The inn's lodgings were hardly adequate for Arlen, the floor was old rotten wood covered in both dust and excess sand that had been left before by those that stayed previously to Arlen.
The windows were also a nuisance, the wooden coverings would not stay latched down, constantly flapping about in the wind and disturbing Arlen from his studies, either by putting out his candle or flicking through his tomes pages.
Luckily, he slept little for the course of his stay here, though each slumber was precursored with the knowledge that he would once again have to sleep in a sand ridden bed, Arlen had found nothing but contempt for sand over the course of his stay here and the same contempt for this rag-tag inn.

The night air blew in through his window once again, causing the shutters to slam hard on the walls and toss the sand about the floor making a slight shuffling sound, if it was not for neseccity Arlen would not be here.
Arlen was looking to expand his own personal collection of magical tomes, so far he had already obtained many books that most wizards would call unorthadox and on occassion unusable in most wizards practice, some would even dare call the tomes an omen to the down fall of a wizards mind.
It was however none of Arlen's concern what any other wizard whished to label this tome, he was after it and the words between it's pages and thats all that mattered.

Arlen's research throughout the librarie's of Arda had brought him here, at last to the last village that stood on the edge or as near to Anfauglir as possible without entering the desert or being under the constant glare of the sun's rays.
Indications had all pointed to one fortess deep within the desert, of course he would of prefered the desert to of never been mentioned in his search for the tome and would sooner of walked through the pits of eternal torment to get it, but alas, luck was not on his side it seemed.
The fortress was excactly that, a large stone building deep within the many dunes of Anfauglir, according to many tales been spun at the various establishments across the city, the fortress was home to many key artifacts that belonged else where in Arda, though through illicit dealings those that called the fortress home had come to obtain them.

Of course this was not simply going to be a simple stroll across the desert and haggle like a farmer, one goat for one tome of power, this operation would require tact and diplomacy in some parts whereas stealth and a precision kill were required in equal measure in other areas.
Arlen was not a cunning theif, nor a master of the blade.
His eye's fell upon the bag of gold that sat upon a small peice of paper with a single name on it, the bag was plump and full of many gold coins that it cost to bring this warrior into his cause, though it would be worth it.
"A means to an end" he said aloud as he picked up the bag and counted through the coins once again, making sure the number was the exact figure required.

The warrior had to be good, Arlen inquired at many inns, looking for someone stout of heart to brave the perils of the fortress alone with him, though none here it seemed would even consider the challenge ahead.
Though Arlens questioning soon caught the ear's of one of the bartenders, bekoning Arlen to him with a old and bent finger.
They spoke for many hours, Arlen telling the bar tender exactly why he wanted to go into the fortress and why he needed a warrior by his side, throughout the tale the bartender listened intently and after the end of Arlen's long and winding explanantion, he finally spoke.
"Aye, i know of one, though i dare not speak his name; he has come here oft' and deals with some of my dealin's"
Arlen was curious as to whom this warrior was though he did not push the matter of the name any further.
"And you can get me in contact with him?"
"Aye that i can, i will send you a runner for fifty of the gold ones eh?"
Arlen nodded and opened up his purse, counting out fifty gold peices the bartender soon jumped to his feet and called out for one of his attendant's, no sooner had one come did he whisper something into his ear and with a nod the boy was off.
Grabbing a small peice of paper, the bartender scrawled upon it in his semi legible hand a name.
"Do not say it aloud here, he has many enemies, you could invite death upon you but that is his name"
The bartender also told Arlen exactly what the usual fee was, with the messenger already on his way to get such a warrior Arlen had no choice but to pay, the bartender offered Arlen a room for the night and here he was.

---

It was the eve on which the warrior would arrive by, Arlen stood alone in the backstreet behind the inn, apparently the usual meeting place for this warrior.
In his hands he held a small book, which apparently noted Arlen as the warrior's target.
The night was coming and the wind had become bitter with chill, the desert winds violently screaming round the corners of the city proper and into Arlen's backstreet.
He hoped the warrior was worth it, he had awaited three days for this man to show and in a small sack in his pocket he kept a thousand gold coins, a figure quite hard to come by for a new wizard.
Arlen however could not help but worry, the warrior would know him by the book this would instantly tell him who he was, all Arlen had to go on was a scrap of paper, which he pulled from the pocket and looked at once again, the ink worn away making the matter of reading the illegible scrawl any easier in such dying light.
Nafalen Sintelnor