John strolled down one of the main thoroughfares of Radasanth. The city was recovering quite well, considering that it was buried in several inches of ash a month ago. The dust on the street saw ashes again on occasion, a gift of the new land mass that had appeared in the east, topped with a volcano, of all things. John turned his gaze from that direction, and looked at the buildings at his sides. Most were shops, now mostly closed, the fading light pushed back slightly by a lamp in a window here and there, a seamstress or tailor finishing the work of the day. Despite all that had happened in Radasanth, the people of this city were quick to return to business as usual. Yes, there was dire need for hands to move ash and feet to carry the injured away from fires, but the return to normalcy had been nearly immediate. People needed clothes, streets needed to be swept, and horseshoes pounded into shape. He sighed, never remembering a time where he had so many orders for the damn things. Couldn't they walk just fine without them? And the nails he had been making, one after another they came. Orders for the most mundane things.

Hence the stroll down the road.

And at the end of it?

Whiskey.

The next half-mile to Jacques' bar were a blur as John picked up the pace a little. The tavern wasn't a large thing, but it had a pleasant mixture of qualities. Large and wealthy enough to have a nice selection, small enough to be out of the way. He did still have to duck through the door, though.

He felt a little early, but he liked it that way. He stooped a little and entered the Bounding Tankard, immediately spying Jacques and Jeremy.

"Jeremy," the half-giant said, spying the boy's book. "S'not a good idea, keeping that around, especially now. Besides, it's not a good idea in general."

"White necromancers exist, you know," he replied quickly, looking up at John. He quickly returned to his study of the tome, and continued. "I can help people with what I know."

"Well, it isn't my business, I suppose. I'm just here for the whiskey. Jacques?"

John held out a small pouch, which clinked against the bartop.

"And a bit of whatever you've got in terms of food for me and the boy."