The room was dark. The only weak light came from four candles placed at the corners of each room. Eight men sat around a long wooden table placed at the center of the room. Its surface was bare but scarred with knife marks and old stains. The men looked aged. The youngest looked to be around forty. The oldest was closer to eighty.
Some spoke in low voices. Careful words that were hard to make out. Some leaned back, watching quietly and waiting. They had been waiting for nearly an hour.
The door opened, and the creaking sound cut through their murmurs. All eyes turned towards the door.
Azhren stepped in first. His posture was straight, his expression neutral. He moved aside slightly for Draven to walk in.
A smirk was on Draven's face as he walked to the head of the table and pulled out a chair. He did not sit immediately. He looked at each man in turn.
