Gavner waited for the current guard to reach the end of the dark street before he crept across the road himself and entered the pub. As soon as he stepped foot into the low lit bar, he felt at home. The low, familiar murmur of Gavner’s old hangout came as a comfort to his ears. The Rusty Wheel was one of the few pubs that held, and encouraged, a secret “night life,” as they called it. The place was open to travelers, adventurers, and night owls who had no fear of the curfew and could safely sneak past the Radasanth Guard.

Memories of planning assassination missions, and having fun swapping combat stories flooded Gavner’s mind once more. This was only a pub for planning missions and enjoying leisure time for the Ixian Wetwork team. There were other pubs that were more suited for victories, and celebration, but this was a place of sincerity and preparation.

Scanning the crowd, the creature of the night saw two familiar faces, whom he eagerly approached. He, Drake, and Koli had been through so much together that it was hard not to smile at the thought or presence of them. So many fond memories of adventure and battle, joy and laughter, failures and pain, yet in the end they always prevailed and were deemed victorious. He reached their wooden table and sat down in one of the stiff chairs.

Sitting also at the wooden structure was what looked like a teenage boy with dirty blonde hair. He was garbed in a white shirt drawn together in the center with grey string. Black pants and leather boots garbed his lower body, and five shining throwing stars were strapped to his belt. This was Drake. He was a half angel, and he knew his way around the world. He also had friends in high places; quite literally to be frank. Angels from the Ninefold Celestial Hierarchy were among his best angelic friends.

Across from Drake sat a man garbed in white with a hood drawn over his face. Gavner could see through it though. His round, face and white irises humbly observed his surroundings, as the priest was ready to react at any moment. On the very center of his face was branded a red cross, which spread on his forehead, his nose, and down onto his lips. They were all in a dimly lantern lit tavern that had all furnishings roughly cut from wood, and large beams supporting the building throughout the room. The bartender who kept the finest alcohols was a fighter, and he knew how to take down even the strongest of warriors.

Just then the door to the pub opened, and a man with silver hair and glowing purple irises walked in. He was tall with a clear cut jaw and high cheekbones. Garbed in a long black traveling cloak with a cape, this man was visibly strong, fast, and a paragon of what seemed like nobility. He commanded respect, and yet there was still something graceful about the way he did it. This creature was named Mavrik.