Tales From a Thousand Worlds

The tavern for the most sat empty, the few present filling it with a sombre silence. A portly, red faced man sat at a crude wooden table of uncertain balance, bleary eyes surveying the handful of sullen patrons hunched in their seats, nursing small mugs of ale. A few torches flickered in their sconces, casting dull light through the dingy room, smoke from them curling up around stained support beams. Old rushes were strewn across the uneven pavers of the floor, while the furnishings were makeshift at best. The room smelled of rotten rushes and smoke, of sour ale and stale sweat.

Follow this link for Part Two of The Tavern Cursed