Stepping into the inn and turning his gaze towards their table, he saw first and foremost Sigmund’s bearded visage smiling back at him, mug in hand as the bearded historian continued to slowly and methodically inch closer towards drunkenness. He took a seat, silently drinking as he mentally checked out to get some of the stress of kowtowing to bureaucrats out of his system. They caught him up on the situation, though he was so mentally exhausted from even this short errand that he had to repeat the information in his head to make sure he remembered who would get which room.

He wasn’t exactly paying attention to the exchange that took place between Sigmund and Zefaris, but he got the general gist of it. “I’m gonna hit the sack a lil’ early,” he excused himself when he felt the liquor settling, rising to his head.

“G’night,” Sigmund rumbled. “I’ll finish this pitcher n’ do the same.”

Key in hand up the stairs he went, but something gave him pause when he passed by the room numbered four - the same number on the key that the barkeep gave to Zefaris. He briefly heard strange noises from beyond the door, and thought that the two might be fighting when he noticed thin, mostly-dissipated strands of Fog creeping under the door. Makhus stopped and listened, ear against the door, readying himself to bust in there to pry them apart in case they really were fighting.

There were certain techniques he could use without uttering a single word, and among these was a technique that had saved his life many times. “S.S.S.S. Arts: Auditory Enhancement...” he thought.

With just a small amount of Rubedo, he could hone one of his senses to a bleeding edge - one sharp enough that, even through a door as thick as this, he clearly heard noises that were rather clearly not the result of violence, or at least not of the combative variety. He did his best to wipe the memory of the sounds he heard as he quietly stalked away from the door and towards number five. Alas, he soon made the choice to take a bath when he realized he could still occasionally hear a moan through the solid brick wall.

A long bath. At least long enough for the effects Auditory Enhancement to wear off.

Makhus quickly set the heat dial to thirty-nine, locked the bathroom door, shed his clothes, and sat in the bath. Even with the flowing water ringing out against the tub’s copper body, he could still hear them, just barely. And so… He took to singing to himself, reaching for the sponge and soap-stick to begin cleansing himself, both of physical and mental filth.

The first song that came to mind was one that had been drilled into every single Ikesian soldier through constant, relentless repetition during boot camp. “Here's the story of Ikesia, a land both fair and great...” he sang, rubbing the soap shavings into the sponge before he began to scrub his hands and forearms, moving up.