By the time the hooded figure made his way to the inn at Hatherford, the entire village knew he was there, and what he was after. His cloak covered most of his face, but did little to conceal his glowing blue eyes. The clasp holding it together was elaborate and prominent, clearly meant to signify that he was with the Ebon Blade.
The innkeeper spoke with a deep Kul Tiran accent, he was clearly not intimidated by the visitor’s presence, and looked like he had seen his fair share of trouble.
“Bout time, you been sulkin’ round pestering folks here all day. Go ahead, state your business. I know you’re not here for a pint and a hot meal.”
An irritated grumble came from underneath the man’s hood. “Kalimdor Collective, you’ve heard the name, yes?” His voice was as cold and unforgiving as his eyes.
The innkeeper only nodded in return, wiping down the bar as they talked. “Reckon the leader, the fella with the antlers, he’s probably off sleepin’ in a tree or something. Ain’t many of them around this time of day.”
“Hmmph,“ the visitor let out an exasperated sigh underneath his hood. “I seek out the Ebon Knight, Marlowe.”
The innkeeper looked up at his guest, and scratched his beard before responding. “Ah, the risen fella. Usually goes on patrol between here and Boralus, watching the ‘perimeter’, as he says. Reckon he don’t come back around until nightfall or so. You’re welcome to wait, lad. Unless you got somewhere to be.”
“Very well then.” The visitor turned quickly from the innkeeper, taking a seat at the table. He produced papers from under his cloak and looked over them, waiting for the person in question to arrive.
So many fallen kings, silent in their numberless graves...