[Location: The Melting Pot Inn – The Slag Heap]
Leaving the Exchange center, Damien wandered for a bit, before heading to the inn
And sure enough, just like before, the air inside the tavern was thick enough to chew.
Smoke, sweat, and the metallic tang of cheap rust-liquor filled the room, creating a haze that stung the eyes.
The noise was a constant, low-frequency roar of machinery and grumbling voices.
When Damien walked in, the noise dipped for a second.
The drifters, laborers, and cast-off demons of the Slag Heap eyed him. He was the "Solid" who had caused a scene ever since he arrived.
In a place where hope usually died at the door, he smelled like a variable, at least if nothing else he added some color to their daily lives.
For this, Damien ignored them. He adjusted his mask and walked straight to the corner booth where a massive shadow loomed.
