Phaerun Markuv slowly strolled through the streets, his hood and cloak keeping his features cast in shadow, while the insignia of the Orzhov stood out like a bright light. He looked upon these people with pity in his eyes, and he hoped to be that bright light. Times were certainly difficult for this kingdom, on this plane, but by the time he was done they would be in a better position. People tended to have a strange turn of fortune whenever The Wandering Spirit came to town. 

This time Phaerun was making a difference on a larger scale than he was used to. Regicide, political assassinations, machinations, these things were not unfamiliar to the Orzhov, but he had done his best to distance himself from such troubles since initially leaving Ravnica. That is, until he came here, to Varen. To Frasc. To Orisfal. Something about this dark, dreary place reminded him of home. Disgraced as he was, he was still Orzhov, and as such getting involved in Machiavellian political schemes was simply in his blood.

Not too long ago he had met with the local reagent, a man named Gav. Phaerun wasn't certain yet that he trusted the man, but he acted in the interest of the young princess, for the people of his kingdom, and so for now Phaerun chose to ally with the man. No doubt due to his unique abilities he was chosen to go on a mission that would, presumably, bring to justice those responsible for the king's death. A noble cause, to be sure. He arrived at the tavern late at night, when there were not many others around. Glancing around, Phaerun could see a goblin among the patrons, a large heavily scarred man, and a well-built woman with unusual eyes reminding him of storm clouds.

Phaerun approached the barkeep and, with a small amount of pain in his semi-rotten body, sat upon a stool as he addressed the man. [color=black][b]"Please provide me with a black mead."[/b][/color] Phaerun glanced out the window before speaking his pass phrase, a most unusual statement. [color=black][b]"In a few hours the sun will rise."[/b][/color]