“Now isn't that a coincidence. I'm drinking the same.” Josh held his glass up and swirled the amber liquid around in a small toast. He sipped the scotch sparingly, enjoying each trickle of flavor that traipsed over his tongue.

John, as the giant introduced himself, clearly didn't desire much conversation. It begged the question of why he bothered coming out to a tavern to drink. Yurik's could be purchased directly from the supplier. Josh had looked into that.

The noise of the bar swelled around them, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. The pregnant woman at the bar was hoping for a girl, much to the delight of the circle of friends surrounding her. The pair of would-be brigands near the door had been plotting the whole time, and their plan was absolutely terrible; it involved a a juggling dwarf and far too much play-acting to have any chance at success. Most likely, they'd be killed.

Mention of the dwarf made Josh think of his friend Throld. The stout fellow always knew a good story or six, and had a knack for extracting the tales from everyone he met. What would Throld do, Josh asked himself. Probably say something about Skyknights or Blackcloaks and give a clever wink. The demigod quirked an eyebrow. He could work with that.

Judging by the amount of soot on John's shirt, he was a blacksmith. Josh had already deduced he was too large to be a chimney sweep. The demigod regarded the massive smith over the rim of his glass, examining the scars that spread across the man's arms in vein-like streams.

“When I visited Fallien to recruit cavalry from Suravani's Oasis, I met a man who had scars similar to those. He spoke a different dialect of the language than me, so I could not ask him the story behind them. May I know how you got yours?”