A Broken Bottle

On entering the public bar, Fred and Astra saw a boisterous group of five who met the qualifications for 'disreputable.' Laughter and shouting from their corner bench could be heard throughout the bar. An overpowering smell of sweat, dirt, port wine, fish, and chicken wafted from the table. All the men wore a strange combination of ragged, parti- coloured tunics and hose with richly ornamented cloaks and soft, silky shoes. They were all dirty, armed, and three had stubbly faces. A fourth had an unkempt black beard, and wore a gaudy necklace with some cheap jewels.

The last was clean-shaven. His tunic was too short to completely cover a large and pale expanse of belly, and he was standing unsteadily on his feet.

"Eat, drink, and be merry. It is good to be among friends!"

"Hear, hear, Jack!" shouted the party in reply.

The fat man raised a nearly empty bottle of port as if to toast something, but it slipped out of his grip and crashed to the floor. "Never mind that!" said Jack. "I have broken many bottles. I must have broken a hundred bottles." He paused, and continued his narrative, fueled by the cheering of his fellow scoundrels and the port. "I have broken the swords of a hundred knights."

"Hear, hear!" shouted the other four.

"I have broken the hearts of a hundred maidens."

"Yes, yes!" agreed the crowd.

"And I shall ..." Jack paused, not quite knowing what to say. " ... need a bottle of spiced rum."

This looked like as good a group of scoundrels as any to start questioning in order to try to unravel the riddle of Horace the Centaur's location. There was a question of how Fred and Astra should approach.

1. Fred offers to buy the group a round of drinks.
2. Fred challenges Jack. "From the looks of you, the only thing that you can break is wind."
3. Astra attempts to charm the group into giving her information.

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