The year was 1812 when the crimson massacre took the small city of Comstock by storm, its rivers running the color of death. The history books would mourn the loss of such a story or eyewitness account, as there were none left to recount the event. Some say that it was the meeting place, the common grounds on which the demon’s accord was founded, routed in a last ditch effort to survive the extinction of their races. Others will tell you that the murders were committed a band of criminals who escaped from a nearby holding house for those that might be executed for vile and hanus crimes. But the memories of that day were just echoes of a nightmare that has yet to be bested in the history of London’s devastating past.
Adam jumped down from the horse and carriage, using his cloak to shield himself from the fierce wind, the torrent of rain accompanying it pelting in to his side. Using his free hand he reached in to his side pack and pulled out a few coins before dropping them in to the palm of the carriage driver, muttering a thank you before quickly turning on his heels and heading to the dim light of the Inn.
The small mountain settlement was built on to the side of a valley, built above a maze of coal mines that were long abandoned. The location of the village allowed for the wind to easily catch a clear path through the main square reaching, allowing the gales to reach high speeds.
Adam reached the heavy oak door of the Inn, pulling it open hard against the resistant wind before squeezing through and letting the door slam behind him. The pubs regulars glanced up at the strangers’ face, before dropping back in to the whispered conversation between themselves. Walking over towards the bar, Adam waited to be served by the young, pretty faced barmaid.
“Do you speak English?” He asked.
“A Little.” She replied in an unfriendly tone.
Adam pointed over towards the large keg behind the counter. He didn’t know what it contained, but thought that it would be easier to just drink that than try and communicate with her and order one of his more favourable alcoholic beverages.
“A pint, please.” Adam told her, receiving nothing more than a grunt in return.
“I guess people don’t take too kindly to new faces here…” Adam thought as she watched her pour his drink.
Handing over the coin to pay for it, he removed his soaked hat and cloak and hanging them by the fire, he moved off towards a large empty table in the corner of the room. Taking a seat in the corner, sipping quietly at his beer, waiting patiently for the rest of the group to arrive.