Usher continued with his routine as usual. He bathed in the river and went to work at the bakery.
He touched the baker's wife indecently, earning a few corruption points, but after work he didn't return home immediately.
Today he needed to explore the village.
He had a specific place in mind to visit.
Night had fallen over the village like a damp blanket.
The houses, huddled tightly against one another, were little more than misshapen shadows under the uneven light of the moon. The dirt streets, narrow and poorly laid out, swallowed footsteps in an uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional creak of a beam, the distant bark of a dog, or the whistle of the wind slipping between the thatched roofs.
Here and there, a dying torch hung from a crooked post, casting elongated figures that seemed to move of their own will. Windows remained shut; behind some of them, a weak strip of light trembled, as if those inside feared being seen even from the darkness.
The air smelled of old smoke, mud, and manure. Each step stirred a cold dampness that clung to his clothes.
Usher advanced without haste, his body tense. At that hour, no one walked without a reason. A drunk slumped against a wall, muttering senseless words, lifted his head when he heard Usher pass, but said nothing. Farther ahead, a door slammed shut—too quickly to be accidental.
The tavern announced itself before it could be seen.
Muted murmurs of voices, a harsh laugh, the clatter of a mug against wood. Unlike the rest of the village, that place breathed. A steadier light escaped through the cracks of the door, spilling onto the ground like a warm promise.
The hanging sign creaked as it swayed, pushed by the night wind. The paint was worn; the symbol barely recognizable.
Usher paused for a moment before the entrance. Behind him, the village remained still—dark, watchful.
Ahead, the tavern offered warmth, noise, and danger in equal measure.
He pushed the door open.
The heat struck him the moment he crossed the threshold.
The air was thick, heavy with smoke, cheap alcohol, and old sweat. Several candles and oil lamps hung from the low ceiling, leaving pools of yellow light that didn't reach the corners, where shadow gathered like dust.
The floor was made of worn wood, sticky in some places. There were rough tables of thick planks, scarred by knife cuts and candle burns. Men and women with weathered faces crowded onto benches, wearing dark, patched clothing, speaking in low voices or laughing with a roughness that felt more like exhaustion than joy.
The noise wasn't deafening, but it was constant:
the clink of mugs, the drag of boots, a deep cough, an argument smothered before it could rise. From time to time, someone spat into a corner or slammed the table to demand more drink.
Behind the counter, a downcast woman dried mugs with a rag that had seen better days. Her eyes never stopped moving, counting heads, measuring gestures. Nothing escaped her attention.
At one end of the room, near the hearth, a pair of men played dice. Each throw was accompanied by tense stares and muttered curses. The fire crackled, but gave off more smoke than heat, blackening the ceiling beams.
On a small platform, a man played the lute, trying to force his melody through the tumult and cacophony of voices.
Usher took a couple of steps forward. Several gazes lifted toward him—brief, appraising. Not hostile… yet. In a place like this, strangers always carried more weight than words.
The walls were covered in dark stains, memories of old spills and forgotten fights. A knife was embedded in a nearby beam, not as a threat, but as a warning.
Usher frowned—not only because of the smell and the atmosphere.
But because, for some strange reason, the bard seemed oddly familiar.
He had come to the tavern with the idea of using his corruption points to learn how to play the lute and earn some money every night, but something about the man wouldn't let him concentrate.
The feeling that he knew him refused to leave his mind, until by pure reflex he turned to look at the beautiful woman behind the bar.
Slowly, his eyes began to shine with understanding, and a tremor of excitement ran through his body.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the counter and struck up a conversation with the woman.
"Hello."
The woman lifted her gaze and stared at him for a few seconds, as if trying to identify him, but quickly gave up.
"Hello, boy. I don't think I've seen you around here before." Without stopping her cleaning, she gave him a scrutinizing look.
"I'm not someone who enjoys drinking beer very much." Usher shrugged without concern.
"This isn't just a place to get drunk," the woman laughed softly. "Though I won't deny that's why everyone comes. We also offer meals and even lodging."
"Wow!" Usher looked genuinely impressed. "It's incredible how a young and beautiful lady like you managed all this on her own."
The woman shook her head with a laugh.
"Your sweet flattery won't work here." She put her hands on her hips playfully and smiled at him. "Even if you managed to win me over with words, the truth is this tavern belongs to my husband."
Contrary to what the woman behind the bar believed, Usher smiled even wider at her words.
"Oh?" A dark, cold smile appeared on his face as he slowly leaned closer to her. "And what would your husband think if he knew that his beloved wife sneaks out at dawn near the river to fuck the bard from his own tavern?"
Usher's words were nothing more than a whisper, but they shook the woman's world and echoed violently in her mind.
Her face went pale as she glanced around to see if anyone had heard him.
Usher's eyes narrowed with amusement and excitement.
That's right. She was the woman he had discovered having sex near the river.