[@Letter Bee]

As Par Rapids exited the Wolfe Bar, joyous to finally escape the tight, dirty confines - only to step into the late, navy blue tinged afternoon, the Trading Outpost of Orleans winding to a far slower and quieter pace than the eager and exciting morning that had been happening several hours earlier in the crisp autumn morning. The few traders and adventurers out and about appeared to be more along the lines of the far shadier type - underhanded dealers and dirty explorers looking to make some quick caps off of some poor sap in the streets or through a bad deal in the light of a hazy gas lamp. As he stood there, his bodyguards flanking him, eager to get to the French Revolution base of operations - he would realize that he really didn't [i]know[/i] how to access the base of operations for the revolution. As he pondered, a trench-coated mountain of a man would walk up to him - easily taller than both of his guards, his coat tightly wrapped around his body.

[color=#595959]"You're Par Rapids, eh? Skinner than I'd thought you'd be."[/color] The man said, his face hidden under a thick, wide-brim grey fedora, shadowed. [color=#595959]"Well then, come along. Time to get you to the base."[/color]

The man turned around and briskly continued down the cobbled street.