The heavy wooden door of the Crooked Tankard creaked open, revealing a scene of raucous revelry.
The air inside was thick with the mingled scents of stale ale, cheap perfume, and unwashed bodies.
The room was weakly lit by flickering oil lamps, casting long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn tables and benches. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of drunken laughter, boisterous conversations, and the clinking of glasses.
Alaric, followed closely by Rowena, Helena, and Petra, stepped inside. The immediate impression was one of chaos and disorder. Rough-looking men, some with scarred faces and hardened eyes, lounged at tables, gambling, drinking, and arguing.
Scantily clad women moved among them, offering drinks, companionship, and other, more illicit services. The atmosphere was thick with tension, a sense of underlying violence that made the hairs on the back of Alaric's neck stand on end.