The mercenary guild room was far too quiet for its size.
Large, spacious, with a central table of thick wood marked by old cuts, drink stains, and maps scribbled on top of other maps. Torn flags hung from the walls like poorly cared-for trophies, and the light streaming through the tall windows made particles of dust dance in the air.
Rogue was sitting in the main chair.
Or rather… sprawled in it.
Her legs were stretched out and resting on the table, her dirty boots shamelessly so, her arms crossed behind her head. The chair creaked slightly under her relaxed weight, but Rogue seemed perfectly comfortable, rocking back and forth as if on an improvised throne.
Scattered around the room, in various and clearly disorganized positions, were the others.
