Stranger

Above the tavern entrance hung a Frost Wyrm skull. The tavern owner, Megnos, was wiping spilled ale from the bar when a new face walked in.

New faces frequented Megnos's tavern, so he could not remember all his customers' names. He recognized regulars by how often they came. The more often they visited, the clearer their faces became in his memory. Even so, Megnos did not truly care who was who. As long as they wanted a drink and could afford it, that was enough.

The Forsaken had once had no transactions involving money or goods among themselves. Their money was used to bribe Goblins or bankroll spies across the world. To be honest, Megnos had initially not understood what use the dead had for money, or why The Witherer had later declared a policy of monetary trade among the Forsaken. But after he no longer had to worry about survival, he discovered that daily life truly could not function without the stuff. That glittering gold often gave him a certain... sense of satisfaction.

The stranger sat at a table and looked around, as if waiting for someone, yet also as though searching for something. The tavern had no windows, and there was no sunlight in Maraudon. Only the dim glow of several torches flickered through the haze—hardly something worth looking at amid the scattered wooden tables and stools.

After a while, the stranger stood and walked straight to the wooden bar. "Does no one bring the drinks over?"

"No free service," Megnos replied. "There are no waiters here, either."

Anyone normal would have found that strange, but Megnos's behavior was not unusual. The Forsaken could not get drunk no matter how much they drank, and there were no drunken brawls in the tavern. From beginning to end, they regarded