16 spring 519---
The Pig's Foot Tavern was never without a steady stream of patronage; no matter the bell, there was always bound to be a decent collection of motley - and not always savoury - individuals seeking respite within its weather beaten and warped walls. The low murmur of their chatter and dank musk of unwashed bodies brought a familiar flavour to those who frequented the place, the air seasoned with the odd curse or puff of a pipe. And, yet, a particular collection of individuals always caused daring eyes to linger a fraction longer than they should... and more cowardly ones to avoid contact at all cost.
On this particular day, not long after the fifteenth bell had echoed off the tinderboxes that made up the rundown buildings of Sunberth's Castle Commons, this particular group happened to be situated towards the rear of the establishment.. and each bore the thorn encircled dagger that marked them members of the Daggerhand. Although a few carried on as if they weren't there for business, one fellow kept his mismatched gaze on the belly of the tavern, his good eye scanning the patronage as if looking for someone in particular while lacking the finesse to appear otherwise.
On this particular day, not long after the fifteenth bell had echoed off the tinderboxes that made up the rundown buildings of Sunberth's Castle Commons, this particular group happened to be situated towards the rear of the establishment.. and each bore the thorn encircled dagger that marked them members of the Daggerhand. Although a few carried on as if they weren't there for business, one fellow kept his mismatched gaze on the belly of the tavern, his good eye scanning the patronage as if looking for someone in particular while lacking the finesse to appear otherwise.
