A month after the explosion.
"Another drink," the tavern welcomed a new guest.
"Welcome, take a seat anywhere. The menu is right above your head!" The bartender called out nonchalantly and got back to his work. Business was clearly good tonight, with no shortage of people gathered to drink and chat. One new customer wasn't going to attract much attention.
That was precisely the situation Farrelan had hoped for.
He ordered a plate of stir-fried noodles, a pint of wheat beer, and a dish of peanuts before taking a seat at a long table.
The decor here wasn't high-class, but it was noisy enough to be lively.
Those with little money in their pockets liked to drink here, not only to whet their appetites but also to pass the time. Especially when someone was telling stories, a single drink could last an hour without seeming slow. Before Farrelan had made a name for himself, the first place he would head to in a new city was the tavern in the lower district.
