There were three men in a small room. The walls were made of wood and were poorly put together. There were two torches: one above the door and the other on the wall. There was a tiny table and three chairs.
"We will divide the workload between the three of us," said one of the men. He wore a black cloak, just like the other two. There was a simple neon-blue sword logo on the right side of each of their cloaks. What lay beneath the hooded parts of their cloaks was unknown, as the shadows did a good job of keeping it that way.
"Sounds good to me," the second man said in a British accent, his tone optimistic, as if he were looking forward to whatever they were planning to do.
"Murf hm murf," muffled the third man. He had something covering his mouth that prevented him from speaking clearly or opening it fully.
"Then it's decided. Where shall we meet next time?" the first man asked.
"Somewhere nicer," the second man replied.
"It's not my fault that we have to meet here in this ghost-town of a village," the first man said, his tone offended.
"Anyways..."
"We should get going now. Farewell."