THE MALODOROUS SMELL of organic filth and bodily fluids reeked from the cramped space that housed the many farmers intending to dine or to be inebriated, perhaps even both. It was a tavern built on a town between the southern border and the Gullfordian capital, where travelers and caravan merchants frequented, and more often, swarmed by the local serfs, peasants and yeomen. The establishment was like the numerous taverns one would often see in the countryside, a haven for those who would seek temporary indulgence to escape reality, a place of companionship, or at times, a den for ill-doers plotting to overthrow the monarchy and aristocracy…
"Because of that damned rebellion, the town has not enough the men to harvest the crops…" an adolescent male with a jet-black hair boisterously yelled, garnering nods of approval from the tavern patrons. "Since the Twin Barons took power, this domain has been plunged into pig dung. First, they killed off many of our brothers in battle…"
