If the Ratway had been moldering and foul smelling, the Ragged Flagon wasn’t much better to Viari’s eye. The murky pool that dominated the center of the vaulted cavern left the air damp, chilly, and smelling vaguely of piss. But then Viari and Bolrin probably smelled worse. Covered in a combination of sweat, slime, and skeever blood, they gave off a pungent aroma that had even Delvin wrinkling his nose as he shepherded them across a rickety wooden bridge and into the Flagon proper.
Several sets of dark, suspicious eyes turned in their direction. Although Bolrin gazed stiffly into the middle distance, trying for all the world to appear at his ease, Viari stared back at them with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. She noted that they all seemed to be wearing something resembling a uniform – worn leathers in greys and browns that were otherwise nondescript save for a bandolier of pouches belted across the chest.
It was clever, she decided, that the Guild armor didn