Viridovix pulled the snowy white hood of his cloak a little bit higher on his head, his white hair and face disappearing deeper into the shadows cast by the hood. From within the shadows cast by the cloth sanctuary that the hood provided, the amethyst eyes of the healer peered out at his surroundings with his right hand wrapped around an ebony walking stick that clacked on the paving stones of the town as he approached the heavy oaken door of the Soul Bar. Placing his free hand on the tavern's door, Mack leaned into it and pushed the door open with only the faintest of creaks.
Once inside the welcoming semi-darkness of the pub, the guildless mage paused for a moment to allow his eyes a moment to adjust before making his way across the nearly empty establishment to drop into a corner booth, situating himself in such a position that he would be able to see both the bar and the main entrance into the business. The snowy haired man was not expecting any trouble, but what he expected and what he actually got did not always exactly line up. Really, it could be argued that such had been the case since shortly after his seventh birthday.
Given that it was still only the middle of the afternoon, there was not yet much traffic coming to, going from, or patronizing within the Soul Bar. Without a word, the mage rapped his staff three times on the floor, the noise echoing in an odd, dead sort of way through the nearly empty pub. Within a few moments one of the serving maids scurried over and slid a foaming mug of rich, dark, stout beer across the table. Wrapping a hand around the tankard, Mack raised it to his lips and took a pull without bothering to lower his hood as his eyes continued to warily survey his surroundings.
Once inside the welcoming semi-darkness of the pub, the guildless mage paused for a moment to allow his eyes a moment to adjust before making his way across the nearly empty establishment to drop into a corner booth, situating himself in such a position that he would be able to see both the bar and the main entrance into the business. The snowy haired man was not expecting any trouble, but what he expected and what he actually got did not always exactly line up. Really, it could be argued that such had been the case since shortly after his seventh birthday.
Given that it was still only the middle of the afternoon, there was not yet much traffic coming to, going from, or patronizing within the Soul Bar. Without a word, the mage rapped his staff three times on the floor, the noise echoing in an odd, dead sort of way through the nearly empty pub. Within a few moments one of the serving maids scurried over and slid a foaming mug of rich, dark, stout beer across the table. Wrapping a hand around the tankard, Mack raised it to his lips and took a pull without bothering to lower his hood as his eyes continued to warily survey his surroundings.