Whispers break out through the gathered crowd, followed a split second later by an ear-piercing scream as a redheaded woman wearing an apron collapses into the arms of her husband, the man who had been tending bar in the tavern all during the previous evening. Trepidation radiates from the
"They've no right to burden that boy with something like this. They shouldn't put anyone's names in that pot unless they're going to be buried up there soon themselves."
"Honestly, the lad's barely capable at serving drinks."
Erwin clears his throat, wiping a bead of sweat off of his brow before responding. "I do, Mister Mayor. Six assistants at fif.. no, sixty gold pieces each, half paid up front." His eyes look pleadingly in your direction.
"And whom amongst this crowd is willing to join this young man on his journey?"