Chapter 12: Colonel Agathe Ibn Sarri
At least the locals here were welcoming and not racist or haughty.
Zrahel arrived in front of a three-story wooden building with writing in an unknown language.
"I guess this is it."
He pushed open the door, and the smell of alcohol entered his nostrils.
The bar was noisy and lively, filled with patrons seated around frothy pints and steaming dishes. Laughter echoed between the worn wooden walls, while some gamblers, eyes sharp, rolled dice or shuffled cards on the tables. Looking up, Zrahel noticed an upper floor where clandestine gaming rooms hosted feverish bettors, surrounded by thick clouds of smoke.
"This is extremely dirty... I should clean it up." He didn’t even want to breathe this air, just clean the environment that had far too many microbes and humanoid waste.
Just as he was about to turn the area into a mess of bloody flesh, an apparition caught his attention.
A hooded figure sat at the counter, tapped, and placed a few coins.
"Give me whatever you’ve got strongest!"
The bartender was silent, as were all the others present. Several patrons exchanged nervous glances. Some slid their hands toward their weapons.
The woman smiled, amused.