The sun already set for several hours, and the tavern owner lit the candles on the tables. It was cold outside, and the tavern should have been full by now, by people coming for a quick drink, to bring some warmth to their limbs. But oddly enough for this part of the city, the tavern seemed empty at this hour.
Except in a corner, a man was sitting at a table, staring somehow peculiar at an empty goblet. Not young he was anylonger, not by any measure, and few gray hair already invaded his temples. Little could be said about him watching his clothes, except maybe he was not very rich. Not very fond of bathing, either. With a hoarse voice, he muttered towards the empty goblet: Blimey, you are sooo ugly when you're empty! before letting his head fall on the table, with a blank sound.
Behind the bar stool, the innkeeper raised his eyes at the sound, and watched the man. Shaking his head, he murmured to himself: damn Templars, they know nothing but drink and fight!. And he continued measuring the drinks left in a dusty bottle, with his dirty fingers.
In this particular moment, the door opened, letting the wind outside make the candle light tremble and...