Vheod ignored his words, but approached. Still watching the rest of the room, he peered into the man's tight eyes, which reminded Vheod of nail heads. "Have you seen anyone… like me around here?"

"My friend," the roan said with a narrow, sidelong gaze and an ever-so-slight slur, “We never seen anyone like you in my life. What's wrong with you?"

Vheod studied him silently, then said. “There is nothing wrong with me, 'friend.' Begone." Vheod dismissed the man with a gesture and stepped up to the stained wooden bar.

"Same to you, beautiful," the man muttered, walking away.

"Watch out," a woman said, carrying a tray of empty flagons and almost bumping into Vheod. She smiled without really looking at him and moved to the bar.

"Excuse me," Vheod said, following her. She was stout and short, with her mahogany hair pulled back into a round knob, though hours of work had coaxed some rogue strands down to lie by the sides of her face.

"Yes?" She turned. "You need something to drink?" Her face was careworn, Vheod thought, but her eyes were friendly.

"Ah, no." Vheod shook his head. "What I’d like is for you to tell me something. It might seem odd, but, well-I’m new around here."

"What do you need to know?" The woman set down her tray and nodded toward him.

Vheod chewed his lip a moment. "I need to know what you see when you look at me." "What?"

"What do I look like to you? Do I look like everyone else?" Vheod stroked his rough jaw. He glanced down to see the Taint once again on the back of his right hand. He covered it quickly with his left. His eyes darted.

"No," she said, raising her brow thoughtfully, "not like everyone else. That's for sure."

What did that mean? "Have you ever seen anyone like me before?"

She moved her mouth to one side, as if considering what to say. "Are you a half-elf?"

"Half-elf?" Then people are familiar with half-blooded humans here, he thought.

"Yes, you know," she asked, "was only one of your parents human?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"He ain't pretty enough to be a half-elf," the man with the thick beard said from behind them. Vheod turned back to him and scowled.

"I thought I told you to leave," Vheod clipped. "Don't listen to him," the woman said to Vheod. "He's a drunk."

"More like half-orc," the bearded man continued, pointing a thick finger at Vheod.

"Do not make me speak to you again," Vheod hissed at him through clenched teeth, then turned back to the serving woman. She was already moving the empty flagons from her tray into a water-filled barrel surgeoning with other dirty dishes floating amid fading soap bubbles.

A tall man with gray hair moved up from behind the bar. Though he'd just come into the room through the door behind the bar, he joined in the conversation as though he'd been there all the time.

Looking at Vheod for a moment, he said, "Nah. The only half-orc I've ever seen 'round here is Orrag, and he don't have no pointed ears like this here fella."

"Hush now, Ponter," the woman said to him with a slight push of her hand against his shoulder. "Orrag? Who is Orrag?" Vheod asked. Orcs, Vheod knew, were an evil and bestial race that populated many prime worlds as well as other planes. Half-orcs? A human-orc crossbreed might not be all that dissimilar to a cambion, from a certain point of view. Is that who Gyrison and Arach meant?

"Believe me, you don't want to know," the woman said.

"But I do," Vheod replied.

"Orrag'd put a knife in your ribs, fella," the tall barman said with a nod of his head.

"Ponter, hush." The woman finished emptying her tray and used it to lightly shove the tall man.

"Look, I need to know more about this half-orc. I wish to meet him. I may have… business with him." "Business with Orrag?" the bearded man said quietly, into his flagon. "I knew I didn't like you."

Before Vheod could respond, the tall man, Ponter, reached across the bar and placed his hand on Vheod's arm. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Listen, if you really want to meet up with Orrag, stay right where you are. He usually conies into the place on mid-tenday nights-he steers clear of The Flagon Held High and other more… visible places. My place ain't on any maps, if you see what I mean."

"I think perhaps I do." Vheod replied quietly. "I thank you, sir. I will remain."

"Why don't you have something to drink in the meanwhile?" Ponter asked him in his normal, loud voice, straightening up and away from Vheod.

"Good enough," Vheod replied, digging into a pouch and wondering what they used for money here.

Vheod fortunately had a few coins in his pouch that he could convince Ponter to accept, though none of them were minted on this world. The day in the tavern stretched on for what seemed like many. By the time the darkness of night consumed what little light managed to seep in through the small windows, Vheod had drunk his fill. More than once he wished that the establishment served food. The annoying short man left finally, and Vheod claimed a tottering, ale-suck table near one wall.

With the advent of darkness, the tavern attracted more activity, but the patrons general kept quiet and to themselves, content simply to drink. Vheod found it difficult to believe the inhabitants of a beautiful world like this, untainted by real evil, might spend their evenings in this vapid locale. Boredom began clawing at him, and he soon found himself growing drowsy. He leaned back in his chair against the stone wall, telling himself he would close his eyes just for a moment-

"You got business with me?"

Vheod snapped his eyes open. A large, wide-shouldered man with a fleshy face and a stomach that hung liberally over his belt stood over Vheod. His breath stank, and his narrow eyes hid little of the malice that lay within them. His porcine face and jowls, along with his pointed, yellow teeth made him the least appealing creature Vheod had seen since his encounter with the hairy spider-beasts in the woods.

When Vheod didn't reply immediately, the man spoke again. I’m pretty sure I don't know you, do I? I think I'd remember you."

"Are you Orrag?" Vheod asked him, pushing himself away from the wall and righting his chair.

"Maybe. Depends on who's asking." He took a long draught from his flagon.

"I see," Vheod said. "I understand. My name is Vheod, and I was instructed to speak with you."

"You been talking to Ferd?" Orrag said, ale running down his flabby chin and running into one of the folds of flesh in his neck.

"Ah, no, not that I'm aware of, in any event." Orrag pulled another chair away from the table and thrust his bulk into it with such force that Vheod almost expected it would break. "Something about you interests me," Orrag said, with a hint of a crooked smile. "What is it?"

Vheod had seen smiles on fiends that seemed more pleasant. Still, this creature might have some information, and he'd certainly dealt with fouler beasts in the past. He would have to choose his words carefully, however. He suspected that Orrag was sharper than he appeared.

Again annoyed at Vheod's unresponsiveness, Orrag asked, "What's your story, Vheod?"

"It's a long one," Vheod retorted, "but perhaps some of it might be of interest to you."

"I doubt it," Orrag lied, "but I must admit there's something intriguing about you. You're not from around here, are you?" Before Vheod could answer, the half-orc continued. "I'll tell you what. Let's make this interesting. You tell me a tale, and if I find it interesting, I’ll listen to whatever business you're supposed to have with me. Sound fair?"

Vheod had expected Orrag to be less than reputable from Ponter's brief comments earlier that day. His disgusting appearance and mannerisms were almost unnoticeable to someone who had spent his entire life among the fiends of the Lower Planes. However, something about Orrag puzzled him. The half-orc's manner suggested an unspoken agenda- almost as if he recognized who Vheod was, or what he was.