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</div><br/><br/><br/>Piper approaches the tavern, Grimalkin on his shoulder. He has recently finished an assignment in a foreign country, and is in need of R&R. The vague information on the upcoming mission is less than helpful.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">The Rogue's Gallery<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"> was a welcome sight. Strange as most would think of it, some would even consider it evil or cursed. He had seen stranger things than a tavern that fitted the needs of those that found it. Some of the nations and kingdoms he had visited early in his carer were far stranger.</span></span><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">As he entered, he smiled and felt at home. This was his kind of atmosphere. He covertly checked his custom wrist sheaths, and double checked his crossbow bolts. He handed Grimalkin a small bite of tender jerky as he found a comfortable seat close by a wall. Positioning his chair, he leaned back slightly and surveyed the room. The usual mix of rogues, scoundrels, cutthroats, thieves, brigands, and assorted other bad news types. Tilting his hood down just enough to let him watch, without his face being seen, he settled in.</span></span>