With a point in the right direction by a sleepy guard, Amaril found his way to the merchant area of the city, dragging the dead body behind him. The corpse smelled terrible, the stench of decomposition impossible to get rid of. If he hadn’t already been a loner, he was certain that people would leave him alone for the next few days. He still needed one more person to come in contact with before leaving the port behind however, and he began wandering around the market area. He had no real idea where to look for the ruined merchant. The man might be at another bar, staying at an inn, or he possibly had his own house. The only thing he did know about finding the thin, sickly man was that he would surely come to the market in the morning. Merchants couldn’t stay away from businesses and the exchanging of gold.

Amaril leaned against a building not far from the street, where he would wait for the few remaining hours of night to bid farewell to his side of the world. Once the man did come, he’d look upon the creature that devastated his small business and pay the mercenary the fee he was promised.

---------

The rest of the night passed without interference and the half-breed watched as men and women set up their shops for the day. As he watched the morning rituals of Talmhaidh’s citizens, he noticed that nearly half of the outside market area was devoted to food, mostly fruits and vegetables native to Dheathain. Remarkably hungry, the half-dragon hid the body of his fallen enemy behind the building, making sure that no one was around to see it. He then returned to the market, but he recognized none of the foreign fruits and as he thought about it, was entirely too hungry to be filled by such light provisions anyhow. Turning in a circle he looked at the various signs of the inside shops until he found one with a picture of a giant hunk of meat.

Salivating, he went inside and looked at the various meats. A butcher behind the counter eyed the draconian look-a-like suspiciously, but Amaril was too hungry to care. “I’ll have some venison, about three pounds worth. And if you could cook it a little, that’d be great.”

The butcher leaned forward, a roll of fat climbing over the top of the counter. “That’ll be twenty-five gold pieces.”

Amaril glared angrily. “That’s ridiculous! I’ve never heard of deer meat costing that much, even with it being cooked!”

The prejudiced man glared right back. “And ten more gold to cook it.”

Amaril almost punched the butcher, but held himself back. He didn’t need to get into trouble on the verge of leaving the port. The scent of meats was heavy and his nostrils flared. He was too hungry to haggle any longer. Taking the coins out of his pocket, he spoke in the most controlled voice he could muster. “Ok, here’s the gold.”

The butcher took it without another work and set to work on cutting the portion of meat requested by his ripped off customer. Amaril looked out the window to keep his mind off of things, and a sight caused him to immediately forget the quarrel.

“I’ll be right back for the meat,” he called out as he ran out of the butchery. Ahead of him was the man in possession of the prevalida daggers.