A mass of humanity, flanked by cracked boxes, piles of decomposing foodstuffs and a discarded, unhinged door wrapped in cloth sat patiently on top of an empty cask within one of the many alleys and back streets of the Mad Kingdom's slums, unsavory and often dangerous places often used by the shadier members of society to conduct their business. Even from a distance it would've been hard to mistake the man sitting there for a beggar, much too large and well nourished to require charity from others. One could be forgiven for mistaking the figure as a common robber, covered as he was by a dark, worn down hooded garment and armed with a large mace held in his right hand, but a slightly closer inspection would reveal the white glint of the plate armor under the surcoat and a face-enclosing helmet under the hood, and to see a back alley crook suited up in full plate would've been exceedingly rare. The man, then, was something else.

The man in question was a knight. Or had he been a knight, and was now nothing but a murderer? Perhaps he was actually part of something greater, a member of the mysterious organization known as The Brotherhood, identified as such by the discreet markings on the heavy helm which doubled as his mask. Whatever the case, the man wasn't really sure about it himself, his name was Cyrus Reinhardt and he sat in the alley under the pouring rain and the booming thunder because it was a fixed point from where those who knew where to look could access one of the Brotherhood's secret safehouses, designated as a meeting point should pressing issues arise and currently occupied by one Daniel Bróðir, who was seemingly out on his first assignment.

Cyrus' pressing issue was a strange letter he had received, written in a language he could not quite place and delivered in an oddly familiar paper, and so he waited for the current inhabitant of the safehouse to return from his "job". Cyrus was not one for sneaking into places and breaking down the door would've been rather alarming for its occupant and quite rude from his part. Finally his patience was rewarded as a cloaked figure wearing a distinctive owl-like mask dashed into the alley and was quickly joined by another wearing a plain white mask accessing from a different direction. Trying to look non-threatening, Cyrus had discovered a while back, was a futile effort for one his size and so he simply lifted his left arm in a greeting gesture, hoping neither of the two assasins would try to attack him before recognizing him.

"Brother Owl, Sister Wanderer. I've something I'd like to discuss. Inside if it's not a problem".