A dusty refrigerator.

He was leisurely sipping beer, sitting at a table in the half-empty Haven, his thoughts flowing weakly, fatigue taking its toll. On the other hand, he could take his time and, without being distracted by serious thoughts, observe the patrons of the establishment. It was here that he was supposed to meet someone very important. But he didn't know anything, neither who that person would be, nor when it would happen, and he wasn't even sure if he had come to the right place. A man was half-lying on a bench near the wall, strumming something on a lute, and a couple of girls were listening to these sounds, which seemed terrible. Two warrior maidens were talking about something, one in light armor with a spear, the other with a huge sword on her back. An interesting place. He listened to the conversation of the two warrior maidens. "Werewolf, listen, the guards are harassing everyone, you shouldn't get so upset," said the one with the spear. "I can't stand such treatment from them, Vedma, I'm too proud," the swordswoman said unhappily. "Well, maybe..." Just then, an old man burst into the establishment, and he looked crazy. He grabbed a mug of ale from the nearest table and emptied it in one gulp. "People of Herwood! Evil is coming upon us! Terrible and irreversible! Soon, hard times await us all! We must..." His speech was interrupted by guards bursting into the Haven, led by Captain Hommi. "Sir, High Mage, listen, you need to calm down!" Hommi exclaimed. "Get out!" the old man snarled, slamming his hand on the table. The guards who had burst in fell one after another, falling into a sleep. The old man continued to shout something to the patrons, but he was no longer listening to him; his gaze was fixed on the young mage, who was carefully stepping over the sleeping soldiers. A few words and a couple of intricate gestures, and the old man collapsed to his knees, his mouth agape, his gaze extinguished. Cash lit another pipe, again waiting, again and again... as if waiting could achieve something. Ten people were already wandering around the port warehouse, looking for what would be needed for the place they were heading. "Take more of this flammable oil," Cash blew a ring into the air. "And matches, darkness is a very harmful thing, especially combined with cold." How long will he have to wait there? Maybe a week? Or longer? He had received similar assignments before, but nothing like this. What was the leader thinking? It was completely incomprehensible.