The door slowly creaks open to the dimly-lit room. A man steps in, ducking slightly under the low door, water dripping from the sodden cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. He turns, pulling a battered staff in behind him as he throws the door shut.
Silence at last.
He leans the staff into the corner almost reverently, taking care not to damage it. Gently, he shrugs the cloak from his shoulders and hangs it on the wall. Drips begin to roll down the wall.
These last weeks have been... strange, to say the least.
