As the echoes of laughter and the clinking of tankards subsided, Marco's expression shifted from mirthful camaraderie to solemn determination. The jovial atmosphere in the tavern tempered as he raised his hand, signaling for the band to settle.
"Listen up, lads," Marco began, his voice cutting through the lingering revelry. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his face, emphasizing the gravity of his words. "Our time for celebration is short. We strike tonight."
A hush fell over the band as each member met Marco's gaze, their eyes reflecting the steely resolve that defined their profession. The jovial banter gave way to a focused energy, and the air in the room became charged with anticipation.
"We've trained for this, and we know our marks," Marco continued, his words measured and purposeful. "The despot's army won't know what hit them. Swift, precise, and silent We make our move when the night is darkest."
