Out in the hallway soft footfalls echoed from the stone walls, announcing the arrival of a third party. Weather scarred boots halted in front of the wooden door through which the muffled sound of two male voices could be heard. One of them seemed to be foreign to the capital, judging by the melody in his voice. Although the words spoken didn't carry beyond the room the voices could be identified. Surely one of them would be the lord Illyn Grey who had called upon the fire-guild for a fighter to protect his merchandise.

 The guild was known for accommodating blacksmiths, jewellers and warriors throughout the country. There were rumours about the latter possessing the ability to conjure fire – a gift granted to the bravest by the goddess Ardebit, patron of the guild. It wasn't uncommon for the higher folk to hire from the guild. For the special nature of this mission the community had chosen the former apprentice of the famous Shirtal. He had made a name for himself by battling alongside the king almost a decade ago. Now it was the turn of the next generation to prove their worth and loyalty. This particular warrior had ridden all the way from the village of Raki to the capital in half a day – the short notice preventing an earlier arrival. 

A knock sounded as the fighter rapped upon the door. The maid hurried to open it and beyond the wood a woman came into sight. She was a slender female with cool features yet warm steel coloured eyes. She was dressed in heavy boots that had seen better days, leather trousers and a leather vest that seemed to be covering a linen blouse. Her cape still hung from her shoulders it's hem dark as if it had been freed of mud just shortly. The other people in the room could get the impression that she had just sprang off her horse: Her cheeks were flushed and a curl of black hair tingled on her cheek. The woman entered the chamber and bowed deeply towards the men. In a clear voice that carried the vowel-emphasizing accent of the northern folk she spoke: “Ilinfer Blacksmith at your service, my lord. I was sent by Briavel, second of the council of Ardebit. He sends me on behalf of the fire-guild.” After she had finished speaking she straightened her back and produced a scroll from under her cape. A attentive viewer could have noticed the sword, that hang from her belt and was visible for just a second as the folds of her cape shifted with her movement. Waiting for further instructions she stood there, scroll in her hands, eyes on the older man who was fairly dressed as she would expect a lord to be.