Thornridge

The guild was quieter in the evening, though it still buzzed with the subdued hum of mercenaries sharing drinks, swapping stories, and occasionally eyeing the job board. Lamps cast a warm glow over the wooden beams, and the faint scent of spilled ale and smoke lingered in the air. 

Kaelen sat at a small table near the wall, nursing a half-empty mug. His earlier frustration had dulled into a simmering annoyance, though the encounter with the scarred stranger still lingered in his mind. Who was that man, and what kind of job could possibly need twenty mercenaries? He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

Mira was still at her desk, her sharp eyes flicking across the room as she meticulously recorded the day's contracts. Her pen scratched against parchment in a steady rhythm, the sound blending into the background noise. She looked up occasionally, her gaze sweeping the hall, but she seemed just as baffled as Kaelen had felt earlier.