Ambrosius
The bum scrambles up and scurries off.
Eerongal
The merchants ears perk up and his smile once again broadens, lending to the idea that this man might have an elastic face.
"The Tournament. A popular topic, but unfortunately one that really doesn't have a lot of actual facts about it. Lots of rumors, though. 'It's a hoax, a trap, a scam.' Whatever it is, it's real, that much I can tell you. If anyone knows anything about it, really, they're not talking.
"Destron is a strange man, but a powerful one. He's pretty close to being the unchallenged ruler of this city, except for the Owl. Another Spheremorph boss. No one's sure why they're the ones who run things, but my gut, and few specific sources, tell me they've got Special Forms, both of them. Destron has more of the other Spheremorphs backing him, but the Owl has more experience, could probably wipe the floor with him mano-a-mano. So it's a sort of stalemate. But I'd wager every scrap of currency I've got, from the fivers to the prisms, that they're desperately looking for an edge. Something, anything, to tip the balance of power
"Cross on a hill? There's probably a lot of those, what with all the casualties that caravans have out there. But I take it you're looking for something more distinctive. I do know of a large monument of some type a few miles north of the bridge and a mile or two away from the river's edge. That might be what you're looking for."
You smell the bum before you see him. He rushes over to you, slightly hunched, and raps on your armor. "You Eerongal?"
The merchant's smile vanishes, thankfully, narrowing into a look of distaste. He doesn't comment, but gives you an expectant look, glancing at your coin bag.