Daring Do and The Obsidian Feather

"I suppose the tavern would be best. If you've read my books, you'll know that I get a lot of tips from those people. And besides, it's easier to pass off my curiosity as looking for inspiration with them. It's harder with the merchants," you say. "They want to know everything about everything, and they're quite good at spotting lies. The travellers tend to be too drunk to care."

Bloodhound gives a hearty guffaw. "Now you're speakin' my language, lady. Where's the tavern at?"

"It's in town, but I don't think you should come in with me. They'll want to know who you are, and a griffon is a bit harder to wave off as looking for inspiration."

"Alright. I suppose I'll hang around and wait for you, will I?" he asks.

"Yes. You can wait at the bar and pretend to be just another traveller. Have a few drinks, invent a few stories. Let me know if there's anything suspicious. You go ahead, and I'll join you soon," you say.

"Alright. Gimme some directions and I'll scope the place out for you."

You give him directions to the tavern, and sling some saddlebags on him to further add to the disguise he has as a traveller. He strides out and towards the town. While you wait for him to get there so as not to arouse suspicion, you busy yourself with tidying your house a bit. It's still in a slight state after your last adventure.

After about half an hour, you decide that Bloodhound is probably far enough ahead of you that you'll arrive significantly later than him. You set off towards town in your A.K Yearling disguise armed with a bag of bits just in case you need to bribe somepony.

When you get to the tavern, named The Buzzed 'Ling, you push open the door. The warm and intoxicating smell of ale hits you full in the face as you trot in. Glancing around, you see Bloodhound sitting at the bar, a tankard of cider clutched firmly in his talon and a thestral mare who'd clearly had too much to drink leaning on him. You roll your eyes. You haven't known him for very long, but somehow, chatting up a mare of a completely different species seems like something he would do.

He catches your eyes and nods his head slightly. You flick an ear in response and continue up to the bar. You hear a drunken brawl erupt somewhere behind you, but you ignore it and continue on your journey. You hop onto a barstool and bang your hoof on the counter. The bartender approaches you, levitating a bottle of spirits and cleaning a glass at the same time with his magic.

"Hello, 'Miss Yearling', and welcome. I haven't seen you with a donkey's age," he said. He winks as he says the name of your alter-ego. The bartender is one of the few ponies who knows your true identity and doesn't want to kill you.

You smile; the townsfolk here have always treated you with respect, even before they realised you were the author of the Daring Do books. You drop a few bits on the counter.

"Could I have a shot of whiskey please?" you ask.

"Of course! I'm sure that's not all you're here for, so look around. I'm sure you'll find one of the 'characters' you need to speak to," says the bartender. "See that fellow over there?" He points to a bulky minotaur with one eye who is challenging a nearby griffon to a brawl. "He's seen some things that may help you. Just as a suggestion." The bartender walks off to fetch your drink.

You decide to take the bartender's advice. Cautiously, you approach the minotaur.

"Hello," you say. "My name is A.K Yearling and—"

"Can it, little filly," says the minotaur, cutting you off. "Can'tcha see I'm in the middle o' somethin'?"

You roll your eyes—big, macho brawler types like him tend to be valuable sources of information, but they can just as easily be drunken braggarts who fabricate stories.

"Yes, I see that," you say, "but I'd like to hear some of your stories. I can embellish you, if you'd like," you say, waving the bag of bits.

The minotaur snorts. "I already said I'm busy. Go away before I do somethin' you regret."

You sigh, this isn't going anywhere. There's only one way you know of getting through to these types of people. You shift into an aggressive stance.

The Minotaur scoffs. "You pickin' a fight, lil' filly?"

Well, are you?

Pick a fight

Don't pick a fight