✍ + 230
The Thin Executioner
He found himself in a large, squalid room.
The bar sat at one end where a group of men and women stood, chattering and flirting unabashedly whilst a few lone outliers drank from grimy mugs. Tables were round and set in rows around the middle of the room, a freshly slain pig and a few dead ground game strewn across them.
Vikrolomen pushed his hood down, his dark hair falling forward as he took a seat at one of the more secluded tables and called for a drink. The shadowed corner it was placed in seemed more like home to the mage than the well-lit center around the fire, though he could admit—only to himself—that he wondered what the other patrons were conversing about on the other end of the small tavern.
He tossed the two coins for his ale down onto the table and contemplated the waste of a corpse nearby that was the butchered pig.
