The air outside the tenement was cold and damp, carrying the faint smell of rain and smoke as the group spilled out onto the deserted streets of Eldoria. Jasper shuffled reluctantly, his hand rubbing his sore ear, casting sour glances at Jarek, whose unyielding grip had left him feeling more like a child being dragged along than a thief of any repute.

“Do you always have to be so rough?” Jasper muttered under his breath.

Jarek ignored him, his eyes scanning the streets with the keen vigilance of someone who had spent far too many sleepless nights on edge. Luna trailed close behind, her sharp eyes darting to every shadow, while Soren and Lira flanked the group.

The further they walked, the more the city seemed to decay around them—cracked cobblestones gave way to uneven dirt paths, and the faint hum of revelry from the wealthier districts was replaced by the distant wail of a baby or the harsh cough of someone in a nearby hovel.

At last, they reached the Broken Flask, a dilapidated building leaning precariously against its neighbors as though it might collapse at any moment. The sign above the door swung lazily in the breeze, its paint faded and chipped, but the symbol of a cracked glass mug was still faintly visible.

“Well, here we are,” Jasper said, gesturing grandly. “The pinnacle of class and refinement.”

“Shut up,” Jarek growled.

Jasper moved to push open the rickety door, but Jarek’s hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him mid-step.

“Not yet,” Jarek said in a low, firm voice. His eyes were hard as steel as he surveyed the building. “We don’t know what’s waiting inside.”

Jasper threw his hands up, exasperated. “Paranoia suits you about as well as that charming scowl you’re wearing.”

Jarek simply cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and deliberate in the stillness. It was not a threat—at least, not an explicit one—but it was enough.

Jasper’s smirk faltered. His hands dropped to his sides, and he took a careful step back, his posture adopting a sudden, sheepish air.

“If there’s one thing I am,” he muttered, edging away from Jarek, “it’s patient.”

He pivoted quickly and slinked back over to where Luna waited near the barrels, the shadows swallowing him up as if he belonged there.

Luna arched an eyebrow as he slid in beside her.

"Patient?" she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Is that what we’re calling cowardice these days?"

Jasper shot her a wounded look but said nothing, choosing instead to watch as Lira disappeared into the narrow side street, moving like a wraith toward the back of the tavern, her boots making no sound against the dirt and stone. She kept her body low and her senses sharp, every nerve on edge.

Meanwhile, Soren stepped away from the group and circled toward the front of the tavern. He crouched beside a sagging window frame, peering cautiously through a crack in the filthy glass. Narrowing his eyes, he mentally mapped their position and the possible exits. Then he shifted back from the window, moving silently toward the others.

Moments later, Lira reappeared from the alley, slipping back to the group like a shadow. “Back door’s locked. Reinforced too,” she whispered.

"There’s a hallway leading deeper inside. Saw a man standing guard halfway down it—big, mean-looking brute," Soren said. "He’s not there to keep drunks out. He’s guarding something… or someone."

Jarek nodded grimly. “The Blackwoods.”

Jasper rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “Fantastic. So, what’s the plan? Knock politely and ask if they’ll come out for a chat?”

Lira glanced toward the front door, then back at the alley. “If we rush the front, the guard’ll see us coming and warn them. We need a distraction to pull him out of the hall.”

Jarek flashed a wolfish grin at Jasper and Luna. "Looks like you two might actually be useful after all."

The dim light of sputtering lanterns inside the tavern revealed a raucous crowd packed shoulder to shoulder. Patrons shouted over one another, mugs slammed against tables in bouts of drunken laughter, and the barkeep struggled to keep up, hastily wiping down the grimy bar between frantic orders. Soren slipped into the Broken Flask with a quiet confidence that barely ruffled the stale air. No grand entrance. No eye contact. Just another shadow blending into the dim, smoke-choked room.

The minutes dragged by with agonizing slowness. Jasper fidgeted where he crouched behind the barrels, casting nervous glances at the sagging door. Luna gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs whenever he shifted too loudly.

Ten minutes later, right on cue, Jarek straightened from the shadows. Without a glance toward the others, he strode across the uneven street and pushed through the tavern door with the casual swagger of a man looking for a stiff drink and a fight. He didn’t so much as acknowledge Soren’s presence, walking right past him as if they were strangers.

Inside, Soren remained near the wall, nursing a mug and casting idle glances around, his body language perfectly relaxed, hiding the coiled readiness beneath. Jarek, meanwhile, slammed down a few coins at the bar, calling for a drink with a bark of laughter that carried over the low murmur of the other patrons. His arrival added no more suspicion than the usual rough trade the Broken Flask was used to.

Outside, Jasper counted breaths in the silence, feeling the cold leech into his bones.

At the twelve-minute mark, Lira moved.

She smoothed a hand through her fiery hair to make it look wild and disheveled, then sauntered toward the tavern like a weary traveler seeking a warm fire and a bad decision. She entered with a playful sway to her hips, her hand brushing the hilt of her dagger in a way that suggested she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if pressed.

Luna leaned closer to Jasper, her voice a whisper. "They're in."

"Great," Jasper muttered under his breath. "This better be our finest performance."

