@Iridescent Small, seedy, not quite up to the bar for it's patronage. The small tavern set smack bang in the middle of the small town was perfect. Filled with the rough and rowdy folk who were nigh constantly in a state of drunken rage, the Charging Boar was just the kind of place Xenos Tarr, soldier in the Grand Duke's illustrious army, liked to spend his leave.
Sidling up to the bar with what could only be described as a Cheshire grin, Xenos dropped a trio of bronze on the scratched, dented and otherwise abused wooden counter, receiving little more than a grunt, a scowl and a heavy hand adorned with long, scrappy nails to rival any witch slapping down over the coinage. The ale most probably tasted like horse piss, but if nothing else, living as a soldier of Connloath taught you to have low standards of the rations provided.
Grinning to himself at that thought, Xenos turned to lean his elbows on the bar, bright green eyes slipping over the miscellaneous crowd with a look of giddy anticipation. A small group of three over by the back were eying him with a familiar look, beady little pinpricks fixed on the ouch at his side, whence the bronze had come from. Xenos caught their gaze, lips still curved up into an obnoxious grin, and wiggled his eyebrows at them.
Today, life was good.
