene, as Sionnain knows, or maybe he would have paid respects his own way with a requiem or a psalm. In his philosophy, music and poetry were always in life, were life itself, so it was but fitting to mourn the fallen with a song.

Still, tonight he did not seem himself. Not after what he have seen and the memories that carried.

We shall do our best to honor his death. Said Grimmel finally. Whether by "we" he meant "my child and I" or "we all", it was hard to say.

So... Theman was  avery important figure. But still we were doing nothing here because the innkeeper knew nothing about his words.

- Well, if there's nothing you can tell us - I started to say while I stood up, leaving the untouched drink where they had served it - I'm going to sleep until the sons of this man appear, or until tomorrow morning when we can go to them. Chit-chating in the middle of the noght is not one my hobbies. So lads, ladies, good night. Again.

That said I started walking back upstairs. I was pretty sure I couls not be really able to sleep, but I needed enough rest in my body if I wanted to be fit tomorrow.

Against what some Hospitality rules could dictate, indicating that a guest should not leave an open free invitation from a host until he or she puts a formal end to such invitation, Elaria leaves the main room looking for the comfort of few more moments of sleep before the sun comes out...

You are not sure about what brought you to take such decision and leave the table. Probably the hospitality rules that are common sense in such civilized cities were not yet of your knowledge or concern. After all, you are a Child of the Forest.

In any case, you were also tired of the waiting without purpose and hoped for a little more rest before dawn.

Upstairs everything remains silent and quiet, bathed by the dim light of a single dancing candle near the open window to the square...

Something doesn't seem right...¹

I didn't unerstand why everyone was still downstairs wasting time. The innkeeper had clearly said he could not give us anything else... So why should anyone waste his time there? That was just stupid. I would never understand the ways of the city-people.

As soon as I steped into the room a feeling in my guts told me something was not quite right. The light was not very helpful as it was almost unexistant, but I was sure something was wrong.

I slowly moved myself to grip the handle of the sword, ready for anything that could happen.

Stopping for a second a couple of steps away from the stairs, you analyze the room, the situation, the environment, as you have done so many times in the past in the forest looking for game.

There is clearly something in this room that wasn't here before.

You can quickly perceive it. It is a distinct scent... a distinct feeling in the air... a distinct shadowy figure crouched between two beds at the back of the room.

There was someone. Maybe a thief. Call him out was not clever because I didn't know if he was armed with range weapons. Therefore I strechted myself, like I was just tired and wanting to sleep, even moaning lightly, before I started walking into the room. I kept my hand on my sword, ready to attack and looking to the figure in the shadows, but pretending I hadn't seen him. When I was close enough, I stept rapidly to his hiding place, sword in hand, hoping to catch him offguard.

- Who are you and what the heck are you doing there?

- In other words, an owner, a rich man. I would have preferred he was poor, it's more honor helping a poor man. A person with much money is always helped by many people, but people without money die like dogs, with noone who take them a hand. There's nothing to be done about it, now I'll have to keep my word. I'm going to sleep too.

Dalfgan walket upstairs, slowly.

The blonde girl snorted when the old man —the not-yet-dead-but-probably-soon one— said his thing about rich and poor men. Once dead, one didn't care anymore. Rotting in a ditch or buried in a crypt more luxurious than most most people's homes, it was just a corpse. That was what the priestesses of Goddess said, and that was common sense anyway.

Wealthiest. Baster had never really understood superlatives. Not because she was obtuse, but because there wasn't anyone in the old village who used them. It sounded nice anyway. Wealthy was good, wealthiest had to be better. The implications, though, didn't sound so nice. She had spent enough time around civilized people to know better than to take things at face value.

So, some rich important old fool's on his own in the middle of the night, she said, gulping down her jar of wine. No bodyguards, no servants, no anyone. Just taking a stroll through this not so so nice neighbourhood like it's the... the whatever place rich people go stroll around here on sunday mornings.

It was obvious to her that something was amiss. It was like that stallion who got a nasty injure and it his flesh healed, but the sickness got to his head and they had to kill him because he started trying to bump uglies with them poor dairy cows. Just no right.

And this man is so rich, and his sons can't be little kids, can them? He looked old enough for his juices to have dry out years ago, she reasoned loudly. And he asked a group of random people who were watching him kick the bucket for help. Does that make any sense?

Truth be told, though, not making any sense was what being old was about. That, and wrinkles and bad bones. The village elders would ramble for hours on end, sitting near the well on the warmest days of summer, and everybody who came to the well to get their water would listen for a while and not even one would understand any of it.

Sionnain remains quiet and silent, looking around with the eyes so open, like if he wants to take up all with them. He looks at Grimmel when the bard talks and the kid takes the opportunity to cross his glance with the eyes of the man, trying to send a message without words.

The little boy looks then at the glass in front of him and plays with it, seems carelessly, to separate it finally a few centimetres and yawns. Anyhow nobody can surprise about a child could be tired at wee hours. - Do we go to sleep too? - Asks to the bard, rubbing his eyes with the reverse of his hand.

Leaving my glass of wine aside I lean forward to listen to every word the elf is telling us.It didn't use to happen to me before, but in the last few years I couldn't help being attracted to anything that had to do with wealth or easy money.  Some of my roommates started to leave but that man's story had managed to take my interest. I looked at the Inn keeper.

- How long do you think it will take for the old man's sons to get here?- I ask, since it doesn't seem as if he could tell us more about the mysterious scriptures. I yawn. I still feel pretty tired and if he doesn't really have an answer I might as well head to bed too.

Grimmel smiled at the sleepy child. Yes, we do. It was about time they had some rest, but the bard was not to leave that unfinished business.

Could someone let me know when they arrive? I must see to it that this little one has some rest.

He touched Sionnain's nose with one finger.

Or else we shall see Sionnain's wrath in the morning. Is not that so?

He only waited for someone to answer before he went to the rooms. He did not intend to sleep, but he would sing a little lullaby for Sionnain. Only that would ease a mind after such dark events.

The reply you get from the cloaked form hidden between the straw mattresses is one of unsettling nature. Not for the words it produces, if they could be called words since they are more a hissing mumbling, but for the strange creature that now produces them.

Crouched under dark ropes, two glowing cunning eyes now look at you directly, as taken from those nightmares where kids imagine thousands of brilliant little orbs watching and hunting them at night in the middle of the forest. The head is hooded, but it doesn't prevent the pointy whiskery nose that protrudes forward and sniffs the air frenetically.

Not human nor animal, this creature, this rat-man, now addresses you directly with a hidden threat under words of advice.

- hssss, you hasss ssseen nothing - he says moving slowly away from you - goesss, goesss now and leave usssss alone. --