Elara tightened her cloak around her as she stepped into the dimly lit tavern, flanked by Edris and Chirovan. After answering the summons Kyran had put out, the leader of the Sons of Lyrel had chosen the meeting place, and it was as inconspicuous as it was grimy. The floors were sticky with spilled alcohol and food and groups of drunk, rowdy men were at every corner; such a group had their arms around each other's shoulders, singing some song to do with the gods and dawn and other topics Elara couldn't make out due to all the slurring.
The woman was seated at a table far at the back of the tavern, the mask obscuring her face gleamed in the firelight's glow. Her posture was relaxed, but there was an air about her that suggested she wasn't to be messed with. Elara noticed how, even the drunkest of men, seemed to purposely avoid the woman's table and her eyes.
