Just outside the Fastern Tavern the rain was starting to pour.  Luckily, however, the last three of those remaining outside managed to squeeze inside just prior to the first avalanching wave of rain.  The tavern was not a big one, but rather a cozy place one often found to stay the night after a long days journey.  Many times people would go there just to get a bite to eat or drink.  There was a big hearth which eight tables hovered around like bees around a honeycomb.  There was a bar to order mead and bread at or one could wait for a barmaid to come and ask what was desired.  Many people after a few hours of listening to the constant drum of the rain went up a flight of stairs to sleep and continue whatever task was theirs to finish once it had lifted.  Despite all of the others, four of the nineteen patrons had come for a specific reason, not one of relaxation or shelter but of dire talk requiring affirmation and the final, skillful planning.
     The first of which was a rather pleasant blonde that loved to talk.  She happily served people just for the pleasure of talking to them.  None ever minded the conversation, for although she was a little ditzy, she meant well and was an expert listener.  To the misfortune of some, she was such a good listener that many would forget that she was a complete stranger and would start reciting their life story with all of the delicious and sometimes unsavory details.  So many enjoyed to talk to her that few got the chance to even hear her name.  However, those who knew her best called her Mora, while the rest just new her as the prettiest barmaid that ever was.  She had a room upstairs, the smallest one available, so that she could more easily perform her tasks and duties whenever she was needed.  The owner of the tavern maintained it for her as part of room and board for her services.
     Now the rest of the group sat at one of the multiple tables surrounding the hearth.  They all patiently waited for the time at which they could easily talk amongst themselves.
     One was a small, timid man with brown hair that appeared to be so a part of nature that he could instantly disappear from view if he was outside.  He could also easily follow anything, night or day, or make them disappear just as easily.  Many times a group of people not wanting to be followed had acquired his assistance to make it seem as if they never existed, let alone were at a particular location.  As with others with a great love of money, he would happily tell anyone anything they desired to know that he knew for coins equivalent in value to the knowledge.  For the price of a few coins, or perhaps just a drink, one could even learn that his name was Heg the Tracker.  Yet, in no way did he resemble a serpent, but rather a feline constantly on the hunt that sometimes helps clear out rodents.  But, just like wild felines, he would have no master to dominate him without a fight.
     Standing next to Heg was an almost invisible body, nearly completely hidden in the shadows.  Few ever saw her presence and if they did it was usually already too late, for she was so much a part of shadows that even everything she wore was black and her hair was raven colored to match.  She hated bright colors but seemed to long for a bright light in her life.  Unfortunately, all she had was herself hiding in the shadows at the end of the day, once again doing as her clan bid.  Her name was so infamous that even though none had seen her, evil men quaked in fear of Ishtar the Assassin being in a shade near them.  To her enjoyment and slight displeasure, she found it necessary to work with three others.  Having no use for most of them she leaned toward the other dark, attractive, silent one.
     Silent and looking longingly into the fire, the final member of the party came to rest directly next to Ishtar.  The fire fought to stay alive on the dying logs as long as it could until someone would throw another on to watch it fight for another hour.  Although not much taller than most, the armor he wore was of such a thick metal that none dared to challenge his strength, without the same training.  He could move more quickly in that armor than most could when grounded by a normal five pound load, and wielded a sword like some demon just recently spawned from Hell. Yet, never was there a trace beyond his armor and speed of his strength, for his silent intent eyes held back all with a black curtain falling just enough to block part of their view.   The best knight of the land, Araym was his name and few dared to meet such a vicious foe in battle.  As quick as one knight could draw his sword, so was he cut down by this great man.