Vir waves off the hand and shakily pushes himself up to sitting. “M’fine. M’fine. Just gotta... sleep it off.” His head slumps forward.

He’s going for an Oscar for Best Faked Injury, in the hopes that they’ll keep him somewhere for observation (or turn him over to Lissa) and he won’t have to book his own room for the night. 

Lissa arrives a minute or so later, grumbling. "What's he done to himself– oh, just perfect." She squats in front of him. "Vir? What happened?" 

“Vision... thief... baggins...” and then he mumbles incoherently, barely keeping his eyes open.

Lissa swears under her breath. "Great. Exactly what I don't want to deal with." To someone else nearby: "Guess I'd better get him upstairs - a hand?" 

Between her and the Healer, they haul Vir to his feet. 

Vir stumbles along gamely to wherever they take him.

It turns out to be a small, slant-ceilinged attic room with two beds. Lissa conveys Vir over to one of them and they plop him down. 

A woman dressed all in white is sitting on the other bed, yawning and cleaning a dagger. "Lissa?" she says uncertainly. 

"Our new recruit had some sort of incident, got himself banged up." She squats and starts digging out a bedroll. "Vir? What was that about thieves?" 

With half-lidded eyes, Vir groans and slowly, agonizingly, rolls his neck out — coincidentally doing a sweep of the room as he goes. He takes special interest in the dagger, any other personal effects, and to a lesser extent the woman in white.

“Thieves...” he shakes his head, and seems to pull it together slightly. “Thief. Singular. That big blokey guy from [country of origin] wearing that [recognizable item] with the [uniquely identifying scar or birthmark] on his big ugly face. Name might be Mark?”

He sighs with the weight of being so beset upon by the whimsy of fate. “I had a vision.”

"Huh! Really?" The two women glance curiously at each other. "Well. I'm taking the bedroll anyway, guess I can lay it out in front of the door. I'm a light sleeper, no one'll get past me." 

The other woman stands up. "Oy, if you pass me Need she can help me toss up some wards, maybe." 

"- Right, forgot about that." Lissa reaches to unhook the sheathed sword she's wearing at her belt. "Here you go." 

“No shit you’ve got a named magical sword? That’s literally fantastic.”

Lissa giggles, and then exchanges an eye-roll with the other woman. "Actually it's mostly obnoxious. She's very, well, opinionated." 

Suddenly dead serious: “How does she feel about killing drug dealers and pocketing their cash?”

Lissa looks nonplussed. 

There is, however, suddenly a voice talking in his head! It's sort of dry and dusty; decidedly female, but giving off the impression of a battle-hardened and somewhat crotchety older woman, talking to a child. 

:Depends. Do they hurt women?: 

(The emotions wafting along with the mental voice, however, hint that 'Need' is feeling some anticipation and glee at the thought of a good fight.) 

:Depends,: Vir thinks while clenching up. He’s pleased as punch that he gets to add “sword telepathy” to his mysterious psychic act. :Does getting 12-year-old girls so hooked on black tar heroin that they cut off their own leg at the knee and sell it to necromancers for a hit count as “hurting women”?:

:Because if so, then probably.:

Somehow he gets the purely-mental impression of suspicious narrowed eyes and dubiously beetled eyebrows. :Is that a real thing? Sounds bloody fake to me: 

:Wow, got it in one! Yeah, I was fucking with you. I don’t even know if you guys have drugs in medieval Velgarth. But come on, like there isn’t some jackass who got rich on the black market who beats his wife or slaps orphans? Sword please.:

:- Against my bloody better judgment, I like you. You've got spunk. Too bad you're a man: 

Shrug. :Eh, not the first woman who’s told me that. Anyhoo, wanna go against your better judgment some more and help me sneak out of here tonight? I’m trying to frame this asshole who reeks of assault and battery, but it’ll take some doing in the night, and apparently Madame General here is a light sleeper...:

:Sounds bloody irresponsible and illegal: 

The sword's mental voice, however, is definitely intrigued, and faintly approving. 

Vir mentally winks.

:Well, I can't get you past Lissa. Reckon you could climb out the window, though? Oh, and back in, that part's important too. I can do a sound-barrier so the others don't wake: