A dark figure slips into the Broken Dagger, closing the oak doors behind him with startling silence. He pauses to scan the room. Atop his head is a wide brimmed hat made of straw, ending at the top in a point. His face is wrapped in black linens, save his slanted left eye and long, stray black hairs. The hood of a deep blue cloak efficiently covers the rest of his head and emphasizes the shadows cast upon him. At the neck, the cloak is just open enough to see the sheen of silver chain-mail.
After listening, observing, and contemplating, the figure finally chooses his seat and begins to move towards the more barren part of the bar. Even while moving, his cloak manages to conceal everything between his shoulders and ankles. While his feet are still visible, they're wrapped in more black linen and covered on top by a series of metal plates designed to permit movement. His steps are silent, which when combined with everything else gives him a phantasmal aura.
Easing into the chair, he requests a pint of beer in a slight purr. He sets his hat on the bar, revealing his nimble, claw-like fingers. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the murmurs of the tavern, listening for anything of interest. His tail twitches from beneath the cloak. Nothing. Not yet. He sets about the art of fading, weaving the darkness around him until he becomes nothing but a figure in the corner of the eye. She'll come to Myrkentown. He was told she would. All he had to do was hunt.