Jasper drew a deep breath, steeling himself. He adjusted the battered lute slung across his back—a prop he'd swiped from a pawn shop earlier in the week—and offered Luna a crooked smile.

"Ready to make fools of ourselves?" he whispered.

Luna smirked, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder with theatrical flair. "Fools are Antioch's favorite, remember? Let's give him a show he'd be proud of."

Without another word, they burst from their hiding spot, stumbling across the street in a loud, chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter. Jasper kicked the tavern door open with a dramatic flourish that nearly unhinged it from its sagging frame.

The room fell into a brief, suspicious hush as the two newcomers staggered inside. Soren, from his post near the wall, hid his smile behind his mug. Jarek’s eyes flickered up from his drink, impassive. Lira leaned lazily against the bar, swirling a dagger between her fingers as if utterly uninterested.

Jasper swaggered into the center of the tavern, strumming a few off-key chords on his battered lute and singing an intentionally terrible, drunken ballad about a lovesick mule and an even more unfortunate stablehand. His voice cracked at all the wrong moments, drawing a few jeers and a handful of crude jokes from the crowd.

Luna, not to be outdone, spun a stumbling circle around a nearby table, bumping into patrons and giggling loudly. She snatched a half-full mug from an unsuspecting drunk, took a dramatic swig, and promptly coughed it back up in a spray that earned a chorus of laughter and disgust.

"Someone buy me another!" she slurred, slamming the stolen mug on a table. "The night's young, and I’m too sober to properly regret my choices!"

The tension in the room dissolved into raucous amusement. Jasper continued strumming his lute, weaving between tables with exaggerated clumsiness, while Luna perched atop a rickety stool and loudly proclaimed her love for every man and woman within earshot.

Despite Jasper and Luna’s increasingly outrageous antics, the brute guarding the hallway remained stubbornly planted in place. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression a stony mask of disinterest. A few times, his gaze flicked toward the commotion, but he never once shifted from his post.

Soren watched him from the corner of his eye, irritation flickering beneath his otherwise calm demeanor. He shifted slightly in his seat, catching Jasper’s gaze across the room.

Jasper, still strumming out a particularly dreadful rendition of “The Ballad of Sir Stumbles-a-Lot,” nearly missed the signal—a subtle touch of Soren’s hand against his mug, followed by a faint tilt of his head toward the guard.

Jasper’s fingers faltered on the lute strings. He swallowed hard, the implication clear.

Subtlety wasn't working.

Time to escalate.

Jasper plastered on an even broader, more obnoxious grin and lurched toward the nearest table of rough-looking patrons. He slammed a hand down on the surface hard enough to rattle the mugs, earning a few dark glares.

"My friends!" he declared in a slurred shout. "My dear, drunken comrades! Allow me to serenade your miserable little lives!"

He launched into another hideous ballad—this one featuring a heroic fish who fell in love with a particularly alluring barmaid. His voice rose in pitch and volume, deliberately terrible, until the patrons began to jeer and heckle in earnest.

Jarek, ready to play his part in this absurd play, stood up so fast his chair toppled backward. His face was flushed with drink and anger.

"Shut that damn noise before I shove that lute down your throat," he growled, cracking his knuckles.

Jasper stumbled back a step, hands raised in mock surrender. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! No need for violence, my good man! Surely we can settle this over a round of drinks and poor life decisions—"

Jarek lunged at Jasper.

Jasper ducked just in time, Jarek’s swing missing his nose by inches. The momentum of the lunge sent Jarek crashing into a nearby table, knocking mugs and plates flying. A chorus of outraged shouts followed as ale and food splattered across several nearby patrons.
And just like that, the tavern erupted into chaos.

Fists flew. Chairs scraped violently against the floor. A mug sailed through the air, smashing against the wall near the bar. Someone cursed loudly as a table overturned.

Luna, barely restraining her grin, leapt off her stool and ‘accidentally’ knocked over another chair, sending two men sprawling. She flashed Jasper a quick wink as the tavern dissolved into a full-blown brawl.

The Ballad of Sir Stumbles-a-Lot
(As sung by Jasper, off-key and far too loudly)

Oh, Sir Stumbles-a-Lot rode a donkey one day,
With a sword made of butter and armor of hay,
He charged at a chicken, he roared out a shout,
And tripped on his shoelace and knocked himself out!

He fought mighty dragons (or so he would claim),
Though the dragon was really a sheep, blind and lame.
He swung with great fury, he slipped on a rock,
And flattened the village's prize poultry flock!

Chorus:
 So raise up your mugs for brave Stumbles-a-Lot,
Whose battles were messy, whose victories forgot!
He'd trip, he would tumble, he'd fall on his face—
But no one could beat him in falling from grace!

One night at the tavern, he swore on his ale,
He'd woo the fair maidens and nevermore fail,
But he kissed the barmaid... then kissed a goat too,
And woke up at dawn with his head in a stew!

Chorus:
 So raise up your mugs for brave Stumbles-a-Lot,
Whose helmet was rusty, whose pants were all blot!
He'd bungle and blunder, he’d slip, crash, and fall—
Yet somehow, he’s still the best fool of them all!