Ch. 496 Whispers amongst mages
Two shabby dressed, old, wrinkle-faced wiry salt and pepper colerd bead having men sat across from each other with a rather worn out poorly built wooden table between them in an inn that most sensible travelers would not dare step into, let alone spend the night in. Rusty Nail was a fitting name for the place. Next to the one that had his back to the door sat and young lad with sunken eyes ringed and dark circles of fatigue. His clothes were in even worse condition that of the two old men.