I don't trust Nikola.

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"Then you're wise," whispers Rebecca. "Come with me. I'll tell you more, but not here."


She rises, lurching a little (unsurprisingly, considering all the rum she drank). You follow her outside the tavern. The sun is setting, but there are no lamps to light the dark alleys. The young woman takes you to an isolated backstreet filled with broken crates and rotting barrels. There, she speaks openly.


"You look like you're up to something," she says. "I'd act against Nikola von Carstein if I could, but my hands are tied. Are you the kind of person who might stand a chance against him?"

"Yes, I am." (Or, at any rate, you think you are.)

"Good. Then I'll answer your questions."


Tell me about yourself.

Tell me about Nikola.

Tell me where I can find him.

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