There was a famous tavern in the outer circle of Myriad Hollow, a place of shadows and smoke, where the scent of strong, abyss-tainted alcohol clung to the air like a second skin.
Voices of abyssal beings rose and fell in chaotic harmony. Some laughed, some argued, and others whispered in corners about secrets and hidden trades.
Behind the bar, rows of bottles glowed faintly with abyssal runes, each one filled with a different liquor that could melt bones, stir madness, or grant fleeting bursts of courage. Here, drunken brawls could erupt with the same ease as drinking water.
At the far corner of the tavern, a tall figure sat alone, wrapped in a heavy black cloak. His hood was drawn low, hiding most of his masked face, and his presence was almost nonexistent, seeming to vanish in the rowdier patrons' chattering.
