Dimnys, Ragnar and Bertha are stunned to see the giant cat coming their way carrying the Druid. It’s definitely not a sight you would expect to see every day.

“I feel like I’m being replaced, was I not Fluffy enough?” Nemu asks Cain.

“Never underestimate her love for soft things, Kone will likely want one of you on either side of her come bedtime.” Cain laughs and Kone looks intrigued at the idea of being buried in warm fluff.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to put that thing in the stables. Might eat the horses.” Bertha frowns.

“Don’t worry, it’s a Summoning Spell. I can release it for the afternoon and call it back to my side at bedtime.” Kone assures her and the Matron laughs.

“Alright then, get yourselves cleaned up for dinner. Will our extra fancy looking bards be entertaining tonight?”

“I plan on it. I got an upgrade today too, and it should have improved my singing voice.” Nemu practically purrs in anticipation.

To say the place is full is an understatement. Everyone who makes the list as trustworthy is here, from the guard at the dungeons to the King’s advisor and the Leatherworker lady that Bertha set him up with the other day. They seem to be still getting along, and she’s clearly smitten with him, so the man’s bachelor days are definitely numbered.

A hooded figure sneaks in from upstairs and enters the kitchen, just as Nemu begins her introduction and first song, so Cain gets up to make sure nothing bad is about to happen. Bertha waves him off, knowing who the hooded Dwarf is, and the mesmerizing voice of Nemu fills the speakeasy. To say her voice got better is an understatement. Even her regular singing borders on a bard’s spell, and the crowd is entranced.

Cain’s party is sitting with Ragnar, a very elderly blacksmith Cain hasn’t caught the name of and the guard from the Dungeon entrance. Cain is sitting in the back with a Vala twin on each knee to make space in the booth and their table is drawing envious glances from all over. Kone is drinking spiced milk, as is the blacksmith, though he looks like he’s still stout enough he could knock back Dwarven Ale with the best of them despite his age. Ragnar and Dimnys have cut back on the Whiskey tonight in favor of gallons of honey mead, citing problems remembering the last performance.

Cain has decided that the stomach of a Dwarf is in fact a magical artifact. Because there’s no way a body that size should be able to contain that amount of alcohol. The Dwarves burst into laughter when he informs them of his idea, saying it’s perfectly natural for a Dwarf to be able to drink, but Kone and Vala seem to think he’s on to something. Most of the Fae races have some magical aspect to their nature, and while some would dispute if the Dwarves are really Fae, their drinking abilities suggest they are indeed magical creatures.

“So, Dimnys did you find out anything interesting today during your trip to the blacksmiths?” Cain asks the little Dwarf who looks ready to burst with excitement.

“We spent all day mixing Elven and Dwarven smithy reagents to create better versions of magical steel. I think we’ve got three new mixes that are nearly perfect, we just need time to craft them into items and see what the result will be. If we’re right they might make an item just as good as using rare metals without all the expense. Since the city now has a trade agreement with the Fae Alliance on at least a basic level, that could serve us very well the next time they come begging for weapons.”

She’s got a point, high end magical weapons are in demand everywhere in this world. Or at least in what is known as the Beginner Valley in this world. Having more of them in circulation would help everyone, not just the smiths making them. The odd politics and home towns of the valley have the Dwarves on the west and Elves in the east with humans in between and very little trade between them, so mixing materials like this is quite uncommon.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow then?” Kone asks.

“We could go watch them work, or see what there is to find in the city. They’ve got an excellent selection of foods and things made of fur.” Cain suggests and the conversation turns to Kone’s new pet while the Nemu girls move the night into more energetic dancing songs.

For a while the conversation is entirely drowned out in the noise of the crowd, so Cain brings the girls up to dance, carrying the reluctant Kone who insists she doesn’t know how. It’s not hard to follow though, barroom dancing isn’t nearly as formal and structured as ballroom dancing, just try to keep with the rhythm, and she soon picks it up.

As they dance Cain notices the hooded Dwarf again, hiding in the shadows but this time catches a glimpse of his face. The Dark Dwarven King has come to watch the festivities. It’s a shame he can’t join in, but it is a speakeasy after all, he wouldn’t want to cause a scandal if the Dwarven nobles are like others Cain has heard of, or read about in stories during his past life.

He keeps out of sight the rest of the night, but Cain notices him leaving early in the morning when the Felian girls are finally finished singing and it’s time to carry the last remaining patrons to more comfortable positions before Bertha closes up the bar.

Dwarves seem remarkably casual about where they sleep, or perhaps the pub is a sacred location in their culture, but nobody seems to have a problem with sleeping off a night of drinking on the floor of a tavern. Bertha even keeps blankets behind the bar for them, and brings them out once the patrons that stayed are laid out in rows in the floor to avoid waking up with cramped legs and sore backs.

Cain’s joking prediction to Nemu at the start of the night, that she was far from redundant proved entirely accurate too. Not just one, but both Felians are sharing the bed with the girls and Kone’s Giant Lynx tonight in a huge pile of fur and flesh. Lynx in the middle and Nemu twins to the outside with the non furry girls sandwiched in the middle.. At least he knows they’re safe, overseen by the three guardians who don’t actually need to sleep and just enjoy the warmth.