The Bandit Lord's Lair
In a crude chamber carved from the natural rock of the gorge, the air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, cheap wine, and something darker—fear. Furs and stolen cushions were piled haphazardly against the walls, and a massive, muscular man sat on a crude throne of lashed-together bones and timber.
Kuan was a mountain of a man, his head completely bald, his torso bare and covered in intricate black tattoos that writhed with each flex of his considerable muscles. His face was all hard lines and cruel amusement, eyes like chips of flint that held no warmth whatsoever.
Beside him on the furs lay a woman—naked, exhausted, her eyes glassy with fatigue and despair. Her skin was pale, marked with bruises, and she trembled with the effort of simply breathing.
"Oi. Wake up," Kuan grunted, nudging her roughly with his foot. "Don't be lazy. Entertain me again."
