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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.