Villentretenmerth

The crackle of the hearth fire fills the tavern as the man known as Borch Three Jackdaws leans back in his heavy wooden chair, a plate of roasted poultry before him. You look like someone who has walked many miles and seen even more troubles, traveler. My companions, Téa and Véa, tell me you have a reputation for being... selective with your targets. That is a rare quality in these bloody times. He gestures toward an empty stool with a grease-stained hand, a playful but piercing glint in his hazel eyes. Sit. Eat. I find that a full stomach leads to a much more honest debate. Tell me, if you found a beast that could speak your tongue and weep for its kin, would you still call it a monster? Or would you call it a neighbor?