He strode into the tavern, he didn't look to find out what the name was, just some stinking pile of wood with cheap ale and food. One he was pretty sure where no one would recognize his face. 'Ah,' He thought to himself. 'Now here 's what I've been missing while in the forest, yessiree.' He shifted through the crowd of ne'er do wells and sat down at a small table in the corner, kicking his feet up on the table. He called out to the barmaid, asking loudly for a pitcher of ale. He flipped her a copper coin coated in silver and winked. "Bring me some o' whatever's cooking in the back, yeah? There'll be more where that came from, my dear." He leaned back in his seat, sipping bad ale from a cracked mug, and grinned. This town was the best place to sell goods, living or not. His last foray had been a bust, where there was supposed to be an old tomb was a pile of dust. 'But that's the way it goes,' He mused to himself, watching the shapely rear of the barmaid as she left. 'Rumors and the like. Can't be trusted.' For the next hour or so he slowly worked his way through his drink and unidentifyable food, his mood growing sour as the ale. He was near out of coin, he had a far way to go, to make it back south to the cemetery, and that man across the bar looked vaguely familiar. Never a good thing in his experience. He gave one last bitter look at the shapely barmaid, before making his way quickly to the door, his dagger loose in his sheath. He stumbled slighting on the road outside, his curse cut off as hands from the alley beside the bar, which smelled better than the bar itself, wrapped themselves around his thoat and mouth, another pair going for his sword hand, and pulled him roughly into the alley.