Solomon took the alleyways through the town, trying not to be seen. His Master had no idea of his outings, but was very popular, and might hear about it from his customers. Anyone who met him before would recognize him under the mask instantly.
Taking off his mentioned mask, he stowed it inside his shirt, the cool metal tingling his
skin.It would be rude to walk into a Public place with it. Not to mention the odd looks from the city folk and recognition from the guards looking for Spectyre.
Inside the Inn, a jaunty place ironically named the Witch's Brew, it was surprisingly quiet. All this Civil war had to be getting to people. No one even acknowledged his existence.
Gravitating to his seat, he sat down and surveyed the area. It was the Usual Bar heap. A pair were coming on to the Barmaiden, someone had passed out in his own bile, and a guy was sticking his finger in his drink. Same old. No sign of his client.
Wait. Solomon focussed on the Man with the Finger in the rum. No, he had never seen him around here before. And why was he wiping his finger on his cloak to remove the rum? Just put it in your mouth!
Usually he liked to keep to himself, but something was off about this man. He was no Mordecai -Solomon mentally spat at the word- But he sensed the supernatural.
Sipping his drink, he waited for his client, watching the Man all the while.