'You there! You look like you didn’t spend last night with as much ale as some of us. Do me a favour, and I’ll make it worth your while.

'My name is Ulthir, greatest florist in all the land. I’m sure you’ve heard of me? No? Well, no accounting for taste, is there. By the by, wedding season is the most important time of year for a flower monger like myself. I labour for months growing, harvesting, and transporting my renowned blossoms and arrangements from my farm to various cities. This week I have the misfortune of being stuck in this smouldering pile of rocks. Mmmf, my head.

'Where was I? Oh yes, I seem to have imbibed a bit more than I am accustomed to last evening. Ah, don’t look at me like that! Do you have any inkling how difficult it is to keep roses fresh from my farm to here?! The stress nearly eats you alive! I've probably gone down an entire tunic size! So I might have had more than I should have to drink. What do you care? You’re not my wife! Wait, you’re not my wife, are you?'

The merchant squints up at you with bleary eyes.

'No, no you aren’t. Right, listen. You help me out and I’ll make it worth your while!

'You hear that ruckus? Someone in this tavern fancies themselves a bard, but a croaking frog has more melody than that cacophony. Here, take these coins and toss them to whoever that dreadful squalling is coming from. I need at least ten more hours of sleep and they aren’t helping in the slightest.'

Ulthir is trying to sleep it off in the bedchambers of the Splintered Shield.

You should inform Ulthir that you've made the minstrels move on.

Objectives