The tavern was quiet, the active patrons at night slept during the day. He liked it this way, no one to bother him, no one to question his origins. With a content sigh he sits upon an old knot ridden chair, leaning forward upon a rickety wooden table. His cloak hiding his true identity, green eyes barely visible beneath. With a motion of his hand, a young man steps forward and leans close enough to listen. He only spoke in whispers, and was a common patron to the tavern. After only a few moments, the young man heads towards the back, unseen while preparing the order.
(I like where this is going, I shall continue shortly)
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