The Black Bull Inn was not the best establishment Mustafa had ever been in but it certainly wasn't the worst. At least it didn't have the usual smell of human excrement and stale vomit that most of these rundown inns had. His nose still crinkled at the smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies, however. Compared to the cold and dark outside, the inn felt like heaven. Bright candles light up all corners, leaving no dark corners and a merry fire crackled in a fireplace. The barman gave a smile as Mustafa and his companions entered the inn. 'Evening gents and, not so gents. Whata'ya having?' he asked, rubbing a dirty glass with a rag. Mustafa licked his lips. It had been a long night, so he settled on a glass of water. The barman gave him a strange look while pouring and handing him the water, as if he had never been asked for something non-alcoholic by a customer before.

He had received a few looks while in Persk. Most were curious but a few had been suspicious and even hostile. As he drained the glass quickly, he leaned onto the bar and glanced around the inn. Many were working men, in after a long day to get drunk and have a good time with their mates. They drank heartily and loudly from large glasses and could be seen constantly stumbling up to the bar for another round. A few were shady looking characters, who did not speak but sat at their tables, sipping on small glasses of something that was no doubt stronger than beer. Then there were his companions. He hadn't spoken to any of them yet and he hadn't yet caught their names. One thing was for sure. He didn't like the look of any of them. His right hand occasionally snaked down and clutched the hilt of his scimitar. It was a nervous habit he possessed, as if expecting a fight to break out at any moment.

But no one took him any mind apart from the barman who asked if he would like some more water. He nodded and was soon draining another glass. Water in his homeland was almost as rare as gold, so he took every opportunity to drink as much as possible. Mustafa began to realise he was overwhelmingly tired while drinking his next glass - he hadn't slept in over 24 hours. So he dragged his tired bones over to an empty table near the wall and flung his bag under the chair. He collapsed on the chair and could of slept then. But he didn't.

He was curious yet weary of his new companions, who were complete strangers and undeniably dangerous. It was perfectly possible he could awake one morning to find his possessions stolen or even that his life had been taken. In which case, he wouldn't wake at all. This thought kept him awake, if just barely. He watched his companions lazily, making note of each one of them. The tall, lanky man with the slouch looked to be the most dangerous. He also took note of the slim, taller woman who had an air of confidence about her. The shorter woman (if she wasn't just a girl!) looked rather innocent to him but looks could be deceiving. The older/oldest mercenary, who completed the line up of his companions, looked to be the hardest to kill. If it ever came to it, Mustafa would rather risk his payment and run rather than kill these four at once. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. They would be all be essential in this quest.