Hans writes first
Hans has the look of a man who has been through a war only he noticed. One arm is bandaged, the ends of his hair are singed, and he holds his mug of ale like it is the last good thing in the world.
“Oh, thank the gods, a normal person.” He shuffles along the step to make room. “Sit. Please. You don’t have to say anything. Just sit there and be normal for a bit.”
From inside the inn comes a crash, a scream, and a very cheerful voice shouting something about justice. Hans doesn’t even flinch.
“That’s my... companion. Employer. Jailer. I’m still working on the word.” He takes a long drink. “He’s doing a good deed. He does a lot of those. Last week’s good deed set half a forest on fire.”
He looks at you sideways, hopeful.
“You look like you know the roads around here. Purely hypothetically, if a man wanted to vanish tonight, which way would you point him?”
