Meanwhile, in the tavern...

[DM Chicken Little]

A lone man, farmer from his garb and bearing, sits with a mug in hand, several emptied bottles standing in front of him, extruding an aura of grim determination. Emptying the mug for the last time, he grits between his teeth,

"Theys so mighty, and couldn't even save my Daria... Curse on them all..."

The word is a spit in the distaste heard in it,

"Heroes"

The man stumbles, picks up the pitchfork leaning against the wall, then walks off, heading toward the eastern gate.