A small panel slid open on the door. A pair of dark beady eyes stared out into the city street.
“Passwurd?” the eyes asked.
“Nimble foot.” The cloaked figure in the street replied.
The panel slid shut and the door slowly opened. The figure on the street was instantly hit with an overpowering aroma of cinnamon, acrid smoke and the stench of unwashed bodies. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth as he entered the building.
“Boss is upstairs. Look’n to see you.” said the eyes behind the door. They belonged to a grimy dwarf standing on a small box.
The cloaked figure he was talking to nodded and made his way through the room. A room that was home to numerous couches, soft lounge chairs and the occasional pile of huge floor pillows and elaborate rugs.
He shook his head as he looked upon the patrons lying about on the various soft bits of furniture. He was always disgusted by them. These people that came to forget their lives and chase drug fueled dreams. They lay in a stupor and squalor while riding a smoke filled wave of euphoria.
“Lousy Obsucra addicts.” he mumbled under his breath as he navigated through the room and headed to the upstairs office.
The office was populated by two men. One a large elaborately clothed human and the other an even larger man who might be equal parts human and ogre from his look and size.
They both looked up as the cloaked figure approached.