Notifications stormed Mark's mind, it was unexpected and abrupt as they tended to be.
Before he could read them however, he felt a drain from him–not an energy drain, but something almost indescribable, almost like a part of himself was drained.
He was still in front of the Porchino doorman, however the beastkin visage had completely changed. Earlier, though bearing prejudices against non-beastkin, he had rationalized it and simply, flatly told Mark that only those native to the town could use the tavern, but now, now was different.
The beastkin wore a large frown of contempt and his hands were balled into fists like he was warming up for a fisticuff.
