The air that morning felt thicker than usual – cool and crisp, each breath of air seeming to chill the very lungs that took it in so readily and seeming to warn of even far less pleasurable weather to come. There was little in the way of sun overhead – the clouds hanging low and heavy, thick and silvery in the early morning gloom, and showing little sign that they would lift their monopoly upon the skies overhead any time soon.<br/><br/>Parne stood in the shadow of a great oak – its bark knotted and twisted from many years growth, no doubt old even when the village around it was but a ramshackle collection of huts and farms. He pulled the thick ankle length woollen cloak tight around him – less out of concern for the cold than out of a subconscious desire to hide himself away from any eyes that might be upon him. Truth be told, he was less than happy with finding himself beyond the lands of the fae, and could not wait to be done with his task here so that he might turn his back on this place. Still, he knew better than to rush the task he had been set – or to return without having completed it to the utmost satisfaction of the Lord who sent him here.<br/><br/>For a moment he was content to watch his own breath – amusing himself by twisting the warm vapour from his lungs into multiple shapes, his keen eyes following the carefully crafted scenes as they wafted up into the skies above him. He was wasting time and he knew it, but time was all relative for one such as he.<br/><br/>His feet barely made a sound as he finally left the side of the oak tree – moving across the ground in a stroll, hands pulling the cloaks hood up over his head to hide his somewhat exotic facial features from any who might come across him on his journey into the village. Parne knew where he was heading, and knew the last unsuccessful ‘visit’ to the place by one of his Court had left many in no mood for any further mistakes.<br/><br/>Sighing gently, Parne let his knuckles rap against the sturdy door to the rear of the pub.