The Plagued Rat hadn’t changed one iota in the past three months and, for that, Skrakch was grateful. The bar was still packed with The Slum's worst characters, all hoping to drink themselves into oblivion for the chance at forgetting their terrible lots in life.

The wooden furniture was still stained with various fluids, the chairs half broken and the tables were still kept upright by folded beer mats placed under them. As was always the case, a thin layer of depression and desperation hung over the bar. And yet, Skrakch reminded himself with a sigh, it was still the only pub in The Slums that would let him in for a drink.

It made Skrakch laugh. Pubs would turn him down because he was an Iskrin yet they’d let someone like Zacharias drink himself into a stupor with no questions asked.

Skrakch knew he’d find the Halfling in the pub. Ever since the night Winifred had disappeared, Zacharias had changed. He’d always been partial to a mead or two but now it was more like six, seven, eight…Skrakch felt that he barely saw the half-man sober anymore, even when they were on a job.

The Halfling was in the midst of polishing off a flagon of mead, so Skrakch flagged down the serving wench and went to sit with his old pal. It was clear the Halfling had seen better days, his silken black shirt rumpled and soaked with booze, his jaw sporting a clump of hair that hardly deserved to be called a beard.

Worst of all was his face. The wounds Sykes had left had turned into deep scars that had transformed his face into a mess. Most of his nose was missing and he was now wearing an eyepatch that Skrakch knew was covering up his empty left eye socket.

It was clear the half-man had been drinking for hours already, and the sun wasn’t about to set any time soon. But, Skrakch mused, he certainly wasn’t the guy’s mother. Why should he be the one to try and reign Zacharias in?

“I got the message from one of your ‘lady friends’,” Skrakch said as he took a seat at the table. “You said a little birdie was coming? Well…it had better be something impressive. I’m not going to rob another empty house,” He complained. “The pay is no good and the odds of me doing something impressive enough to get me Chosen is pretty much zero.”

“There y’are Squeakers!” Zacharias replied, looking at Skrakch blearily. “Late to the party but that don’t matter! Come’n get a drink with me… and the little bird or whatever? Yer gonna love it!” He continued with a hiccup. He attempted to raise his tankard of mead in salute but he ended up spilling it over the table. “Aw shit the bed!” He moaned.

“So, who is this little birdie then?” Skrakch asked impatiently, leaning back from the table and shooting a glare towards the well-lubricated Halfling.

“I ‘ave it on pretty good authority that our dear Winnie is back,” Zacharias answered. He clicked his fingers at a nearby serving wench. She rolled her eyes but hurried off to fetch him a drink all the same.

“Really?” Skrakch replied, suddenly interested. He couldn’t say that he’d missed the pit fighter exactly, but having her back would give him the chance to find out more about becoming a Chosen which, in his book, was never a bad thing. “So you’ve asked her to meet us here I assume?”

“Nah,” Zacharias shook his head. “Only just found out meself didn’t I?” He gave the serving wench a lecherous smile as she handed him a fresh tankard of mead. She smiled politely enough at him but, when she turned away, Skrakch saw the look of disgust on her face. “I figured let’s ‘ave a good old piss up and then we can ask her what’s what tomorrow.”

The wooden chair scraped as Skrakch stood up, a disgusted look crossing his own features as the Halfling drank deeply from his fresh tankard.

“Gods Above Zacharias! Just look at yourself,” He admonished, shaking his head. “It’s your pit fighter that’s returned after three months of doing who knows what and going who knows where and you still don’t want to find out what she’s been up to?”

“It’ll keep mate,” Zacharias replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Shit always does…sit back down, ‘ave a drink…or six!” He guffawed with laughter at his own joke.

“You can stay and pickle yourself but I’m going to see Winifred,” Skrakch said firmly.

“Well, tell ‘er hi from me and to get her arse down here for a pint then.” Zacharias replied with a shrug. He got up from the table and wobbled over to a pair of dodgy-looking Halflings who were playing a game of cards. They wordlessly dealt him into the game, shooting each other amused grins as they prepared to fleece their drunken “cousin”.

Skrakch shook his head once more and left the pub. If Zacharias wanted to drink himself into oblivion then it was his choice, foolish or not. His priority was finding out about what had happened to Winifred during her mysterious disappearance.

Thankfully, Skrakch didn’t have to go too far to get to Winifred’s place. The pit fighter lived in a small dwelling a few streets away from the pub. Skrakch had never admitted it to her, but he was actually quite jealous of her place.

Many of the housing options in The Slums had been forced to take a more defensive approach to combat the rampant crime that dogged the area. Whoever had been responsible for building Winifred’s home had had the ingenious idea of building it underground. The only indication of anything being there was an innocuous-looking set of basement doors attached to a bakery. It looked for all the world like the baker’s cellar, tucked away as it was.

He rapped on the doors, feeling his stomach turn over with excitement. A few seconds later, the doors opened and Winifred’s head popped up into view.

“Oh,” She grinned for a moment but then looked disappointed. “Is the Wee Man nae with ye?” She asked, looking around.

“Well that’s just lovely,” Skrakch spat sarcastically. “Here I am wanting to see how you are after your disappearance and all you can ask is if Zacharias is with me,” His fur bristled with annoyance.

He took a more careful look at the pit fighter. There was an ansty expression on her face, her eyes flicking from side to side as though she was constantly on the lookout for something. Or someone. Her brunette hair was tangled and wild-looking. Despite the grip she had on the handle of the basement door, he could tell that her hand was trembling.

“Ye best come in,” She said, nodding downwards.

Skrakch followed Winifred down the metal ladder attached to the side of the ten-foot hole that lead to her home. He’d forgive her for the Zacharias’ thing. If anyone was going to be the key to getting him to be a Chosen, it would be her.