In a dimly lit tavern, the air was thick with the smell of ale and stale sweat. The patrons, a motley crew of rogues and wanderers, huddled over their drinks, their voices drowned out by the raucous clatter of dice and the occasional clink of a coin hitting the wooden table. In a corner booth, a group of adventurers sat, hushed whispers passing between them.

A man sat down hunched Infront of you, wearing a black cloak that hid his face. "Excuse me?" Lycidas asks in a quiet, raspy voice.