Delia's account at the Crooked Inn. (Serving girl)

(This is actually 99% courtesy of Neil. Super kudos to him!)

Delia Cleans Up
The Crooked Inn was silent. The destruction wrought by the evening’s earlier violence repaired. Tables and chairs were cobbled together. Even the participants had dispersed. The corpses, stripped of armour and possessions, were buried in a field not far from the inn. The newcomers her beloved Earnin had returned with were now preparing a strategy of what to do next. All that remained was the blood. To that end Delia scrubbed the floor, her fingers raw in an attempt to hide the fresh blood. She knew that if she wasn’t diligent in the task that more than serving some thugs breakfast or a quick violation would await her.

As she continued to scrub the stains her mind wandered back to the night’s events. It’s true that between Joseph and her they had invited the newcomers to the violence. The return of Earnin in their company had been a huge lift. It seemed he had found the help the village so desperately needed. It was odd to see one of the Warforged with him. Delia hadn’t expected this. She’d never seen one before; she’d always thought they were alien looking. Like a monstrosity from Dolurahh. But this one moved with a fluid grace, and it carried with it an aura of command.

Everything had started with a note under the half-elf Delian's stew . Delia recalled how her heart pounded as she scribbled the note, fear of being found out causing her hands to shake. With the idea of the fight planted she wondered how it would begin. Would the half-elf, who look like a knight of the Flame, challenge the thugs? She had no use for the gods. They certainly hadn’t spared any of them from the assaults of the thugs. My heart still breaks when I think of poor Tabitha. Her body so abused, her mind warped, she had taken her own life. Delia still remembered the day she walked in to see Tabitha hanging from the rafters. Some of the thugs had taken additional pleasure on her corpse, not even death had saved her from indignity. No, gods didn’t care what happened to Delia or the others of the Pit. Maybe, just maybe this knight of the Flame could make a difference. She’d heard that the Silver Flame didn’t tolerate evil, that it destroyed it where ever it was found. Well surely this was such a place.

It was all too much to hope. She had overheard one of the newcomers, his leather armour dirty and rotting, speak quietly “You want me to start a fight?” The other’s had only nodded assent. So this was how it happened. Some dirty, poor boy, who likely hadn’t bathed in weeks by the smell of him, was going to save them? Delia had watched him rise from the table, his hands trembling. This boy is a fool she had thought, we are all dead. Look at him stumble toward them, he doesn’t stand a chance.

Delia allowed herself a brief smile. These newcomers were more than they appeared, and the boy had held his own though his mannerisms showed he was clearly no hero. The half-elf though, he was impressive fighting one of the thugs single handed until Joseph joined the fray. The fight hadn’t been without cost; Sonya had almost lost her life when she got involved. Humph, it has been the priest of the Host that had saved her. Perhaps they weren’t all bad; maybe the gods were even paying attention after all. Still, there was so much blood and it needed to go. Perhaps staining the floor with some soot and ash.

As Delia moved to the hearth her eye was drawn towards a crumpled and burnt piece of parchment. What’s this she wondered…