The travellers noticed Farmer Dauget watching Elsbeth throughout the evening. When she was finally alone he pulled her up to the bar. “You gonna get me a drink or wha’? Mines the Stinkin’ Ale.” Once his thirst was placated he lowered is voice to barely a whisper; “I ‘ear there’s a wizaarrrrd ‘bout town staying in this Inn. Never leaves him room but s’ovious ee’s on er-run. Something dark up by ‘em teeth I’d wager!” after stumbling after Marcella’s young passing form, a loud cracking noise causes the room to hush as Mrs Dauget, rolling pin in hand, dragged the limp old man from the inn by his collar muttering all level of extremities. A shining purple lump swiftly erupts upon his forehead and pausing at the door she calls back into the crowded room; “An’ tha’s ‘ow he lost most ‘is teeth!” to raucous cheers.
That evening Denelyth met the wizard staying at the Inn. A wary mountain elf by the name of Macealyn, a well travelled scholar in hiding, who agreed to meet him for breakfast the following morning.