Unremarkable.
It was the first word that came to mind upon analyzing the establishment before him – a rather non-descript tavern resting on the outskirts of Durem. That wasn’t to say it was ugly, and indeed, for someone that might have possessed an attitude less inclined towards cynicism, it could have been considered quaint. It was a cross gabled structure, similar to Tudor-styled houses; the cross section of the place extended a few dozen meters out more than normal, suggesting that it contained a sizeable amount of living quarters. Slate tiles lined the roof with symmetry almost too perfect to be accomplished by the hands of even the most skilled of roofers – a feature that didn’t go unnoticed by the figure, though it was one that he didn’t afford much heed to at the time. The building smelled strongly of cedar, though that might have been brought on by the plume of smoke rising from one of the chimneys that poked through the dull, grey roof. There was almost no traffic coming to and fro from the inn, and while this could be attributed partly to the fact they were up just before the crack of dawn, there was no denying the simple truth that this place – this Before the Dawn tavern – was just one of countless; a drop in the proverbial bucket, if you will, of establishments that littered the towns and cities the world over in unnecessary abandon.
Indeed, entirely unremarkable…and it suited him perfectly.
The man’s concentrated faded away from the sign before him and silently began to stride forward, his footfalls crunching sand and gravel from a road that faded away from cobblestone and asphalt some distance away. The movement would almost assuredly bring much relief to the shivering, barely lucid feminine figure following behind him, as while the cold and lack of sleep did not addle him, it did hinder the girl. The man didn’t need her at the moment, but he also didn’t want her to get stricken with sickness in her weakened state, so waiting out in the early morning dim was not the smartest of ideas. Though, as he made his way up to the front door – taking in everything around him as much as possible – his unhurried pace began to slacken until he came to a halt before the inviting threshold before him. This time, it was no observation that made him stop; no, it was the tingle, the nag, of something at the back of his mind – the unease of familiarity that suddenly began to wash over him. His brows knotted dubiously over the feeling. Déjà vu was something that most would pass off as an odd sensation to take no mind, and others yet might consider it as them recalling something they did in a past life; the man knew entirely different what this was for him. He could have passed it off as a simple fluctuation of Aethyric currents, as that was likely the case, but ignoring such signs was something he cast away long ago. Paranoia was something that served him better than carelessness, regardless. It wasn’t a terribly bad sensation – he almost knew for a fact it wasn’t one of them – but it was something he simply couldn’t ignore. His mulling was eventually broken by the continued fusses from the girl following him, which elicited a grunt of annoyance and the decision to continue onward. If anything, if there were a chance of it being anything more than a simple anomaly, then it might be best that he confront it directly rather than slipping away and giving it time to do…anything, really. Indeed, paranoia was something the man embraced wholeheartedly. Finally, he gripped the handle and pushed his way in.
To anyone that might have been present in the tavern’s commons, they would see a tall, dark and gaunt figure pass into the structure. The man wore a coat, or a robe, or something inbetwixt the two; it was made of ragged, torn leather, worn down from black to a dulled, dark grey. It was single-breasted, buttoned up from the waist to the nape of the neck, with golden buttons missing haphazardly along the path. The coat rode up and ended with a hood, which partially obscured the man's features - only bits of sickly-white hair and a mouth too used to frowns. A shame, since with what could be seen, it could be said that the man could have been somewhat handsome.
While mostly wearing darkened colours, the figure was not entirely stricken with drabness. Woven upon his coat's shoulders and sleeves were archaic patterns, formed of a bright gold fabric and complimented with a background layer of subtle blues. Such eldritch symbols were complimented with a slightly rusted belt buckle with a jagged, eight-pointed star painted upon it in dull red, which was strangely painful and nauseating to look at for an extended period of time. The figure's underclothings were simple linen tunic and trousers, coloured of a blue similar to those found upon the coat.
Upon further inspection, it appeared that the man stood around six foot three in height and weighed significantly less than he should have at such a height - around one hundred and sixty. The overall frame suggested of emaciation, where he had once been in a healthy, athletic condition and experienced some sort of significant trauma, which led him to such a haggard state. Despite the man's unkempt appearance, he did not smell bad - in fact, the scent of odd incenses wafted around his frame as he strode further into the tavern, the tails of his coat whorling behind him as if they possessed their own life. Clutched in his left hand was a large briefcase made of a red, leathery material, which elicited all sorts of odd chinks and rustles every time he took a step.
As with the outside, the man took in all the details around him with his…unusual sight, though with much more scrutiny than before. The scant few patrons were almost glared at by the man under his hood, as if he were expecting them to leap from their chairs with knives in hand. He still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that crawled through his mind and tightened his gut, and the fact that everything seemed normal about this establishment put him off even more. There had to be something wrong with this – the feeling wouldn’t have lasted nearly this long otherwise. Yet, if there had been any otherworldly tampering, he’d have picked it up by now. The cloaked man gritted his teeth together and made his way up to the front desk, which was currently not stationed by any staff. Fortunately, there was a brass desk bell on top, which he rang twice with his free time. Hopefully there might be more of a chance at deciphering this conundrum if he were to get a good look at the establishment’s owner, he figured. Turning around to his female companion, he glanced down at her momentarily before turning his gaze to the nearby hearth and nodded towards it.
“Go and stay over there.” His voice was soft but dry, as if deliberately trying to be patient. It was a simple command and one he figured she would obey without issue, as it would give her access to the fire burning within it and allow her to finally warm up.
Turning back around then, Damnatus then stood in silent anticipation. The initial use of this tavern was the least of his motivation at the moment – there were more pressing concerns and he wanted them answered as soon as possible.
It's a bar, there's booze, fights happen but if you really need to take a swing at someone, try not to wreck the place.
))