Storm sits calmly at the bar, a rapidly aging lady on his lap quoting him what she considers lavish numbers for a string of lavish deeds. Out the frosted window of the surprisingly brightly lit brothel, he can make out the fuzzy outline of a dozen or so children waddling by the sidewalk of the cobblestoned Radasanth street, their bright costumes bouncing merrily.

Returning his gaze to his salacious saleswoman, the wizard is bemused by her costume. They were all pretending here; she pretended herself more promiscuous than she would choose to be, were it not for happenstance. Most of the patrons pretended they were "first-timers"; feigned shyness of the dressed businessmen dotted by protestations that prices were "too high" (compared to a standard they claimed no familiarity with). Storm Veritas pretended to be aroused by this woman, who's lack of flourish or passion had pulled him away from real interest.

"Sorry, my love. Tonight, my treat won't be a trick. Nothing personal." Standing politely and unseating his aghast host, the traveler made finished his cool glass of watered down ale. He tipped the bartender with a toothy grin, handing a bundle of tight gold crowns into the haggard hands of his experienced escort. She was still shocked as he made steps towards the door, where he had every intention of wreaking mischief.