If ever Vandelin finds himself thinking the Circle had its good points, it's at times like this, when venturing into the shadier parts of Lowtown becomes a necessity. He still doesn't know how to navigate a city, not in the way that seems to come so naturally to everyone else, and there's nothing quite like walking through dark and hostile alleyways with all five feet and two inches of his body defiantly straightbacked and the points of his ears on full display.

But he has his staff at the ready, and a hex half-woven for anyone who might look at him cross-eyed, and he reaches the appointed tavern unscathed. It has occurred to him that for all the man's infamy, he doesn't actually know what Anders looks like. He scans the room discreetly for anyone in robes--he himself won't be difficult to spot; his stubborn refusal to procure clothing that doesn't mark him as a mage is now perhaps coming back to bite him.