Afternoon in a tavern, Stone Town District.
Orange sunlight entered through the dusty window. The rays highlighted the cigarette smoke drifting slowly in the dim tavern air. The smell of stale beer and damp wood hung in the room. The atmosphere was tense. Patrons drank in silence, speaking in low whispers.
In a dark corner of the room, Bayren sat alone. A half-empty glass of ale rested in front of him. He was reading the Tyelven Daily newspaper. The main headline was written in thick black ink: "MARTIS DEAD. PHILANTHROPIC BUSINESSMAN BRUTALLY MURDERED."
At the next table, three weary-looking patrons were whispering. Their voices were barely audible over the clinking of glasses.
"Have you heard?" the first patron whispered,
"It's not just that Martis is dead. Word from Dark Town says Martis himself framed that Starfall guy."
The second patron, a thinner man, snorted. "I heard that. Disgusting. Using a new fighter for his dirty work. No wonder this city's gone to hell."
