Arothor tossed the messenger a single copper coin. The starved looking beggar boy nodded with a thank you sir and ran off. The dwarf re-bolted the door and settled into a sturdy oaken chair, slipping the letter out from one of his many pockets. The Inn was quiet this late at night; Arothor was the only patron still awake. He lit the wick of a small candle on the centre of the desk and then scanned the letter. It bore the seal of one of the many Stormwind Noble houses; he didn’t recognise this particular seal. Slipping the letter from its envelope Arothor read through it slowly, his dark green eyes darting across the flowing script. The letter was short and swift to the point.