A Den - a place where a wild animal lives. The definition could not be applied more aptly than to this run-down, filthy old tavern. Everything here was covered in a thin layer of grease and slime. The locals could only be described as animals, drinking and swearing and fighting. Not that Corvus was afraid of a good fight, but quite frankly, he didn't want to degenerate himself by brawling in such an unsanitary place. He even thought he saw a couple fornicating in one of the darker ends of the pub.
Still, it was better than the streets, and there were few other places to go. The food here was filling, if not flavoursome, and the beds were clean enough. In the grand scheme of things, there could be worse places for the ex-soldier to lay his head. And anything was better that going back home, to the soldiers and the gangs. This was an escape for him and by Tyche, it was about as far removed from home as he could get.
Still, the mead wasn't worth drinking and although there were a few pretty girls, he paid little interest to such banal pursuits such as those of the flesh. Only one girl would ever captivate his heart, and she had long since left him. For Dagon's sake, even the water tasted faintly of blood and sex. What a waste of resources.
With nothing else to do, Corvus' eye slowly patrolled the room, pointing out any particular characters. Disgusting little bars like this always had more interesting stories than the high-end, refined joints. At best, in a high-end place, he'd see inherent rich-boys, honest bug famous artisans and thieves under the guises of businessmen. Here, there was a dozen stories calling out to him, each more depressing than the last. For example, what had driven that drunken vagrant at the bar to spend what little money he had on such cheap booze? Why was that young lady, barely older than 15, playing tonsil-hockey with the all-to-obviously pedophile priest, searching for his wallet whilst pretending to flirt with him? Perhaps he saddest tale of all was the one that lead the poor sod in the corner to drink himself to death, his corpse mistaken for one of several sleepers, no-one bothering to check if he was alright.
Yup, the stories of the poor where infinitely more interesting than the stories of the rich. He'd been around both long enough to know he'd rather be rich and boring than poor and interesting. Stories were nice, but you couldn't feed yourself with a story, nor could you swap it for a half loaf of bread. Money made the world go round, and though everyone here seemed to be having a good time, there was pain behind every smile, sorrow behind every punched arse and dirty joke. It would be pitiful if these men were worth the pity. But instead of dealing with their issues like adults, they escape. They run away like chickens, seeking the comforts of a cheap, watered down beer.
Now, there was a real winner. That girl with the mask, mesmerising the brawler from earlier. He followed her like a dog after a master - rather, he followed a part of her. He'd never get her fully. Corvus wondered why she was performing such suggestive, hypnotic movements for this man in particular when she knew she could have anyone in this bar on their knees - all the man, bar himself, of course, and most of the girls would give an arm and a leg to see under that leather outfit.
But... That wasn't right. Something was wrong. Corvus' ears pricked up, alert and ready. For a moment, he could have sworn he heard a glass shattering. Not a dropped glass, but one broken covertly, quietly. His eyes once again settled on the girl and her lustful victim, certain there was a story behind this too.
Oh yes there was. The girl was almost flawless in her manoeuvres, making sure few could see her true intentions, and none saw her face. But she made a mistake. She had murdered a man in Corvus' presence. Completely sober and trained in both gang warfare and military conflict, Corvus was faster, more perceptive and all round more suited to dealing with this incident than any other patron in the bar. Indeed, though a few faces looked her way as she stumbled over a barrel, few tried to stop the assassin from escaping. The man had been left to die without aid or comfort. Once again, Corvus found himself stunned by the lack of pack ethic these swine had - one of their own is butchered in front of them and they go back to their drinks as though nothing happened.
Pigs, every one of them. Cursing their pathetic, meaningless lives, Corvus followed the assassin outside. Keeping to the shadows, he stalked the stalker, noting her movements carefully, making sure he wasn't detected.
Jackpot
The girl clambered through an open window, presumably her room. It wasn't difficult for the ex-Khan to climb up after her, though he did take a little slower, considering he was avoiding making any noise at all. Foolish girl had forgotten to shut the window - big mistake.
Once inside, Corvus took a look around. Typical tavern room of the Den's caliber, perhaps a little tidier than the usual patron's, but still dingy and low quality.
"Tomorrow will be a new day" the soft voice could only have come from one place - the girl's bedroom. Deciding now was time for neither subtlety or diplomacy, Corvus drew his sword and kicked open the door
"Indeed." The steel blade was aimed directly at the girl on the bed "But ask yourself this, murderer - will you live to see that new day? I saw your antics downstairs, and I am unimpressed. You better explain yourself, now!"
