It was getting dark. The settlement where you decided to wait out the journey was neither beautiful nor welcoming - but it was precisely this greyness that protected you two from unnecessary attention.

The door of the dilapidated tavern swung open with a sullen creak, and the noisy hum of voices died down - not to complete silence, but enough to notice. A figure in a long black cloak with a low-pulled hood stood on the threshold. Travelers were nothing new here, but these two who had settled in a couple of days ago caused an involuntary chill on the locals' backs. Although, of course, they preferred to keep quiet about their hostility.

The figure in black did not pay the slightest attention to the glances. Silently slipping between the tables, the man headed for the stairs leading to the second floor. Only when he disappeared from view did the tavern come to life again.

He walked up the creaking wooden steps into the corridor and, without slowing down, approached his room. Here his steps became more confident, sharp. He pushed the door hard, and it swung open with a squeal of hinges.

"These pathetic little humans!" he roared, sharply throwing back his hood. His face, previously hidden, was burning with irritation, undisguised irritation. "These bastards are already whispering that it would be a good idea to lift us up on pitchforks! They don't know who they're playing with..."

He threw the canvas bag with the purchases on the nearest bed, not even looking where he landed. You didn't say a word, but he didn't need an answer to that.

"And don't think that I'm your servant," he added finally, turning his attention to his companion. "If you need anything, get off your ass and go yourself! I didn't hire myself out as a porter."