1170 Feast

"Maybe… Maybe Priest Rockefeller had an emergency…" Doron tried to defend his stance, but that didn’t last long under Mitch’s bantering gaze. "Alright alright! Let’s head to the bar, I’ll pay…"

Once they arrived at the tavern, Doron and Mitch ordered some liquor and sat side by side, enjoying this flavour they didn’t normally get to taste— even this cheap liquor was extravagant for the likes of them.

The bar was evidently a place where information flowed. An unending stream of news entered Doron’s ears from all sides.

"All the wizards are finished… Hévíz, Arundel, and the city of Minaret; there were waves of wizards perishing everywhere…" a burly red-nosed man said. He looked like a mercenary, his voice so loud that it dropped dust from the tavern’s ceiling.