Looking through the gloom and filth, Vogir stands rigid. He hates the dark and the stench of the undead permeates the air.
Questioning himself for the twentieth time he asks why he’s here.
To help the (so far) ungrateful people of Winterhaven?
Looking down at his palm, he counts out the 10gp and 2sp that they’ve each found so far.
He eyes unconsciously dart towards the exit.