Alazarn pulled his hood low over his face. It was getting late near the Prancing Pony, but, as always, people surrounded the fountain with music and laughter. Too loud, too annoying, too... different. His jacket was pulled close around his body, his cloak flying freely. His spear, Menardi, was leaned against the cobblestone wall that he was also leaned against. His cold eyes surveyed everything. Suddenly, he noticed a figure next to him. The figure had been so quiet that they had walked up and leaned on the opposite wall... without him hearing a sound.
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Alazarn
