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Durelin sat alone at a table in a dark corner of the common room, an untouched mug in front of him. He wears a cloak, though the inn is comfortably warm, its hood drawn up to hide the majority of his face. He must not draw attention to himself, not if he is to complete his task. Of course, he wondered now if he had been foolish to come here, foolish to risk searching at all...
This new evil presence, he thought, the wraiths...they turn the night into my enemy, which is normally my greatest ally...
As the common room grew more and more excited, Durelin did his best to remain inconspicuous, drawing his dark cloak more tightly to him.
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