[Alaksoron]

A tall, cloaked figure enters the inn. His black cowl shadows much of his face, but his eyes are clearly visible as they dart back and forth across the inn. He does not appear to see what he is searching for and murmurs something unintelligible under his breath.

Silently he takes a seat in the corner, lights a pipe, and orders a pint in a raspy, grating whisper. He appears to wait, most patiently, and his seldom movements are executed with a certain wolfish grace, like a coiled viper about to strike.