The Longest Road, Part 4
Rather than head straight for Khaytala, you decide to observe her for a bit first, to see what you can learn. You walk over and sit down at an empty table, casually positioning yourself so that you can observe the half-orc woman out of the corner of your eye.
Soon a tavern girl comes over. You ask for something cheap—it's not as though you can get any sustenance out of mortal food anyway—and she accepts your order with practiced cheer. Once she's gone you lean back in your seat, and try to get a better feel for your prey.
One thing that you quickly notice is how little Khaytala is actually drinking. You don't know how long she was nursing the tankard in front of her before you showed up, but even when your food finally arrives she still hasn't finished it.
Most of the other patrons, by contrast, seem to have at least some degree of inebriation, but Khaytala is keeping a clear head. Could it be wariness about letting her guard down, even here in the city? Or perhaps... could it be herself that she doesn't trust?
You go through the motions of mortal eating, even as you continue to observe. Eventually, Khaytala does empty her tankard. Rather than refill it, though, she does something even more interesting to pass the time. She pulls a small, well-worn book from one of her pockets and opens it.
There's no way to make out the title of the book from this distance, certainly not without being obvious in your observation. But you can see Khaytala relax a little as she starts to read, some of the tension leaving her face, her brow only slightly furrowed in simple, honest concentration.
She's still isolated, with resentful looks even now cast at her from every angle... but as her eyes move across the page, it seems to serve as a shelter for her, just a little.
But before you can ponder the matter further, you notice something else... this time from a different part of the large room. At one particular table, the angry muttering from a group of three increasingly drunken warriors starts to get louder. More urgent. It isn't long before they work themselves up enough to get up from their table, stumbling over to confront the target of their ire.
Which, unfortunately, turns out to be you.
The three of them stand in a menacing half-circle around your table, glaring down at you. "...the fuck are you doing here, ya... ya demon-spawn?" one of them shouts, his voice slurring. He's a big, bearded man with a warhammer strapped across his back, the apparent leader of this motley little group. "This ain't a place for your kind of vile filth!"
Well. This could be a problem. It seems even in Vekmar the prejudice against tieflings is interfering with your task. You mentally sigh, wondering how these men could be so ignorant. They're acting like anyone with the blood of demons must be some kind of insidious threat, out to tempt and corrupt all that is pure and holy.
Of course... in this particular case they're absolutely right. You are an insidious threat, out to tempt and corrupt all that is pure and holy. But still. It's the principle of the thing.
At any rate, one way or another, you'll have to decide how best to deal with them.