The deep gnome sighs and sits, currently by himself at a small table in the Last Light Inn. He watches his friends with an unimpressed expression as they celebrate and drink to their ‘victory’. What victory? The curse still traps them here and they were just enslaved, having to be saved.

He brings his ungloved hand to his bald head and rubs it. Damned it—maybe he should let loose. When he gets back to Baldur’s Gate he has a mission, he won’t be able to relax like this for a while.

“Damn…”