The Meeting

Soon her patience paid off as the door to the inn opened and a cloaked figure entered and approached the innkeeper. He was a tall man, with dark hair and beard and his face set in an almost permanent sneer. She caught only the parting words of their conversation as he flashed the innkeeper the signal she was waiting for. “Remember Farley.” He said menacingly, “What will become of Verina and little Anna if you squeal to the guards about our...arrangement.”

If it was possible, the innkeeper's face paled even more as the figure walked into the kitchens and vanished from sight. A few minutes passed and more hooded figures arrived, giving the same signal and vanishing into the kitchens. By now, Clara was confident she knew the signal and approached the balding bag of nerves and sweat.

“Good evening.” she addressed him, her words sweet as honey, “I believe this is the correct place for the meeting?” She asked innocently, flashing the same signal the others had given. Farley jumped as she spoke, and his eyes were drawn almost instinctively to her generous cleavage, so much so he almost missed the signal. “Oh...um...er...yes. It's...just through the back, and downstairs.” He stammered, struggling to tear his eyes away from the beauty before him.

Smiling, Clara thanked him and sauntered off to the kitchen, her hips swaying as she walked, the knowledge that the innkeeper was staring at her ass giving her a thrill of pleasure.

The kitchen was fairly spartan and bare, consisting mostly of a cook pot hung over the fire, and a wooden work bench upon which was the carcass of some kind. The grizzled old cook barely glanced her way as his cleaver slammed into the carcass, “Down th' stairs.” he grunted, and resumed chopping.

The cellar was more spacious than she'd expected, though just as dank and dark. A small group of people stood around a runic circle traced onto the cobbled floor, candles burning at evenly spaced intervals around the glowing rune. The figured turned to stare as she descended the stairs, some looking on in interest, others looking nervous or even annoyed at the interruption.

“Ah! I see we have another new initiate! Welcome!” Came a voice from behind the crowd, the same dark haired man from before, his smile seemingly welcoming, but his eyes anything but. “Please, take your place next to our other initiates.” He gestured to two of the crowd standing a little apart, one a young woman with dark hair and pale skin, the other a straw-haired young man who bore the look of a farmhand.