Fetzen Opening Post: 

The weather was dreary as if the location had been some remote island in the middle of a harsh ocean. The sky's floodgates were wide open, unleashing huge amounts of vater in volleys set a few minutes to several hours apart from each other. Were things weeping due to the many victims a dragon's arrival could possibly claim ? Or had the gods in some strange act of compassion decided to preemptively drench the world in water to make it harder for the creature to set things on fire ? Whatever it was -- at least temperatures were above freezing. While it was cold noone had to be afraid of slipping on ice, even though it would have made the ground rock solid again.

A large horse with a dark fur pattern was struggling to pull a medium-sized cart along the worn road. Despite the slow speed its wheels were digging deeply enough into the mud to throw up chunks of it behind them, littering the rear end of the supplies loaded on it in the progress. Luckily Vyzel and his carriage driver, Gharak, had been thorough in their preparations: Everything was tightly packed in wooden crates and wool or leather in order to optimize both usage of space and protection. From top to bottom the stack of crates had been arranged in such a way that they'd not have to jump from an upper level to a lower level in order to retrieve a certain thing. The plan was to unpack crates as they became the top of the remaining stack in order to have a constant stream of those supplies whose demand could be planned ahead. Two more horses were accompanying them, none of them saddled but both seemed to be more suited for riding.

If these were reserved for Vyzel then it would be clear why there were two of them: The man who had been promoted to the rank of slayer dwarfed his companion by about two feet -- and Gharak couldn't really be called small given that he stood at about six feet himself. Vyzel wasn't a beanstalk either - a look at his relatively massive thighs and upper body could tell that he had some experience with a strict training regime. However he didn't look anywhere near being a brute: His halfway dark beard put up a contrast to his rather pale complexion which ran along his jawline in a neatly pruned manner. What little hair was sticking out beneath his hoodie appeared to be properly organized and cut short. His clothing ? Definitely of high quality. The leather did its job repelling the ubiquitous moisture and there was a layer of soft cloth below it to keep him warm. If one looked closer and was even more attentive one could also see that there was nothing loaded onto the cart that looked like any kind of huge weapon which would probably suit such a person. In fact there didn't seem to be any weapon present at all. Of course this wasn't true, but some things Vyzel usually relied upon were delicate and he certainly lacked interest in them being exposed to everyone's eyesight.

The carriage came to a halt in front of a not-so-well looking tavern. Vyzel craned his neck to get a brief look at its roof, trying to boost his confidence in there being no annoying leaks or even hidden instabilities. Not that he would have had much success with that attempt. His heavy traveling boots left almost Norn-like imprints behind and once more in his life a doorframe proved to be too small to pass through comfortably. Gharak remained outside and maneuvered the vehicle to a more appropriate location. His job was to stay with it and make sure that noone would put his hands on the cargo.

The Warped Nail had as much patina on the inside as it had on the outside. While all the wooden surfaces told that its owners did put effort in cleaning them the furniture itself was just plain old. Vyzel picked a table in one of the corners where no other guests were nearby. He didn't like the prospect of anyone being able to eavesdrop, yet the precariously groaning noise of his stool did gather quite some attention as the more than heavy man sat down.