Re: The Kitchens
The lycan grins. "Well, meeting people and making connections is all part of the job for a mercenary. Being a merc is pretty much what I was raised to do from the get-go. All those skills led me in the same direction. I learned that more important than who you were was who you knew, and how you asked."
His smile fades. "It was while I was working as a merc, years later, that I contracted a rather deadly disease. I was coughing up some sort of... well, best to not go into details here. It was hell. The humans I was amongst, well... we all had it. We were dying."
Saul's expression darkens further, in painful recollection. "There was a tribe of lycans that lived nearby. The humans traded with them, and while the humans suffered the ravages of the disease, the lycans remained healthy. So I crawled there. Collapsed. Made my request of the old bear lycan shaman just before I blacked out." He shuts his eyes for a moment.
The lycan shakes his head and looks back at Maithgen, a sad smile forming. "When I came to I was as I am now. Scarred from my close brush with death. Deprived of magic. Much stronger, but aging rapidly. I was the only survivor."
"Here I am going on about my whole history, probably boring you to tears," he snaps out of his reverie, "but it's very polite for you to listen. How is it you came to view the drow with such a strong level of dislike?"