![]() ![]() ![]() The man slowly turns to meet them with tired eyes. "Y'ah, that's 'im alright." A trio of men approach the lone man with an air of confidence and curiosity. A dirty tankard waits patiently for the man to drain its contents as the storm continues to wail unhindered. The man's face is weathered, scarred, and much resembles the table he sits beside. A stump of a candle drips wax onto the scarred surface of the table. He sits at a small, secluded table keeping very much to himself. None of the men inside the tavern had ever seen the beast save for one. The air carries with it a dampness that comes from the storm, which rages like a Leviathan. Countless candles have been lit to illuminate the dingy pub, who's patrons are as gloomy as the building they occupy. The night's storm is particularly brutal, and many have taken shelter in the local tavern, both foreigner and native alike. They thrive on the wealth brought to their town by its convenient location, and do not hesitate to raise their prices to make profits larger. Both are currently plaguing the trading town, although visitors are not considered a nuisance by the indigenous people. It is also tormented by tropical storms quite frequently for the same reason. The coastal town of Wend receives visitors and travelers quite often because of its location on the mouth of the River Kalip, which empties into the Sea of Gamn. ![]()
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