The Reaper sat motionless in a wooden chair in the armory of the guild-hall. The walls were covered with row upon row of axes. Alcoves contained tools for sharpening and repairing.

One small magic lamp simply illuminated the area with a dull green luminescence.

The Reaper was waiting for Senior Executioner Crocken– or more precisely, the item he would be carrying.

After a long silent while, the lock turned and the door opened.

The masked person that the Reaper recognized as ...