A special guest arrived at Frostcrest's largest tavern.
He sat alone in a corner, his form hidden within a black robe and a deep cowl, a stark contrast to the boisterous atmosphere around him. Most patrons gave him a curious glance and then looked away. A tavern was a place for all sorts, and the occasional eccentric was hardly cause for alarm.
"Can I get you something to drink… sir?" a scantily clad tavern wench asked, swaying her hips as she approached Alistair's table with a hint of hesitation.
"Your finest ale."
Alistair produced two silver coins and, with a flick of his wrist, sent them spinning neatly into the valley between her breasts.
So, a generous one, and an old hand at this.
A wide smile bloomed on her face. "Right away, handsome. And if you need anything else, just ask for Joyce." She shot him a sultry look as she turned, her hips promising more than just a drink.
The look was wasted on the empty air beneath his cowl.
