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called her Hairy Carrie?”
    “I thought they were calling her Hari Kari because she was suicidal.”
    “She was suicidal?”
    “I don’t know. I only assumed that because everyone was calling her Hari Kari.”
    Tony the Elf stopped walking and turned around. “Hold on a sec. You took advantage of a drunk girl who you thought to be suicidal?”
    Tim’s face took on the look of someone who Matlock had badgered into confessing in the courtroom. “I… she…”
    “You disgust me,” said Tony the Elf. He turned his back to Tim and started walking again.
    “I was the victim here!” said Tim. “You think I would have done that sober?”
    “This must be one of those cultural differences,” said Jorn. “This all sounds very much like typical dwarven courting ritual.”
    “We’re getting near the Piss Bucket,” said Tony the Elf. “The first person to talk before we get there is getting stabbed in the face.”
    They continued along without speaking, but only made it about twenty yards further down the street when the silence was broken by the pained howl of a dog from a side street up ahead.
    “What was that?” asked Jorn.
    “Nothing,” Tony the Elf answered just a bit too abruptly. “Probably just two dogs fighting over a scrap of meat.”
    Tim and Dave exchanged a dubious glance. As a rogue, Tim was better equipped to tell when someone was bullshitting him, but Dave didn’t need a Sense Motive check to know that Tony the Elf was blowing smoke up their asses. If anyone else had been fooled, it wasn’t for long.
    “Stupid animal!” The voice was deep and guttural. Dave guessed half-orc. “See how you like it.” This was followed by another pained howl.
    A closed tavern with a low garden wall occupied the street corner up ahead. Dave, Tim, and Jorn ran toward the wall to see what was going on.
    “Wait!” said Tony the Elf. “Stop!” They ignored him.
    Dave peeked over the wall. The dog in question was filthy and shaggy. It was a sheepdog, or else one of its parents was an old mop. It lay on its side in the middle of the street. The only indication it was still alive was the matted fur moving up and down as it breathed. The half-orc who stood over it wiped his boot over the dog’s body, leaving behind a streak of brown.
    “That’ll teach you to take a dump in my path,” he growled at the dog.
    “Ease up,” said the elf next to him. “I think the pooch has learned his lesson.” He took a swig from a glass bottle, and then poured some of the contents on the dog’s face. “Here poochie. Have a drink.” The dog didn’t respond.
    “Looks like the poor thing’s all tuckered out,” said the half-orc. “Light up his tail and see if that stirs anything in him.”
    The elf laughed. “Good idea.”
    “What are they doing to that dog?” Jorn whispered.
    “Let’s just get out of here,” said Tony the Elf. His voice was almost pleading, but nobody moved.
    The elf conjured a small fireball the size of a billiard ball, and threw it at the dog’s tail. He missed by a couple of inches, and the flame fizzled out in a puddle.
    “Idiot,” the half-orc said with a snort. “You’re so wasted.”
    “Wasted?” Tim whispered. “Do people around here say…” He looked up at Tony. “Hang on. Are those assholes some of ours?”
    “I’ll explain later,” said Tony the Elf. “Right now we just need to get out of here. Trust me on this.”
    “What?” said Jorn. “And let them torture that poor dog to death? What kind of men are you?” She gave Dave a particularly vicious glare. “What kind of dwarf are you? Your fathers would weep to see you now.” She stood up and stepped out into the street.
    “Shit,” said Tony the Elf. “They’ll kill her.”
    Dave started to move toward Jorn, but it was too late.
    “You there!” Jorn shouted. “What sorry excuses for men are you who would take pleasure in the pain of this defenseless animal?”
    The half-orc and the elf turned around.
    “Well