"Please do," his raspy voice replied as an open palm gestured to her seat.
Madison Freebird and Lichensith Ulroke, two individuals with trails of blood rivaling those of the Forgotten Ones. Rumor had it, she had slain one of the latter.
The hallowed human husk kept his lips sealed as she took her seat and pushed the two relics of Kyla Orlouge to the center of the table. He made a quick assessment of the room, and halted on the hulking frame of a man who carried as much burden if not more than his own. A weak, wry grin spread across his lips.
"Small world, I suppose?" he mused, pulling the damp hood from his silvered mane. The flame of the hearth gave light to his features, sunken, pale, and malnourished. Deep arches of bruised tissue hung beneath his eyes, indicating upwards of weeks or months of poor rest. Hair, unkempt and long, clung to his face in rogue strands, knotted and matted to his clothes with rain.
An exposed identity in a public place conflicted with many of his personal motives. On the other hand, even were the guard, the Scara Brae Naval Forces, or even Tobias Stalt fit for a confrontation, they would be signing their own death certificate personally delivered by the two of them.
"How have you been, Freebird?" he asked. The nature of the question was harmless, but the words themselves out of his mouth translated eerily. A get well soon card from the Grim Reaper himself would have been more comforting.