Days later, you descend the main stairs to the Hunters' Hall. Arrayed before you is a comfortable scene of patrons and allies dotted about the room.

At the bar Greycane takes a sip from a mug, and coughs, sputtering, "Seven hells, what is that?" Across the bar, Bram furrows his eyebrows. "Did you decant this from an Ursus' chamberpot?" Greycane continues.

"It's not that bad, I rather like it," Molly, one of the serving girls says, smiling encouragingly at Bram.

"Don't encourage him, Molly. Or he might make another and finish me off," Greycane replies.

Taking a swig himself, Bram says, "It needs a little something, I'll get it right, just needs some experimentation."

Greycane looks over his shoulder, noticing you. "Aye, good morning, some news came earlier, looks like there's a contract. There's time enough for that though. I know some of the others want to talk to you."