Desperately he tried to negate the experimental puncture in the torn, but still sentimentally significant, paper picture; depicting something rather extraordinary. The married men at the bar recoil from the disgusting taste left in their mouths; the most likely cause…drinking the poorly brewed ale. Their tale whimpering between their legs, the musk hanging in the Horse and Groom, the room spinning and a sunken participant in the shadows whom barely moves an inch. His hooded cloak covers all the portions of his facial features. These carnal creatures of compound ideology ignite creative versatility in the vicinity of the molded floorboards maniacal creeping; enslaved in the act of intermittent dialectal interjection. The anomaly, in the property, is destined to cause an altercation.
The soft ringing of a bell, hung above the entrance doorway, catches the attention of a few wandering eyes. The traveller shivered. It was to be now that the mysterious hooded figure could no longer be seen in his usual position. After the poor thing had begun warming to a comfortable degree, the newcomer felt obliged, in courtesy, to purchase something in gratitude for the flames blanketing embrace. The barmaid, Verniké, politely offered him a drink. He had unusually large hands that clasped the stein tightly. She spoke harshly “Watch yourself tonight, there’s a few men here who don’t feel so nicely about your type.”
The room fell into darkness, chaos ensued as panic and screams of terror carried throughout the blackout. When the candles abruptly and almost magically returned, the man holding the stein was gone and only the stein he had taken one sip from remained.