The Meeting

Orange light from a roaring fire and a dozen lanterns filled the cramped tavern. The warmth and roar of talk, tales, and laughter was a stark contrast to the blizzard raging a few feet outside its walls. Heglen sat in the corner by the main door close to a latticed window that whistled a foreboding song to him with invisible icy breath.

He had positioned himself so he could see anyone that approached the tavern door, and when it opened he would remain concealed until they were past the threshold. He had been sitting, waiting, for hours. An untouched flagon of mead sat at a small table that was nothing more than a rough tree trunk stood on its side. Next to it was a pile of silver coin.

Glancing about the tavern, Heglen observed the usual collection of dwarves, men, goblins, and mystics that through a common need of warmth had put aside most of their differences to enjoy the comfort of the tavern. The sight saddened him, as he knew it would not last.

A serving wench noticed his wandering gaze, and approached with a fresh flagon. He waved her away, and placed another coin on the pile next to him. She placed the flagon at a table of drunken dwarves, and pointed at him. The dwarves let loose a roar of thanks.

With a boom the heavy tavern door flew open and icy wind roared into the room. Heglen lept to his feet. A dark robed figure swept into the room. Without hesitation they turned to Heglen. Closing the distance between them with the blink of an eye, the figure was upon him. Heglen felt a cold hand grip his throat, and gazed down into a pair of glowing blue eyes.

“Hello Prim. Look, I can explain.”