Lured by the delectable scent of charred pork, Tycondrius discovered a lonely outdoor food stall. It was one out of a row of several others, but he chose that one.
...It was the only one that had yet to close.
There was one cook, an older male with salt-and-pepper hair and a tired face. There was one other patron, a cloaked and grey-bearded dwarf who likely thought he was hiding his identity.
If Tycon were a physically weaker gentleman, he might have spurned the occasion, fearing that he'd be robbed at knifepoint.
He had no such concerns... and as such, patiently took a seat and ordered a meal.
A few moments later, the human placed an ale in front of him.
"Friend..." Tycon pursed his lips, "I did not order this."
