Darkness had fallen and most patrons had already finished their supper when the door to the Mountain Run Tavern creaked open. The few who bothered to turn their heads at the arrival of the newcomers observed a small party of travelers enter. Seeing nothing particularly interesting about the robed and hooded figures - just a group of monks or pilgrims seeking refuge from the road - those who had noticed quickly turned back to their flagons. The small party, some wearing robes of different colors, but most dressed in grey or brown, their features hidden within the hoods they kept in place, made their way to an empty table in the back of the main hall, the glow of the distant fireplace bringing little warmth or light as they seated themselves. A barmaid sauntered over. “What’ll ye have then, …er, brothers?” One grey clad stranger raised his head, the darkened hood aimed at the server. Though his features were hidden, the voice revealed he was a man and the good humor of a hidden smile laced his response. “Good evening, dear woman. We are weary and famished from the road. Whilst our means are limited, we would stay for the night and sup here if you have meagre accommodations and fare that would suit our party.“ The barmaid rolled her eyes, clearly there was not much coin to be made from these beggars. Still, they seemed a decent if shy sort of folk. “Aye we’ll scare up some cheese, bread and mutton for the table, and I’ll bring a pitcher of ale. There should still be room in the stable loft for ye. The hay is clean and dry - 4 bits for the lot, ye can pay in the morning.” She cast an eye over the group again. ”Pilgrims are ye? Where ye be bound, then?” The hoods turned to one another again, as if in silent communal, then the grey robed one spoke again. “We bring word from the East. We seek Commander McKrag, or to speak with Foster - are they in these parts at present?” The woman raised her eyebrows. “Oh, seekin an audience with *King* Foster, do ye?,“ she cackled. “Ain’t seen that big ranger in a few moons now, but I hear the king *she snorted again* is layin out a feast for them lordly types on the morrow. Good fortune bein a’ table there, lest ye come begging.” She chuckled to herself aa she moved back toward the bar. The darkened hood of the stranger followed her, then turned to his fellows. “Thank you, good woman, perhaps we shall.”