It had been a long journey, fighting monsters and the like. His cloak was heavy with blood and mud, his feet ached from the march, and his stomach quivered with hunger. Lord Patryk turned to speak top the rest of his Sunguard. "There's a tavern near here. Drink, be merry. We'll be resting here tonight." Patryk heard his half-brother Vyvyxx mutter something. Talmus, Patryk's left hand, mentioned something about it being unwise. Rags, the rogue of the group, cheered happily at the chance to get ale in his belly. Amaya, one of the wizards, praised whatever God she followed for the chance to rest. Thylen, the second archer, said something about elves not needing sleep. Patryk ignored them all. He had made his decision. Truthfully, Patryk was simply interested in the tavern. He had seen it on several of his journeys; he had never once stopped in for a drink.

	He opened the door to hear the familiar sounds of yelling. It was only natural in a tavern. Patryk lowered his hood and walked towards to bar. "Barkeep, mug of ale, elven preferably. And whatever meal is the special tonight." Patryk paid the keep and took his things to a table. His weapons clattered as he sat. He sat there silently for a moment, prayed faithfully to his own god, Sylvannis, and took a sip of his ale. He peered around the room, curious to see what kinds of people frequented such a quaint tavern. Talmus and Vyvyxx eventually joined him, but the rest of his Sunguard sat elsewhere. The three talked quietly amongst themselves, careful not to mention anything of their work, a hint their Spymaster had taught them long ago. Patryk pushed his empty plate into the center of the table and downed the rest of his ale.