“Caught this one sneaking around,” the scout grunts, giving you a rough shove toward the doorway of a warm-looking house.

A man stands there—human, tall, expression confused. His figure is strong and bulky, suggesting a manual labour-heavy profession, but his face is kind. He eyes you with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“Why bring them to me?”

“The elf was trespassing. We have reason to believe it’s an assassin, but the council hasn’t made a decision yet. Until then, they stay alive. Thought you were the best man for the job—our finest blacksmith. So? Think you can manage that, Ethari?”

Ethari hums in acknowledgment. “It’s not really my specialty, but I suppose I can if it’s necessary.”