Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20170225142449/@comment-5543592-20170225155604

It was roughly half an hour, give or take, before the door to the West Weald Taphouse once again creaked open. An older man, perhaps in his late sixties, shuffled in, hands held before him, concealed in the sleeves of his robes. He moved with the cautiousness one expects of the elderly, but was by no means frail looking or decript. He had the build of someone who was a warrior in their youth, had the dress of a scholar now.

"I don't suppose you're open?" He inquired, taking stock of the mostly empty room, and assuming the two people there were employees. His speech was refined, practiced, and had the calm assuredness of someone who'd seen just about everything there was to see two times over.