Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26446054-20170912201340/@comment-5424581-20170915033025

Epic Scimitars wrote:

All signs of time are indistinguishable within the murk of the Feed Bag, a popular spectacle for those who cannot gamble on the official Arena- merriment, oral combat, and refreshments.

In a particular corner, surrounded by flickering candle light, a hooded but not entirely hidden figure sits drinking a pint of ale. He is old, and his cloak patched. He has, however, the expectant face of any figure in his position; a circle avoids him, choosing to pretend his existence is as mythic as that of dragons.

And as instructed by a recruiter of similar mysterious yet dull disposition, he is to await an even darker figure to approach.

Sadean quietly shuffles past the patrons of the tavern. Despite being talented at keeping hidden his attire makes him stand out in a casual setting such as this. He spots the hooded man and sits next to him. He says nothing, expecting the other man to make the first move.